Oxford University

by Ed Nelson

  You could tell she really enjoyed what she was doing. When I told her my thoughts about 1960 rather than 1860 she was enthusiastic. As a matter of fact, she asked if we could be followed by a photographer. The redoing of the Plaza Penthouse would make a wonderful magazine layout.

  There were many pictures of the before Penthouse so that would not be an issue. I initially wondered if people knowing where I lived would be a problem but then realized it was not a state secret.

  I told her she could proceed with the entire project. To say Dorothy May Kinnicutt was happy was an understatement. She had been designing for a while but needed a breakthrough to gain an international reputation. She told me to call her Sister as all her friends did.

  When I told Mum about it she asked for Sister’s phone number as she had some questions. Not being completely dense I asked Mum if she would coordinate everything with Sister and present me with a finished product. I told her I was impressed with how my office was done up in LA and would like that carried through.

  From her response, I knew I had dodged a bullet. It worked out well, Mum was happy, Sister had a project. I would have a suite of rooms in London without having to do the scut work. Good job Rick!

  Wednesday was a test day. I made certain I had a good night’s sleep before and a moderate workout followed by a light breakfast. This was followed by taking a cab over to IT for the first test.

  After that, I ate a slightly larger lunch and spent the balance of my time walking.

  Then I took the second A-Level of the day.

  Thursday I spent two hours revising on materials provided by IT. This was mainly passing papers submitted for previous tests. It gave an idea of what was being looked for. Today it was to be in essay form. It seemed to follow what I had seen previously on a Latin test. Bend the answer into the material you had already put together. So I did exactly that.

  The next day the exams flowed, or at least they seemed to, the only hitch was in I had read the requirements wrong. If I had it would be a disaster. Time will tell.

  For the weekend Mr. Norman had arranged for me to go out to the Queen’s park I had been too previously. There I met several men who were from different branches of the service. It was a fun day of martial arts, sword fighting, quarterstaff work, archery, and even some boxing.

  I held my own in all but boxing.

  Sunday was a day of revision and preparation for Monday’s exams.

  The next week was a repeat of the previous as I took care to have plenty of rest, eat well but not overeat and get exercise. I was so glad to see the end of the week. Now all I had to do was to get through the weekend and see how my test results came out. That would decide what I was going to do for the next several years.

  I was wrung out enough that the thought of going to Oxford for three years and working on a low-pressure BA sounded good. It could be fun as I would be with guys more my own age. While sixteen would be young, a lot of the first years would be seventeen, since I would be seventeen in October that was not a wide gap. Plus I would be bigger than most of them so they wouldn’t even guess my age.

  Saturday I went to a park and watched a cricket match. I have no idea what was going on. It was like attending a baseball game in that the crowd was laid back most of the time, then some excitement when something happened. Somehow I don’t think it is a game for me. Now watching the pretty girls on the sidelines was a nice way to spend the day. I didn’t try to introduce myself to any of them as they were probably there to watch their boyfriends play.

  Walking back to the hotel I almost made an American mistake. I didn’t look in the correct direction as I stepped off the curb. A sharp honk of a horn saved me. The driver of the car, a young lady made a very rude hand gesture as she went past. She looked familiar. Nah, it couldn’t be.

  There was a message for me at the hotel, I returned Mr. Norman’s call. He asked if I had any plans for the rest of today and Sunday. I told him none what so ever. He asked me to take an overnight boat across the channel and deliver a small package to the British Embassy in Paris. I replied I would be glad to as I was just wasting time until Monday when I would receive my A-Level results. I took a black cab to the Palace where the package and my tickets were waiting. It would be a quick trip. Train to Dover, Ferry Boat to Calais, train from Calais to Paris, drop off a package, return to Calais then overnight to Dover where I would catch a train to London.

  That sounded tiring even reading the itinerary. I called Mr. Norman from the front desk and asked him if I must take the trip as laid out. He wanted to know what I had in mind. I told him I would like to fly to Paris in the morning and drop off the package and return later in the day.

  “Sir Richard you can do that but it would be at your own expense. We have a budget to maintain and the Ferry/Train tickets are much less expensive than airfare.”

  “If that is the case I will fly. I will leave the tickets here at the desk.”

  I returned to the hotel and talked to the concierge who in turn called a travel agent. Just like that my trip was arranged. It would be an hour’s flight to Paris and an hour back, all in the same day. This was a much better use of my time.

  Clever boy, now what was I going to do for the rest of the afternoon? I may have outsmarted myself.

  That solved its self. I was paying off my cabby at the hotel when a group of boys my age ran by, not at a dead run, more like a jog. I asked what that was about. It turns out they were Hashing. A person called the Hare would lead them on a chase. The Hare would mark their trail by bits of paper or flour left at the turns. The object was to chase the Hare until you found the Pub they were finishing at and have a party.

  Since I had been to a cricket match I was dressed in jeans, a polo shirt, and running shoes. Having nothing better to do I finished paying the cabby and took off. Tally Ho.

  I caught up with their tail end Charlies in short order. I was content to run with them until I understood what was going on. The pace was such that we could actually talk. They quickly realized that I was a Yank that had no idea of what was going on. They couldn’t have been nicer.

  It turns out there were no winners or losers in this run, that is unless you made a wrong turn and lost the course. Some clubs tried to be tricky, this one wasn’t. They called themselves the Hash House Harriers after an earlier famous club.

  It took us another hour to finish the course. It didn’t seem too difficult. In the center of the intersection, we had to turn at there was a dash of flour, then you had to decide which way to go, right, left, or straight. About fifty feet down the correct route was more flour. This gave course confirmation.

  Of course, when twenty people got to an intersection they would go in all three directions, once the correct one was identified the others would turn back and join them. Depending on your choices you could have a long or short day. I noticed a lot of people held back, especially those who looked older. They let the kids do the running.

  Even though I was a kid I decided to let the youngsters run. This gave me a chance to really talk to the other runners. They were of all ages and occupations. I just identified myself as Rick Jackson an American at loose ends for the day.

  It was fun, at the end at the pub more people introduced themselves. I got roped into a game of darts and quickly found out that these people were serious about their darts. One game was enough for me, and I suspect them. All in all, it was a pleasant evening with nothing accomplished other than relaxation. Maybe I should have more of these.

  Sunday was an early flight to Paris. Going through immigration and customs was ho-hum. They took one look at my passport, asked when I was returning to England and waved me through. Using a cab with one of the crazier cab drivers I ever had, I dropped the package off at the British Embassy. I had no idea how long I would be inside so I paid the driver off hoping the next one would be better.

  I wasn’t in the Embassy for more than ten minutes. They had a car and driver to return me to the airport. I found out that if
I had called them they would have picked me up. Good to know.

  I sat in the first-class lounge for several hours reading the afternoon paper and then had an uneventful trip back to my hotel home. The newspaper did carry a story about an explosion in a stateroom on one of the cross channel ferries. Fortunately, the room wasn’t occupied.

  Chapter 6

  The next day I was about to go down to breakfast when there was a knock at the door. This time of day was very unusual so I used the keyhole window in the door. There were two men in suits standing there. I left the chain on the door and edged it open. The man in front held out a badge wallet case with an ID card.

  “Sir Richard we are from MI5 and would like to have a word.”

  Every spy story I had ever read went through my mind.

  “I will need to check out your identity before I allow you in.”

  To say they were not pleased was an understatement but it wasn’t my job to please them. They passed two business cards through the door. I looked up the public number for MI5 and made an inquiry. It only took several minutes to establish they were for real. I let them in after that.

  “Why are you so cautious Sir Richard?”

  “Some Russian lads have it in for me.”

  “That may tie into why we are here. You were booked on a cross channel ferry last night, but then you canceled the reservation. Last night there was an explosion in that room that would have killed you if you were there.”

  That left me cold.

  “Why did you cancel your reservation?”

  “I decided to fly instead it would be a much easier trip.”

  “Why were you taking the trip?”

  It then dawned on me the right hand did not know what the left hand was doing. I told them to wait a minute and retrieved my Diplomatic passport which identified me as a Queens Messenger.

  This took them a-back.

  “You said some Russian lads were upset with you, who are they?”

  “The KGB.”

  “Sir Richard I think this is deeper than our remit. We were told to interview the passenger who didn’t make the crossing and find out if they had any idea what was going on. It seems this is a lot deeper than we thought.”

  “I suspect it is. I suggest that someone in your organization contacts the Palace and MI6. They can give you a clearer picture, also the CIA and FBI if you have time.”

  You could see them getting more nervous all the time, what were they getting into.

  “Do you have any official standing other than a Queens Messenger?”

  I collected my US Marshal badge and wallet with ID and showed it to them.

  “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  The more senior looking of the two asked if he could use my telephone. He called his office and was having a spirited conversation. When he hung up he asked me a question.

  “Is your Mum Viscountess Jackson?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They left shortly thereafter with a caution to be careful. Now that was helpful.

  I had to miss breakfast to make my appointment at IT to see my exam results.

  I passed everything with at least a C.

  “You received an A in English Language, English Literature, Economy, Spanish, Mathematics, Chemistry, and Science. B’s in Modern History, Latin. Then there is a C in Additional Mathematics. Overall passing ten A-Levels are very impressive results. You would be accepted by any University in the world. Sir Richard, you have our congratulations and best wishes.”

  “Thank you.”

  About that time a secretary knocked on the door.

  “Sir a ride is waiting for Sir Richard.”

  Now I hadn’t asked for any rides. When I looked out the front door there was a familiar face. James Barclay was standing next to a Bentley. As soon as he saw me he opened the car door so I made a beeline for it.

  “Until this is sorted out we thought we had better keep track of you.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  We didn’t drive to the Palace, instead went to a nondescript building with an indoor garage. There was a guard at the entrance to the garage. He raised a gate for us to enter. Once inside we exited the car and went up an elevator. Upon exiting the elevator James had to show some identification to a guard sitting at a table across from the elevator door. The guard had a short-barreled shotgun on the desk. I would bet there would be a round chambered.

  We went to an office that can only be described as civil service nondescript. It was probably issued around 1930. It matched the drab green of the walls. The only thing hanging on the wall was the obligatory picture of the Monarch. The picture reinforced my estimation of the year as it was George the Fifth.

  The man behind the desk did not fit the room. If there was a real James Bond this is how he would look and dress.

  He introduced himself as Bond, James Bond. The look on my face must have been priceless as he and James Barclay roared with laughter.

  “I always wanted to do that to someone.”

  “Well, you got me good.”

  “My real name is Nigel Montgomery, a very distant relation. This is an MI6 office we try not to use very often to keep it safe.”

  “Do you have any idea who and why someone is trying to kill me?”

  “We do, it was a very amateur attempt by a low-level IRA gunman. He worked on the Ferry. When he saw your name on the passenger list he saw an opportunity to use the quarter stick of dynamite that he had lying around. It doesn’t seem to go any deeper than that. We had you picked up as soon as we knew what was going on. Don’t want you going Cowboy on us.”

  I don’t think I will ever live my Secret Service call sign down.

  “Well, that’s a relief. I wondered if I was going to have to return to Jackson House and stay inside for the rest of my life.”

  “We think you are safe for now. However, you are a high profile person in certain circles and could become a target of opportunity so use some common sense in where you go. Now, James, I think Mr. Norman would like to talk to Sir Richard, please take him to the Palace.”

  I was whisked through Palace security like it wasn’t there. Mr. Norman was standing in his office waiting for me.

  “My poor boy we didn’t think for a moment anything like this would happen. It was to be a boring messenger run, to show you what it is really like.”

  “Well the actual trip was boring, it was afterward that got interesting and I was never in any actual danger once I varied my route.”

  “Yes and that is a lesson well learned. As a matter of fact, we are going to be reviewing how all our messenger trips are organized. I’m afraid we have got too complacent.”

  “That can happen.”

  “Yes well, I wanted to reassure you that this was far from ordinary. In the meantime, Her Majesty would like to have a word.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  James led me to the Queen’s apartment and waited outside. The Queen was there so I entered the room, giving the small head bow, and formal Your Majesty.

  “Sir Richard, are you alright?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “I’m so glad. I just got off the phone with Peg. She told me you would handle it okay but I wanted to know myself, now on to more important matters. Congratulations on your A-levels. Have you decided what you are going to do about schooling?”

  “Ma’am I’m going to see if one of the colleges at Oxford will have me.”

  “They will. Which one do you want?”

  “I don’t know enough at this point to choose.”

  “Understood, I will have you briefed on what is possible considering that you should keep a low profile. Now, young man, I must see you off. I have a luncheon and I suspect you would eat somewhere other than with a bunch of old fuddy-duddies.”

  You come up with a good answer to that!

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  At that, the Queen laughed and I back out of the room.

  It was actually early
afternoon and I was really getting hungry. Another of the Palaces fleet of Bentleys dropped me off at my hotel. Bentley would never go out of business as long as there was a Monarchy. Instead of going into the hotel I went around the corner and down an alley to a fish and chips shop I had found.

  I think Victoria was Queen the last time a health inspector had been in. The wooden floor was worn down to a grey patina, the walls got darker the higher you looked from many generations of cigarette smoke. The ceiling was an embossed metal repeating design.

  The fish was a white flaky North Atlantic Cod; the large cut chips a golden brown with just the right amount of salt. The vinegar was like a Malt Vinegar but must have been a secret recipe. Mr. Treacher was the perfect host, making one feel as though they were in a high-class restaurant instead of a hole in the wall dump.

  Dump or not the food was wonderful. I wish they had this in America.

  From there I took a cab to the British Museum with the intention of browsing until dinner. I was looking at the exhibit of drawings from the Hans Sloan collection. The drawings were okay but I was more impressed by the fact that he was credited with the invention of Chocolate Milk.

  I was leaving the area when I saw a young lady stumble into a life-size statue. It started to tip so I lunged towards it and caught it before it went completely over. The only problem was I was off balance and the statue was very heavy. I couldn’t hold it up, so I yielded to its weight as slowly as I could. In this manner, I was able to lower myself and the statue without harming the statue.

  Of course, I was then trapped on the floor with about five hundred pounds of statue pinning me there. I wheezed out to the girl who had stopped and turned. She gave me a crooked grin and then made a crude hand gesture. I recognized that hand!

  A museum guard had seen the whole incident and had the statue lifted in a few minutes. I must say they seemed to care more about the condition of the statue than me. By this time the young lady had disappeared. I wondered what she had against me.

  After they helped me up and dusted me off the guards were more attentive.

  “Young man that was a fine thing you did, risking your life over a marble statue.”