Allegiance: A Jackson Quick Adventure Read Online Free
Author: Tom Abrahams
Tags: Politics, UT, Texas, president, Assassination, Houston, Election, Health Care, Environment, David Baldacci, austin, alternative energy, Nanotechnology, texas aggies, income taxes, second amendment, brad thor, oil, texas chl, tom abrahams, gubernatorial, petrochemicals, post hill press, big oil, rice university, bill of rights, aggies, living presidents, texas politics, healthcare, george h w bush, texas am, taxes, transcanada, obamacare, wendy davis, gun control, rice owls, campaign, george bush, texas governor, ted cruz, rick perry, 2nd amendment, right to bear arms, vince flynn, keystone pipeline, chl, keystone xl, longhorns, phones, clean fuel, ipods, university of texas
ours,” the Governor said. He smiled and leaned into me, the cigar in the right corner of his mouth. “I can’t really talk to these people in public, put them on the official calendar, or have them sign the guest register at the mansion. Understood?”
I nodded.
“Now I promise you there is nothing illegal here,” he winked as he said it. “It’s sensitive stuff. This could be good for you, you know. Maybe a promotion, more responsibility down the line.” His Texas drawl curled the vowels, making his words sound almost lyrical. His tone reminded me of Andy Griffith in that old TV courtroom show, Matlock . The lawyer was always a step ahead, even if he seemed a beat behind. It was the drawl. It was the perfect cover for his brilliance.
“What is it?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Paperwork. Some digital documentation.” He looked at me intently and licked a spot of wine from his upper lip. No smile. No pretense. I understood no follow up question was necessary.
He pulled the latest generation iPod from his pocket.
“So, you’ll be doing some travel. You’ll be taking an iPod like this one to a handful of places. When there’s a trip to make, you’ll know about it.”
The word iPod sounded like ‘ah-Pawd’. Lyrical. Almost.
The Governor sure knew how to spin a phrase, and the accent when always thicker when he was trying to sell something.
Chapter 2
My first trip was to London. It was a ten hour nonstop flight from Houston to London Heathrow. After the tiring early morning drive from Austin to Houston, I slept through most of the flight. I was next to the window, cramped and uncomfortable with the narrow seat. I had with me a carry-on bag with my laptop, a change of clothes, and the Governor’s iPod. I’d also brought a small duffel bag with enough clothing and toiletries to last me the 48-hour length of the trip.
Once I cleared passport control, I walked down the stairs to baggage claim. At the bottom of the steps was an ATM. I withdrew a couple hundred British Pounds and waited for my bag. It was the last one off of the carousel.
I followed the signs to the exit and ground transportation. As I left baggage claim, I was hit by a mob of limo drivers holding signs. They were held back by a velvet rope, like paparazzi at a movie premiere. I unconsciously puffed my chest, stood a little straighter. I found the man holding the sign with my name: JACKSON QUICK.
“That’s me,” I said, pointing at the sign. The man, who looked to be of Middle Eastern descent, nodded and waved me around the rope. I followed him to the garage outside the terminal. He had a Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear and was chattering in Arabic.
He didn’t offer to take either of my bags.
His car was a two-door Citroën DS3. It was small for a taxi, but whatever. It didn’t matter. I was traveling light.
“Where you want me take you?” His English was broken but intelligible.
“Admiralty Arch.”
“Okay,” the driver said. “Good.” He continued his conversation in Arabic.
Within minutes we were on the M4 traveling east into London’s city center. At Brentford we merged onto the A4 into town. I was amazed by the amount of construction on the southern side of the highway. It looked like a series of life-sized Erector sets with one large contemporary office building after another. The skies were gray, almost blending into the steel of the construction.
Forty-five minutes after I climbed into the back of the DS3, I was climbing out. My right knee was stiff and ached from the long trip.
“Sixty.” The driver was holding out his hand. “Cash.” The light on his Bluetooth headset was flashing. He was still in the midst of a conversation.
I gave him seventy and grabbed my bags. The arch was directly ahead of me to my left, a beautiful old office building that marked one end of the Mall near Trafalgar Square. After looking at it for a moment to take it in, I slung my duffel onto my back and walked
I nodded.
“Now I promise you there is nothing illegal here,” he winked as he said it. “It’s sensitive stuff. This could be good for you, you know. Maybe a promotion, more responsibility down the line.” His Texas drawl curled the vowels, making his words sound almost lyrical. His tone reminded me of Andy Griffith in that old TV courtroom show, Matlock . The lawyer was always a step ahead, even if he seemed a beat behind. It was the drawl. It was the perfect cover for his brilliance.
“What is it?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Paperwork. Some digital documentation.” He looked at me intently and licked a spot of wine from his upper lip. No smile. No pretense. I understood no follow up question was necessary.
He pulled the latest generation iPod from his pocket.
“So, you’ll be doing some travel. You’ll be taking an iPod like this one to a handful of places. When there’s a trip to make, you’ll know about it.”
The word iPod sounded like ‘ah-Pawd’. Lyrical. Almost.
The Governor sure knew how to spin a phrase, and the accent when always thicker when he was trying to sell something.
Chapter 2
My first trip was to London. It was a ten hour nonstop flight from Houston to London Heathrow. After the tiring early morning drive from Austin to Houston, I slept through most of the flight. I was next to the window, cramped and uncomfortable with the narrow seat. I had with me a carry-on bag with my laptop, a change of clothes, and the Governor’s iPod. I’d also brought a small duffel bag with enough clothing and toiletries to last me the 48-hour length of the trip.
Once I cleared passport control, I walked down the stairs to baggage claim. At the bottom of the steps was an ATM. I withdrew a couple hundred British Pounds and waited for my bag. It was the last one off of the carousel.
I followed the signs to the exit and ground transportation. As I left baggage claim, I was hit by a mob of limo drivers holding signs. They were held back by a velvet rope, like paparazzi at a movie premiere. I unconsciously puffed my chest, stood a little straighter. I found the man holding the sign with my name: JACKSON QUICK.
“That’s me,” I said, pointing at the sign. The man, who looked to be of Middle Eastern descent, nodded and waved me around the rope. I followed him to the garage outside the terminal. He had a Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear and was chattering in Arabic.
He didn’t offer to take either of my bags.
His car was a two-door Citroën DS3. It was small for a taxi, but whatever. It didn’t matter. I was traveling light.
“Where you want me take you?” His English was broken but intelligible.
“Admiralty Arch.”
“Okay,” the driver said. “Good.” He continued his conversation in Arabic.
Within minutes we were on the M4 traveling east into London’s city center. At Brentford we merged onto the A4 into town. I was amazed by the amount of construction on the southern side of the highway. It looked like a series of life-sized Erector sets with one large contemporary office building after another. The skies were gray, almost blending into the steel of the construction.
Forty-five minutes after I climbed into the back of the DS3, I was climbing out. My right knee was stiff and ached from the long trip.
“Sixty.” The driver was holding out his hand. “Cash.” The light on his Bluetooth headset was flashing. He was still in the midst of a conversation.
I gave him seventy and grabbed my bags. The arch was directly ahead of me to my left, a beautiful old office building that marked one end of the Mall near Trafalgar Square. After looking at it for a moment to take it in, I slung my duffel onto my back and walked
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