The Richard Jackson Saga: Book: 9 Cold War

“Could you introduce me?”
I’m certain that she would be found and find a place out here. If nothing else the snort she gave when she laughed would make her stand out.
Since this was Hollywood, people with cameras came out of the woodwork. At least there were no reporters wanting an interview.
After that, it took an hour to get my measurements taken and a new tuxedo promised by next Tuesday, in plenty of time for the premiere. He would provide everything including shoes.
By that time the adrenaline high dropped and I needed sugar. Welcome back to America, Rick!

Chapter 2
After leaving the tailor I stopped by my office to see how things were going. Without going into detail Jim let me know everything was in order and the money was still pouring in. We did set up a formal business review for next Wednesday. He would contact everyone that needed to be there.
I did pay for the visit as I was roped into signing cards for employees and friends. There were several news clippings of special events held or won by people I knew. I took the time and wrote a short note of congratulations to each of them.
What I thought would be a short visit took until quitting time. I left with a sore hand from all the writing. It was well worth it because all of those people had earned recognition for their efforts.
One of them was really neat. A girl Mary’s age had formed a fan club for Mary. The club had a sale where they sold all of their outgrown clothes from the Mary Collection. They then used the money to feed puppies and kittens in the local pound.
I had to show this to Mary because she needed to give them some recognition.
That was the first thing I did when I got home. Mary knew nothing about her fan club and their actions. She agreed that she needed to do something. I suggested she talk to Mum and Susan Wallace about this and also find out if she had other fan clubs.
If nothing else she should have a clipping service. The only reason I received this was that she was identified as the sister of actor Ricky Jackson. She left at a run as was usual for her to find Mum and to get something started. Oh, to have the energy of a six-year-old. I know, I know, I’m only seventeen, but you should see her go.
I spent the rest of the afternoon doing precisely nothing of any value. It was great. Well, I did push the elevator button to the tower. Does that count? Until I stopped I didn’t realize how hectic my life had gotten since I started at Oxford.
I didn’t even read before falling asleep.
Thursday morning I was up early and felt refreshed. I did my run, and exercises and then on an impulse took George out for a ride. He apparently hadn’t got out much lately, as he was frisky. Not in a bad way, he just wanted to get out and move so I let him.
We rode to the Forest Service airbase over the new bridge. The back gate was unlocked so I had no problem getting on base. The last time I was here I was stopped and had to identify myself. I was at ease when a jeep came roaring up to me and came to a sliding stop.
A man in a uniform unfamiliar to me told me, “Get off that horse and get your hands in the air or I will shoot.”
Since he had pulled a thirty-eight revolver out and was holding it FBI style with his finger on the trigger I did so without argument.
“Now turn around and get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head.”
This guy is crazy! Crazy or not, he had the weapon, not me.
I followed his instructions slowly. Apparently, this wasn’t fast enough for him as he came up to force me down. This was a mistake on his part because my unarmed combat training covered this possibility.
When his left hand touched my shoulder I turned and ducked to my left. By natural inclination, he followed me in turning left. This also brought his right arm off so the gun wasn’t pointing at me.
I then used the momentum to force both of us to the ground with me on top. I then rolled him onto his stomach and used the handcuffs on his belt on him.
After retrieving his pistol and removing the shells I had him stand up and get in his jeep. Since there was a coil of rope in the back I used that to tie him in place. Then it was a simple matter of tying George’s reins to the rear bumper and driving slowly to the Forest Service Headquarter building.
I will not repeat any of the language used during the short trip.
When I arrived at the building a couple of Forest Rangers in uniform took one look and started laughing. I wasn’t sure what was funny but it seemed to make their day.
“Does this guy belong to you?”
“Not really, he is a rent a cop hired to patrol the grounds. There have been some teenagers sneaking in at night. I think they sent him here because he is such an idiot they didn’t know where else to send him. He had been giving all of us grief, but we weren’t allowed to do anything.”
“What do you want me to do with him? No matter what, he doesn’t get his gun back.”
This set the guy off again.
As was my practice I had saddlebags on George. I opened them and pulled out my U.S. Marshal’s ID and showed it to them.
“Now, who is in charge here?”
The Forest Service people took me