Read Online Allegiance: A Jackson Quick Adventure by Tom Abrahams - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: 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
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hear him typing. He’s always typing. “I have good news.”
“Really?” I could use some good news.
“I found Ripley’s son.”
“You did?”
“He’s here in Houston.” Townsend stops typing. I assume he’s waiting to hear my response.
“Good,” I say. “I’m on my way to you right now.”
“What?” He sounds surprised. “Why?”
“Someone is trying to kill me. Whoever it is has something to do with Ripley.”
Townsend says nothing.
“George?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.”
“Say something.”
“That’s not the quid pro quo I was hoping for.”
I tell him I’ll meet him when I get into town and that he needs to have a place for us to meet privately. He hesitates.
“Look,” I say, “my name is Jackson Quick. I work for the Governor. Google me. I am legit. I am not crazy. I am telling you I am connected to the attempt on Don Carlos Buell’s life, Ripley, and his son. I need to find out how. You can help me.”
“Okay,” he sighs. “I’ll get us a place to talk. I’ll see you when you get here”
He hangs up and it takes everything in me to press the END button on my phone. I am spent. I send Charlie a quick text message from the phone. I don’t want her to worry:
it’s jackson . have new temp phone . taking bus . lots to tell u . will call l8r from houston . < 3
I close the phone and lean my head against the window. The adrenaline rush has faded. I need some sleep.
***
The dream is always the same.
I’m trapped in a school locker. I bang on the door and scream for help. There’s nobody there, and I am running out of air.
Through the slits, I can see my mom. She’s in the distance, maybe a hundred yards from me, running toward me as fast as she can.
My dad joins her from out of nowhere. Side by side, they’re coming. They’re on their way to rescue me.
I bang harder and harder against the door of the locker. My hands are bruised but I keep banging. I need them to hear me. They need to know I am still here.
As my mother’s hands reach for the latch to free me she bursts into flames. My father catches fire too. I can smell their burning hair, hear their primal screams as both of my parents are incinerated into piles of ash on the ground. Trails of smoke waft from their remains and in through the slanted vents of the locker. I can feel the space shrinking around me, trapping me more impossibly than before. As I am about to be crushed, I awake. The image of the flames is still there.
I am still alone in the back of the bus, bothered I’ve left one nightmare for another. The UT cap is again pulled low over my eyes. My arms are folded across my chest. I can feel the sweat under the brim of the cap, against the small of my back, and under my arms.
Through my drowsiness and the window, I recognize the Houston Galleria. We’re heading south on what’s called The Loop, passing the high-end shopping district southwest of downtown.
The traffic slows and I check my cell phone. There’s a missed call. The phone’s on vibrate and I haven’t set the voicemail yet, so there’s no message. I hit redial for the number, which has a Houston 713 area code, and wait for an answer on the other end.
“George Townsend,” he answers. “Is this Jackson?”
“Yeah it’s me,” I speak softly, trying to remain as invisible as I can on the bus. “I’m here in Houston.”
“I tried calling you again,” George says. “You didn’t pick up.”
“New phone. I didn’t know the volume was off.”
“I’ve got a place we can talk. Where are you?”
“We’re about to get off of The Loop and head back north on highway 59 toward downtown. The bus station is there.”
“I know where it is,” he says. “I can meet you there in ten minutes. I’ll be in a black Lexus SUV.”
When we pull up to the station ten minutes later, Townsend’s Lexus is already there. I step from the bus and scan the parking lot for a dark sedan with tinted
“Really?” I could use some good news.
“I found Ripley’s son.”
“You did?”
“He’s here in Houston.” Townsend stops typing. I assume he’s waiting to hear my response.
“Good,” I say. “I’m on my way to you right now.”
“What?” He sounds surprised. “Why?”
“Someone is trying to kill me. Whoever it is has something to do with Ripley.”
Townsend says nothing.
“George?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.”
“Say something.”
“That’s not the quid pro quo I was hoping for.”
I tell him I’ll meet him when I get into town and that he needs to have a place for us to meet privately. He hesitates.
“Look,” I say, “my name is Jackson Quick. I work for the Governor. Google me. I am legit. I am not crazy. I am telling you I am connected to the attempt on Don Carlos Buell’s life, Ripley, and his son. I need to find out how. You can help me.”
“Okay,” he sighs. “I’ll get us a place to talk. I’ll see you when you get here”
He hangs up and it takes everything in me to press the END button on my phone. I am spent. I send Charlie a quick text message from the phone. I don’t want her to worry:
it’s jackson . have new temp phone . taking bus . lots to tell u . will call l8r from houston . < 3
I close the phone and lean my head against the window. The adrenaline rush has faded. I need some sleep.
***
The dream is always the same.
I’m trapped in a school locker. I bang on the door and scream for help. There’s nobody there, and I am running out of air.
Through the slits, I can see my mom. She’s in the distance, maybe a hundred yards from me, running toward me as fast as she can.
My dad joins her from out of nowhere. Side by side, they’re coming. They’re on their way to rescue me.
I bang harder and harder against the door of the locker. My hands are bruised but I keep banging. I need them to hear me. They need to know I am still here.
As my mother’s hands reach for the latch to free me she bursts into flames. My father catches fire too. I can smell their burning hair, hear their primal screams as both of my parents are incinerated into piles of ash on the ground. Trails of smoke waft from their remains and in through the slanted vents of the locker. I can feel the space shrinking around me, trapping me more impossibly than before. As I am about to be crushed, I awake. The image of the flames is still there.
I am still alone in the back of the bus, bothered I’ve left one nightmare for another. The UT cap is again pulled low over my eyes. My arms are folded across my chest. I can feel the sweat under the brim of the cap, against the small of my back, and under my arms.
Through my drowsiness and the window, I recognize the Houston Galleria. We’re heading south on what’s called The Loop, passing the high-end shopping district southwest of downtown.
The traffic slows and I check my cell phone. There’s a missed call. The phone’s on vibrate and I haven’t set the voicemail yet, so there’s no message. I hit redial for the number, which has a Houston 713 area code, and wait for an answer on the other end.
“George Townsend,” he answers. “Is this Jackson?”
“Yeah it’s me,” I speak softly, trying to remain as invisible as I can on the bus. “I’m here in Houston.”
“I tried calling you again,” George says. “You didn’t pick up.”
“New phone. I didn’t know the volume was off.”
“I’ve got a place we can talk. Where are you?”
“We’re about to get off of The Loop and head back north on highway 59 toward downtown. The bus station is there.”
“I know where it is,” he says. “I can meet you there in ten minutes. I’ll be in a black Lexus SUV.”
When we pull up to the station ten minutes later, Townsend’s Lexus is already there. I step from the bus and scan the parking lot for a dark sedan with tinted
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