My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
12
At first I thought it was
my alarm clock waking me but it turned out to be the duty ‘Sparks’ telling me
that my call to the skipper had gone through but he was waiting on Jackson’s
computer’s camera. I was glad to be able to get a good look at him as the image
formed on my videophone of Joe’s laptop’s monitor.
“Lee, I’m sorry to bother
you this early...er...late...blasted time difference. Actually it’s Commander
Jackson that I need.”
“Hey Joe, it’s for you!”
Lee called behind his back. “He’s in the head. Finally has a chance to brush
his teeth...we kind of had a long day.”
“I um, saw the kilts.
Wasn’t that a bit drastic? Why not just wear a nice suit...you did pack one,
didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but a kilt was more
‘Scottish’. By the way, after speaking with Mrs Picadilly, I emailed Edith to
send the shop your detailed genealogy. So they can look for a legitimate Nelson
tartan, you know, actually belonging to your family, not just the name.”
“You don’t expect me to
actually wear the thing if they do?”
“Sure. Will make a nice
change from the khaki’s."
“Aren’t they woolen? A bit
warm for California. Now, Cartwright wants to speak
with Jackson and his phone’s not working. There may be a problem brewing and he
wants to keep him in the loop.”
“He can’t possibly want
me
to go undercover?" Joe asked."I gave that up agency work some time ago.”
“I believe you’re still
on
the roster.”
“Technicality. Besides,
I’ve got a more important job right now keeping an eye on your favorite son
here. He, um…gets himself into trouble, you know.”
“I do not!” Lee pouted.
“Do to. Always have, always
will. Okay, Admiral, I’ll call Cartwright and get the dope. But don’t worry.
I’m sure it’s nothing.”
While Jackson moved to his
hotel room’s dresser, took out his phone, and made his call, I took a good look
at Lee.
He was still noticeably
burnt, at least close up, and he had dark circles under his eyes.
“Sleeping badly?” I asked.
“Just trying to adjust to
the time change. Well, Joe?”he asked, turning.
“Nothing to worry
about...but at least Cartwright can rest easy that we’re aware of Ozno creep on
the lam.”
“Oh,” Lee said, “tell
Chip
we found a Morton Castle. Out of our way, but he might like to know there’s a
castle named after him.”
“Very funny,” Joe said with
a smirk. “I think he’d like it here. Man, that Roast Beef & Yorkshire Pudding
was sooo good. And the Shortbread Cookies! To die for!”
“How is Chip doing?” Lee
asked.
“Just fine, Lee, just fine.
And we’re shoving off in a few hours. It’s all up to Japan to decide
whether they want to use my
formula or not. Oh, and we met your friend Dr. Wixom a couple of times here.”
“Dr. Wixom?”
“Bragged about getting his
project approved by some company based in Japan. Also has stock in seaweed.”
“Well, at least we won’t
have to put up with him any more.”
“That’s for certain. Well,
I’m sure you want to get to bed. Sleep well, and go easy on the taste testing
at the distillery.”
“Don’t worry. I can’t
tell
one whisky from another. Then we’re getting a ferry to Norway. Oslo’s our first
stop there. Wish I could see the fiords instead of just breathing the air around
them...”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll
enjoy the tour...what’s next on the menu?”
“No idea,” Joe said. “Just
hope it’s not Lutefisk. Had some of that in Minnesota. Horrible stuff. Kind of
an aged fish, soaked in Lye, of all things, and tastes like gym socks. Very
old and used gym
socks.”
“Guess it’s right up there
with Haggis. How’s your stomach, Lee?”
“Well, they have the pink
stuff here too, so we got ourselves stocked up.”
“Good to hear it. I’ll let
you go now. Goodnight, son.”
“Goodnight Pop.”
I couldn’t recall if he’d
ever called me that before. ‘Harry’, yes, ‘father’ even, but ‘Pop’ had been
reserved for Edward Crane.
Until now.
