War Elephant

HAVE IPAD, WILL TRAVEL

I t had taken me almost two years - after graduation from NYU - to secure the job that I had wanted my entire life: an investigative journalist. Since very young, I had always been intrigued by the guy who broke the big story. A degree in English was still necessary to land serious writing jobs with the magazines that had long ago replaced newspapers. I was hired as, essentially, an exonerated Travel Writer. My assignments would involve complex articles on well-known people, places and events. The articles were not expected to be news but rather the recent developments or achievements surrounding the subject – a developing, or breaking, story. My articles would not be about the small changes of daily life, but the larger steps taken among people and communities. Or… so I was told . Joel must have worked my face, elaborating on my expressions, during our interview. He made me feel unstoppable. I thrived on investigation, so the job was an ideal fit. I would start the job of my dreams in one and one-half weeks.

My boss, Joel Osborne, seemed to take an instant liking to me. I was lucky that way. Friends were easy for me to make, as I tried to see everyone in their best light. Optimism and ‘good karma’ were flowing through me. I vowed to stay away from politicians and their ugly politics - if I could. I was not so naive as to think that the job might eventually make that unavoidable but, for now, I was a human-interest writer and I was loving life.

At New York University, I had a girlfriend but, upon graduation she took a job in Phoenix and she wanted me to come with her. Too hot for me I told her. Then, I got the call from Joel for an interview and I said, "I guess ‘we’ were not meant to ‘be’." She was packed and gone before noon the following day. I would miss Liz but, she was not ‘the one’ and vice versa - we both knew it.

My parents wanted me to come home to Memphis; settle down in my home town and find a job; any job - they didn’t care what. However, I was determined to find my own way through my own life. I could visit home anytime.

So, after Liz left, I spun around and got to work. The interview with Joel was rather too short but, went well. Within the first five minutes, I felt ‘hired’. I made the drive to New York from Boston and was home that same night.

It had been my apartment and most everything, including the lease, was mine. I had often felt that this weighed in heavily with Liz. In any event, it made our parting rather simple. In ten days, I too would be leaving for my new home…my new home in Boston.

Part of my salary would be in the form of a furnished apartment so; the move was simple. The local Good Will cleaned out my apartment and, because I bequeathed my fifty-five-inch Samsung HDTV – and other electronics - to my middle-aged neighbor, Alice, she washed, painted and waxed and blessed the place for Mrs. Jenkins, our landlord. I felt absolutely free. A three-thousand-dollar advance got me to Boston a week prior to my start date. Spring was in the air. In under a week I learned more about our country’s fight for independence than I ever had in school. Boston was a history lesson wherever I turned.

When I arrived for work on my first day, Joel met me as I came out of the elevator.

Well, young man! he began, Right on time!

Joel was late fifties with a full head of wavy brown hair. He was always in a white shirt – rolled up sleeves – and a tie. He had a genuine smile and gave a real man’s ‘crusher’ handshake. We talked in his office for about an hour – mostly small talk about what I expected out of life, etc. Then, he plunged up straight in his chair and got on the intercom.

Yeah, Marty, I need you to give a tour. Joel hooked me up with a veteran reporter who put me on the fast track. For two weeks, I was expected only to look, learn and listen; what was expected… how it was done. It all seemed a bit strange, like the magazine was wallowing in money.

At the end of that time I was given writing and editing assignments. It was tedious but, I felt like I was now earning my keep. Another three weeks and Joel called me into his office. A little apprehensive, I took a long drink at the water cooler and went in.

Sit down, Jake.

Is it that bad? I asked.

Joel laughed, and I was relieved. I have an assignment for you. You are going to love it. I hired you for this very project.

You did?, I asked, surprised. That meant that for the last five weeks he had known about this project and yet, never a word was spoken about it. It went a long way to explain the kid glove reception to work.

Joel began by telling me the dos and don’ts of dealing with our ‘target’. My subject was a very wealthy man; I had seen him on the covers of a dozen reputable magazines and he had always impressed me. I could have known all about him by now.

Joel and I did a dozen or so interview scenarios and then he said You’ll be fine. Keep your nose clean and wait until the interview is complete before taking a couple of days to enjoy yourself. But…don’t call me for bail…call your mother.

What? I asked with a contorted expression.

I’m just sayin’ he answered, duplicating my expression.

My first assignment as a journalist/investigative reporter/entertainer was what I believed would be a routine interview with a very exceptional man. I did a very thorough background check on my subject, with a little guidance from Joel. In his life, Sir John Howard had filled the lives of a dozen extraordinary men into a single, compact living. It was amazing. He never got involved in political issues but, he got involved in world crisis’. He donated, rescued or backed valiant attempts to make a true difference in the world. As an investor, he had backed and promoted only certain companies and launched several dozen small ones that repaid him well. Sir Howard’s personal wealth had grown by many millions each of the last twenty-seven years. Before that, he was just rich.

His escapades and adventures had culminated in a net worth of nearly three billion pounds’ sterling and, unlike most people of that degree of wealth, he was never photographed without a full smile or laugh - and the variety of backdrops, on these covers, rounded the globe from the Arctic to Antarctica. He chased adventure but was once quoted as saying "I live but, I do not unnecessarily threaten my life. Life is the most beautiful thing that each of us possess, from its very beginning until its most remote ending."

My job was to discover what it was that composed the man and what made him such a marvel to all those around him. Like the beer commercial, he really was - or was thought to be - ‘the most interesting man in the world’.

Each day, Joel brought up more information, advice and more do-nots. Another week passed and he came into my modest office.

You are ready, my boy he began, I wish that I could do this in your place.

I didn’t rebut the comment because I did not want Joel to entertain the idea of going in my stead but, the ‘why not’ of it perplexed me. On several levels, Joel was better equipped for just such an interview and, who would not want to be in the same room with Sir Howard!? I wasn’t going to say anything.

ACROSS THE POND

T he following Saturday early morn, I flew into London’s Heathrow airport. I had an arm full of ‘Cliff Notes’ that Joel had given me to study on the plane. Though the flight was just six hours, there was a six-hour time difference. Leaving Logan Airport at 8:35 pm, we landed in Heathrow at 8:42 am, the following day. All I had brought was a carry-on bag with iPad and essentials. I would purchase what I needed in London. Now, I would rent a car.

Straight away, I rented a Jaguar sedan. It wasn’t blue, and it wasn’t purple. The car was a neon color somewhere in-between the two shades. It was flashy even before it was assembled.

I want that one, I said as I waved my hand toward a blue/purple/pastel missile.

I love that car the sales girl said with a sultry look. It occurred to me that I loved the British accent; it sounded so refined.

It was beyond my per diem to rent such a car but, I would not arrive at the estate of a billionaire in anything less. My parents knew some fairly wealthy people but, Sir Howard was a billionaire!! My parents had given me relentless tips on how to deal with and interview a man of such wealth but, only one stuck in my mind: Do not talk about yourself!

Got it, mom, I had replied in earnest.

Rather than having to take the train from London, I drove the two hours to Dorset, England, biding my time and enjoying the English gardens and estates as I slowly made my way to the hometown of Thomas Hardy. Hardy had written one of my very favorite novels, Far from the Madding Crowd, which was first published in 1874. The English had a way of exposing the most intimate moments in real life, good and bad.

It was a nice drive on a cloudy but windless day.

I booked a room in Dorchester, the main town of Dorset, so that I could tour ‘Max Gate’ – Hardy’s home after his success – the following morning, before my late afternoon initial meeting with Sir Howard. How long and how many interviews were at my discretion, assuming Sir Howard did not get bored and was willing to play along. The assignment could take one to two weeks. I thought that I had died. What single problem should the world unite to resolve? That was it. That was the purpose of my trip. How the question got answered was up to me.

It began to drizzle lightly but, before long I was curbside at my hotel. I looked up at the interesting ‘Black Dog Inn’ sign as the closing convertible top made it disappear.

I quickly checked in at the Black Dog Inn, went up to my room and unpacked my single bag, took a quick shower, ran past the desk clerk and jumped back in the Jag. Though my meeting was not until the following day, I wanted to see the estate of Sir Howard and besides, the Jag was like driving a rocket ship. It did feel as though it could leave earth and the world behind. I wanted to drive the car like a kid that had learned to ride a bike. It was a primitive level of freedom.

As I left the Black Dog, I told the desk clerk that I would drive out to Sherborne to see the estate of Sir Howard. He replied curiously that you can’t see it. You probably will not be able to find the entrance gate. And that was all that he volunteered. No matter. I drove the A352 road north, not just because it was so scenic but, because Sir Howard lived some few kilometers east of the Sherborne castle and gardens - above Sherborne Lake. I very much wanted to see the grand estate of a multi-billionaire.

Once I reached the castle, I headed east, according to my schedule and itinerary – given me by my personal secretary (Thank You!) – and followed the very detailed instructions. Though the road traveled very close along the southern border of the lake, it would soon be so close as to be ‘reachable with a stone’ read my itinerary. I wondered briefly who had written these directions but then, there was the lake alongside me. Reachable with a stone. Here I slowed to a veritable crawl and looked for an old Tudor style home with five chimneys. Another half kilometer and there it was. Old…but, grand, with its multiple brick chimneys.

It looked lifeless. The windows were draped closed, there were no cars and, if this was the home of a billionaire then, I was very much disappointed. That kind of money should be used!

No one answered the door, though my instructions read to ‘ring the bell’ and wait.

Not more than fifteen seconds after ringing the bell, I heard a noise around the lakeside of the old house. I walked along the deck that surrounded the front of the house and saw an old barn with two very large doors that had swung wide open automatically.

At this I was slightly alarmed. I had simply wanted to make an inquiry of where Sir Howard lived. The directions continued on the next page and read: You must now destroy this document.

Oh crap! I thought, remembering too late that reading instructions completely first was always a good exercise.

Then the door to the old house opened and a young woman stepped out and said, Mr. Barnes? You are early. She was about my age, maybe a year or two older, and she had beautiful skin. She appeared athletic and she had a crooked smile that stole the show. I noticed a familiar fragrance.

Yes. Please…’Jake’. I simply wanted to ask whether I was in the vicinity of the Howard Estate. Is this it?

As the large barn doors began to close, the young lady said Please, and waved for me to enter the old house.

MUCH ADO ABOUT WHAT?

A s I stepped into the old house, I immediately noticed that inside, it looked more like a command center than anything else. All the windows were draped and shuttered on the outside but, totally non-existent on the inside. Bizarre.

I am Kate, the young lady smiled. She had straight blonde hair off to one side, just below the shoulder. Her blue eyes were brought out further by her light English complexion and her nose was perfect. Pointed but, not too. Her height was almost equal to mine so, I eerily thought, short heels. She had a perfume scent that I recognized.

Chanel, I paused, "no….’Secret of Venus’!? I almost shouted. I was proud of myself.

How could you know that? They stopped making it many years ago.

Yes, my mother bought a dozen bottles when she heard that they would discontinue ‘Secret of Venus’. My father went through the roof.

My mother did the same! she said with an incredible look. It is all that I wear.

Well, then I will know when you are within fifty feet.

Sixteen meters, she replied with her crooked smile.

Lipstick would look so good on her, I thought.

Then she cocked her head and began.

I will organize your visit. Once the barn doors opened, your facial response was studied before your picture was even matched on our computers. Sir Howard has all prospective guests evaluated by a renowned psychologist before any meetings, scheduled or otherwise. You passed, Mr. Barnes.

My quizzical response lasted only a moment before Kate continued, That look is further confirmation that your intentions are what they should be. I then automatically looked around for cameras but saw nothing obvious. I just let out a long slow breath.

Yes, I imagine that it is all a bit daunting but, it is a process Kate stated.

Well, Kate, I really am very tired. I am not at all prepared to see Sir Howard now…jet lag and all.

No. You will not see Sir Howard now but, this preview will put us all at ease for tomorrow’s meeting. We are an interference team as well as security, so that Sir Howard is not exposed to mischief or wasted time. His age has now made all his waking moments a greater priority in his life. He savors life and, he realizes that his years are numbered. Can I offer you something to drink? We also have pills that will ensure a wonderful night’s rest. Jet lag can be such an annoyance.

Actually, I would like a Scotch, rocks and, a pill for a wonderful night’s rest does sound very appealing.

I had suspected that Kate would be pouring my drink but, before I could become confused at her continued smile, a man dressed like a member of SWAT - with an earpiece – came through a swinging door and handed me the drink with a slight head bow and a short smile. Then, he spun on his heels and returned through the door.

Kate had sat down at a computer station and began to type.

That was a pretty serious fellow, I