Please don't forget to donate to Nifty if you enjoy reading the stories!
Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.
Yahoo group: https://groups.yahoo.com/IIWII
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Sean made ready to use the ancient, massive, black iron lion's head door knocker of Number 11 Downing Street. His arm was extended when seemingly, as if by some form of magic, the door opened.
Behind the door stood a middle-aged man dressed in the uniform of the London Metropolitan Police. A Bobby.
"Um, hello..." Sean said. "I'm..."
"Yes," the Bobby replied, "You are Mr. Sean Wyman, and you, Sir," the Bobby turned to Andy, "are Mr. Andrew Churchill. You have an appointment with the Chancellor. Please come in. I shall inform the Chancellor's Private Secretary that you are here. Follow me."
They followed the Bobby down the entrance hall a short way, turned left and entered an imperially decorated room. "Gentlemen, this is the Waiting Room. The Chancellor has been notified that you are here, and shortly the Private Secretary will come for you. I must return to my post at this time, but if you'd care for tea, coffee, or other refreshments, they are available on the table in front of the window. Good day, gentlemen!"
At the Nurses' desk in the ICU at Wisconsin General Hospital, a team swung into gear. There were two Nurses and the Doctor on duty. Running down the hall, then entered a room and no one noticed that medical file on the door bore the name Virginia Miller.
"OK, thanks for coming," the patient said. "I know how long I've been here! Sorry I kept you all waiting on me!"
The Doctors and Nurses looked at their patient, slack jawed.
"I need my phone! There's a call I have to make!"
"Mrs. Miller," the Doctor began, "You have been in a coma for a week. We need to ascertain your condition."
"You can do that after I make my call. I feel fine. Now, will somebody PLEASE bring me my Goddamn phone! And for Christ's sake, make sure it's charged up..."
Flabbergasted, the staff in the room were scurried to obey Ginny's wishes. The Doctor and one Nurse remained to verify her vital signs and guard against something untoward happening, although what they might be they had no idea. They couldn't recall such a patient.
Ginny grabbed the iPhone. "Siri, call George Dickson private line," she said into the phone, simultaneously motioning the Doctor and Nurse to leave the room.
"George, Ginny... Sorry to call at three in the morning. Yeah, I know... I feel fine! Yes, I know... You did... Very good. So, where are they now? London? No, no I don't think I need to butt in now. They're there and they'll handle it. They gotta learn some time, and honestly, George, this isn't that big of a deal to me. They get it right, fine. They get it wrong, I tell em it's a learning experience. And, no, don't you tell em I said that. I'll hear from them when they get back. I'm sure they won't lose me any money, if that's what you're thinking..."
"Any idea when they're gonna spring ya?" George asked.
"Oh, George... I just came out of this damn thing like ten minutes ago. I suppose they'll want to test me, this, that and the other thing. Who fucking knows... I'll be back home as soon as I can be. For now, let's just leave Sean and Andy be. Don't tell them anything. They have enough on their plates. I want them to concentrate on the business at hand."
"I figured you'd say that, now about..."
"I know what you're gonna say, George... Look, you had to invoke the trust when you did. That's what I had it done for. And I figured Sean would be the one to grab the sword out of the stone. And that's fine. If it had to be one of them, it might as well be him. After all, he's raising my great-grandsons..."
"Well, they'll be back in a couple of days."
"And they were here, I remember hearing them..."
"Yes, they were there."
"Well, I don't care about that, I guess... There's always that time in life when it just fuckin' smacks you in the face. At least it wasn't like I had any time... At least they were somewhat warned..."
"Warned, yes, prepared, no..." George answered. "Don't get me wrong, I have confidence in them just like you do, but they went in there as virgins."
"Well, then, let's hope there's as little blood on the sheets as possible, George. Anyway, I'm feeling kind of tired now. I imagine the Doctor is gonna want to torture me a little but, so I better save some energy for him, so I can get the hell outta here, ya know..." Ginny laughed.
"Stay as long as you need to."
"Oh, I will, but I could go for a Scotch and a cigar right about now. God only knows the shit they're gonna bring me for food in here... OK, well, I'm gonna hang up now and bring the Doctor back in. I'll give you a holler in the morning, George, and don't forget, not a word to the boys!"
"Not a word. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Rest up, and let's see you back home, OK?"
"You bet, George. Bye."
Ginny called the Doctor back in, suddenly feeling tired. "Sorry about that, Doc. I had a business matter to attend to. You can check me over now. I tell ya, though, I do feel a bit tired. Maybe I should have taken it a little easier..."
"Probably not a bad idea, Mrs. Miller..."
"Call me Ginny," Ginny winked to the young Doctor, who she found extremely handsome. "How old are you anyway, Doc?"
"Thirty."
"So much the better... Anyway, go ahead and check me over before I start getting hot flashes, will ya?"
"Well, I'd say by that remark you certainly sound like you're with it. This won't take long..."
In the outer office of Her Majesty's Chancellor of the Exchequer, the Chancellor's Private Secretary ushered Sean and Andy into the Chancellor's inner sanctum. Standing to greet them was an unassuming man, looking to be in his early forties, medium height, slim build, and with dark hair.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I'm George Osborne, Her Majesty's Chancellor of the Exchequer. I'm sorry to hear about Mrs. Miller."
"I'm Sean Wyman, Chancellor," Sean said, extending his hand, "and this is Andrew Churchill. Yes, it's quite unfortunate about Mrs. Miller. We trust that you received the proper documents and that our credentials are in order for today's meeting?"
"Certainly," the Chancellor responded. "Before we get started can I offer you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water? Perhaps some pastries?"
Sean noticed a cup of tea on the Chancellor's desk which appeared to have been prepared in the English way with milk and sugar, which Sean thought abominable, but he spoke up, "I'd have a cup of tea, milk and sugar if it's alright."
"Same for me," Andy said.
"Very well, gentlemen."
Once Andy and Sean were served, the Chancellor opened the meeting. "It has come to the attention of Her Majesty's Government that the time may be ripe to retire the Consol Bonds held by Mrs. Miller. As you know, this government pride ourselves on our fiscal discipline, and it does not seem prudent to go on paying interest forever when over the long term the money could be better put to other uses here at home. It is our understanding that Mrs. Miller may be receptive to a retirement of these instruments."
"That is the information we have, too, Chancellor," Andy said.
"Very good, then all that remains is that we come to terms," the Chancellor said.
"What is Her Majesty's Government prepared to offer?" Sean asked.
"As you know, the face value of the Consols is fifty million pounds."
"That is correct," Sean said.
"Her Majesty's Government are prepared to honor that amount and to retire the bonds at the average exchange rate obtaining from the date of issue until today. That is approximately $2.89 per pound."
"Chancellor," Andy interjected, "we are prepared to discuss retirement of the Consols at some rate, yes," knowing that was a major concession on the part of the British. "We will accept payment in pounds, or dollars, whichever Her Majesty's Government prefer."
"That's it?" the Chancellor asked in disbelief.
"I would like a minute, or two to confer with Mr. Wyman in private before we conclude."
"Certainly. I will step out and be back in five minutes."
With the Chancellor out of the office, Andy turned to Sean. "Sean-o! Do you realize what he just offered us?"
"Yeah. He's gonna pay off at $2.89 per pound, to that's, lemme see," Sean said punching the numbers into his iPhone, "$144,500,000. But here's the deal, the bonds were purchased at $4.03 per pound which comes to $201,500,000. They're still getting the better of the deal. We can't accept that rate."
"Well, let's just ask him for that amount with some interest and see what he says."
"OK, but you do the talking this round, Brown Eyes..."
The Chancellor re-entered the room and sat down. "Well, whadya say, gentlemen?"
"Chancellor," Andy began, "Her Majesty's Government have made an attractive offer, but we must remind the Government what these bonds were purchased at a rate of $4.03 per pound, and we are being offered $2.89. That's about a 28% discount, which in our fiduciary capacity to Mrs. Miller we could not agree to."
"Did you have something else in mind then?"
"We do. We should like the rate to be figured at $4.03 per pound, and we would like the payoff to include an additional five years of interest. In round numbers that comes to about $242 million."
The Chancellor blanched.
"And I should remind you, Chancellor, that somewhat artificially just before these Consols were bought that His Late Majesty's Government unilaterally reduced the exchange rate from $5.00 per Pound to $4.03."
"I see, and over what period of time would you propose Her Majesty's Government make good on said payment?" the Chancellor asked.
"What do you mean?" Sean asked.
"Mr. Wyman, that is an amount of money that could not be paid off all at once without interfereing with other budget items. Even if we agreed to it would take a period of years."
"How many years?" Andy asked.
"And you must also understand that whatever agreement we reach here, I must obtain the agreement of the Prime Minister."
"Very well," Andy said, "We would be prepared to continue to negotiate."
"Good, now let's discuss the additional interest payments. I tell you that the Prime Minister won't agree to the $4.03 exchange rate. Interest payments we can talk about, but only on the balance remaining unretired, and that the period of retirement be fixed at five years, or less as you proposed for the period of continuing interest payments but with interest payments only for a period of ."
"Where is the Prime Minister now?" Sean asked.
"He is, I believe, at an audience of Her Majesty. Normally, they do these things in the evening, but Her Majesty is leaving for Balmoral Castle this afternoon. Let's just move ahead on this for now..."
Andy performed some quick calculations. "Chancellor, if we accept your proposal, then the total payoff comes to about $225 million, which means about $45 million a year for five years."
"There is something else you should be aware of, gentlemen..." The Chancellor said.
"And that would be..." Sean said.
"As I have no doubt you are aware, Mrs. Miller has corporations domiciled in some of our overseas dependencies. The European Union has been pressuring Her Majesty's government to crack down on the tax haven status of these places. Of course, we are resisting in order to preserve our position as the world's financial center, but if we must clamp down, I'm afraid non-British citizens would be the easiest place to start, if you understand my meaning."
"Not precisely," Sean said.
"I'm giving you a tip. It may be worth your while to monitor these developments and if it should become necessary, Her Majesty's Government will be most happy to incorporate Mrs. Miller's holdings at British-domiciled corporations subject to a much lower tax rate than they would be in the United States, or to permit them to be domiciled in British Crown Dependencies that are not subject to, or bound by laws or treaties made, or entered into by Parliament as the case may be. My tip comes at a price, of course."
"What price do you propose to charge for the `tip' you just gave us?" Andy asked.
"Gentlemen, Her Majesty's Government always honor their obligations. That is why Her Majesty's Government have the longest-running AAA bond rating of any country in the world. We British didn't win two world wars because we have bad credit, I can assure you of that! We propose to pay off at $3.25 per pound with interest at the rate stated on the Consols payable annually on the remaining balance, and to pay off over a period of five years with the option of early payoff. And I can assure you of the Prime Minister's agreement."
"How about $4.03," Sean said.
"$3.50," the Chancellor replied.
"3.90 and we have a deal," Sean said. "Otherwise we can't agree."
"I am authorized to agree an amount of $3.70 a Pound, and not a farthing more," the Chancellor said. "And don't forget, you just got handed a tip worth several millions if those tossers in the EU decide to act, as you Yanks say, like dickheads."
"Whadya think, And?" Sean asked.
Andy indicated that he had a question. "Chancellor, if we agree to that payoff rate, we are given to understand that no matter what the actual payoff time that we will still get five years of interest on the original face value."
"I'm sorry, gentlemen, it's interest for the length of the payoff period only."
"We need to fix the payoff period, then..." Sean said with a look in his eye that brooked no nonsense.
"What would you propose, Mr. Wyman?" The Chancellor asked.
"Two years," Sean said.
"Let me repeat what you are saying," the Chancellor said. "Payoff of the face amount of fifty- million Pounds at $3.70 a Pound plus up tp two years of interest payable annually on the unpaid balance, and a payoff period of two years."
"Correct," Sean said.
"Very well, gentlemen," the Chancellor answered. "I shall make it so."
"It would appear that we have a deal, Chancellor," Andy said. "We trust the agreement shall be prepared by Her Majesty's Treasury?"
"Absolutely, and I shall have my Private Secretary prepare the contract for you before you leave. It will be on a secured thumb drive and only you will have the key. You can open it with any program that opens secured PDF documents."
"We'll have Mrs. Miller's Attorney review it, and we'll sign once he reviews it," Sean said. "Assuming, of course that the Trust is still in effect. If not, then Mrs. Miller would have to agree and sign."
"Certainly," the Chancellor replied.
"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Chancellor," Sean said, extending his hand again.
"Likewise, and may I say, Mr. Churchill, you might be interested to know that from 1924 to 1929 this very office was occupied by another Churchill as Chancellor to His Late Majesty, King George V, the grandfather of our present Queen. That was Winston Churchill."
"I seem to have heard of Winston Churchill," Andy winked.
"No doubt you have. I would like to thank you for coming by today, gentlemen. Will you still be in London on Wednesday?"
"I'm not sure," Sean said. "Why?"
"If you are, I have admissions tickets for you to the Strangers Gallery in the House of Commons to view Prime Ministers Questions. PMQs begins at Noon on Wednesday. It's scheduled for half an hour, but sometimes the Speaker lets it run on for 40, or 50 minutes. It's always exciting, and may I say, if I were your age, it'd damn well be worth missing a day of school..."
"Well..." Andy said.
"Let's stay an extra day, And!" Sean said. "We finished all our schoolwork for the whole week before we left, so it won't matter. Besides, we might never get the chance again!"
"I can assure you that you would indeed never get the chance again," the Chancellor said. "Foreigners are rarely admitted to the Strangers Gallery at any time, never mind when the House is in session, and certainly not for Prime Ministers Questions. Now, these tickets bear the seal of my office meaning you will get the best seats. Direct behind the Opposition Benches where you will have a clear view of the Prime Minister and the Government Front Bench. You will want to arrive no later than thirty minutes before Question Time. You should enter through Westminster Hall which is the side of the Palace closest to Big Ben. Show your passes to the guards."
"Thank you, Chancellor," Sean said. "I guess this wraps up our meeting then?"
"It does, gentlemen. I'll see you out."
Andy and Sean spent the rest of the day riding the Tube to places around London. They took in the Tower of London, the Imperial War Museum as well as Westminster Abbey and a few other places. They skipped photographing themselves in front of the London School of Economics as they remembered that since they were running for election to City offices back in Janesville it wouldn't wash if they said they were thinking of going to school in London.
They stopped for dinner at a local pub back in the Chelsea section of London, nearby Ginny's Flood Street residence, where they were treated to the spectacle of a well-dressed woman at the booth next to theirs being in the company of an immense English Bulldog named Maggie.
They chatted up Maggie's owner who was only too friendly, and let them feed Maggie "treaties" off a dinner plate holding dog-size bits of a steak and kidney pie.
Once Andy and Sean ate their fill of British Pub food which they found tasty, and drank their fill of British Ale, they walked back to the Flood Street home to sleep for the night, asking the housekeeper if they could have their suits freshly pressed for the next day because they were going to the House of Commons.
"Certainly, Sirs," came the response along with an arched eyebrow. "Foreigners in the bloody House of Commons! The very idea! What next!" the housekeeper muttered once out of Sean and Andy's earshot, rolling her eyes.
As Sean and Andy slept, unbeknownst to them back in Janesville three men sat down to drinks in a private room at the King's Pub on Main Street downtown. Cognac was poured from a fresh bottle into their snifters while Cuban cigar smoke enveloped the room.
"I dunno what to make of this Wyman and Churchill kid running for office," the first man said.
"I'm tellin' you guys, those two are Ginny Miller's toadies," said the second.
"You're right," the third one said. "I don't know the whole picture, but I think I know enough..."
"Let's hear it then," the others said.
"OK, well, I found out that Ginny Miller's been out of town, so to speak, for the last little while. Seems she's been in a coma at a hospital in Madison."
"WHAT?"
"You heard me... Anyway, I'll go on. There's some connection between that Wyman kid, Ginny, and the way Bill Kennedy died. I'm not sure what it is, but it hangs together."
"We're not following you..." one of the others said.
"OK, here's the deal. Remember how last year Kennedy's daughter just up and disappeared?"
"I remember hearing something about that now that you mention it," the first man said.
"Well, she didn't just disappear. Remember, her funeral was at the exact same time Kennedy's was. I thought that was a little weird."
"Go on..."
"OK, fine, so we know Kennedy shot himself in the head. Well, I did a little digging. His daughter died of a ruptured uterus. I saw her death certificate. I called my Doc and asked him how does a woman die from a ruptured uterus?"
"And..."
"He said just about the only way is during childbirth."
"That doesn't mean anything. I mean, the girl died, and Kennedy shot himself. What the hell does that have to do with that Wyman and Churchill kid, and Ginny Miller?"
"That's just it. It doesn't make any connection until you realize that at the same time Kennedy's daughter died there was an English Nanny moved into the Alamo, and rumor is that Nanny was hired by Ginny..."
"You don't say!"
"Yeah, I do. And no sooner did Ginny end up in the hospital than young Wyman and Churchill run off to England it seems. See, they haven't been in school all week, and there was a private jet flew out of the airport on Saturday night bound for London. My guy at the airport told me there were two passengers. Two young men he said. I know, and I've always known, that Ginny has dealings in London. What they are, I don't know, but she goes into a coma and those two young guys hightail it over to London. A few months back, Ginny hires a Nanny it looks like right after Kennedy's daughter dies in childbirth. Now, none of that matters. Kennedy was an ass, and good riddance to him I say, but I'm telling you that these two are either working for Ginny, or she's planning on having them take over once she retires or dies. And as far as I know, at this moment, she's as good as dead."
"You're pretty sure about all this, aren't you...?"
"Not a hundred percent, no, but close enough so that it's the only way all this shit hangs together. I still can't figure out what Ginny has to do with Kennedy, but that's neither here, nor there. The main thing is that once she goes, we have to be ready to take over. She owns too much, hell, she owns half the town and half the people in it. She's got no one to leave her stuff to. No kids, no other family, nobody. So, she latches on to those kids and, well, there ya go. And at their age, they'd be around a long time after we're six feet under. We have to be ready to roll here."
"So, what do we do first?"
"We gotta make sure they lose their elections. They lose, and no one will remember their names in three weeks. They win, and we'll never get rid of them... That is IF I'm right about what's going on here..."
"OK, well, if they're not Ginny's protégés, then we don't give a shit if they win, or not. But if they are, then we do. So, how do we make sure they don't win?"
"We discredit them. They're really young. We embarrass them in public."
"How the hell would we do that?"
"I have some dirt on them. They're fags..."
"How do you know THAT?"
"Hey, I got a kid over at Craig High School. Kids talk. I know..."
"Wait a minute... A few minutes ago, you made it look like one of them is the father of Kennedy's grandchild, and now they're fags? What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I haven't been able to fit those pieces together yet, but I'm betting you that either that Wyman kid, or that Churchill kid is the father. Don't ask me how, but that daughter of Kennedy's that died, she was nothing but trouble anyway. She mighta had something to do with it, but she's dead so that doesn't matter... And I'm betting it's the Wyman kid. He was out for a game last year if you remember."
"Yeah, and what about that Churchill kid? I mean, there's nuthin' on him, so how do we get rid of him? I mean..."
"No, you're right, there's nuthin' on him, but how come he's living with that Wyman kid? That's not normal... A coupla fags still in High School living together like they were married, or something, and one of them has at least one kid? I heard somewhere it was twins... Look, the deal here is not that those two are important, it's that it could be a chance to end Ginny Miller's influence in this town once and for all. Now, I don't mind Ginny as a person, she's never taken a dime from me, but nobody else has any room to move around here. She just sucks all the oxygen out of the room. Something new happens, and it's always her that did it. She hogs it all, she has the money and she rules everything.and the rest of us are stuck right where we were thirty, or forty years ago."
"And that's so bad? Jesus Christ, I live like a King!"
"Yeah, but there's opportunities we miss because of her, and have for more years than I care to remember. She's old. If she's even still alive, she might wanna take it easy for the rest of her time. And don't forget, no sooner is Ginny down for the count than those two boys are over there in London. They're doing her business I'd betcha a thousand bucks! If she's not dead, and if she, for some reason I can't figure out, let's them take over for her, they're what, maybe eighteen years old? Like I said before, we'll NEVER get rid of them!"
"OK, so you said embarrass them in public. How... I mean, we can't go around calling them fags, or saying they work for Ginny Miller. That'd be ridiculous."
"My idea is we get the Wyman kid at the Council candidates' debate. And we get him good, too, see? If we can get rid of him, then I don't give a shit about the Churchill kid. He might win his race no matter what we do anyway. He's running against two crackpots. All he has to do is not look like a complete dumbass. But that's only for the School Board, and all they do is sit around and kiss the Teachers Union's ass anyway, so it's not important. What we DON'T want to happen, at all costs, is for that Wyman kid to get on the Council!"
"OK, so, you wanna get Wyman at the debate. You got anything in mind?"
"I got people I can use, don't worry."
"Well, let's hope this works then. I mean, I'm not as riled up about Ginny as you are, but it would be nice not to have her fingers into everything around here..."
"Well, it's not only Ginny Miller, but it's George Dickson, too. He's made his whole living off lawyering her business deals, and tax shelters and everything else. No one can prove it, but we all know it. Hell, of it is, George is a sharp Lawyer and you can't put one over on him. And he ain't a bad guy, but if I know George, once Ginny's out of the way, he'll pack off to Florida, or somewhere like that. Same way as his old man did."
"Yeah, but word is that youngest son of his is gonna take over the Law Office, and that kid damn near won the State Championship except he got shot. The kid's a hero around here. And then the Wyman kid won the fuckin' Championship. And he was injured when he did it! Those two might be even worse than Ginny..."
"Maybe not..." The third man, who had spoken the least that night thought to himself. "I need to keep my options open here..."
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked the ringleader.
"It means I don't want any part of this. There's too much downside here for my taste. Look, as far as I'm concerned, this meeting never happened. You guys do whatcha want. I mean, it's only a fucking City Council election. I'm staying the fuck out of it. I don't know anything, got me?"
With that, the man got up and left, the other two muttering about how he'd always been a pussy since High School. A loser. And that they were happy to press on without him.
Wednesday morning in London, Sean and Andy loaded their baggage into the Bentley. The Chauffeur would take them shortly to the Palace of Westminster.
At the Palace, the boys did as they were told by the Chancellor of the Exchequer, presenting their entry tickets and Passports to the guard at the entry to Westminster Hall. Again, the guards did not look like Policemen, rather they looked like thinly disguised British Army.
"Gentlemen, go to the top of the stairs at the back of the hall to the left. Present your credentials to one of the Ushers who you will recognize because they will be in black jacket with tails, and breeches. They will show you to the Strangers Gallery. Good day!"
"Good day, to you, too, Sir!" Sean replied. "Let's go, And. I have no idea what this is gonna be all about, but let's check it out and head home!"
Presenting the credentials to the Usher, they followed the elderly gentleman in his Victorian costume through the narrow back corridors and passageways of the Palace, the ones unseen by normal visitors. Up a few flights of stairs, down another flight, then up another flight arriving finally at a set of heavy oaken double doors. The Usher opened the doors, whispering, "Front row, Gentlemen, the first two seats next to the aisle. Good day, Gentlemen!" and then with a bow from the neck, he disappeared.
Finding their seats, Andy and Sean were at first bewildered by what they beheld. They were looking down into what seemed to them to be a smallish, rectangular chamber. There were rows of green leather benches arranged in stadium seating, divided down the middle and at the front of the room a massive table with a long scepter topped by a crown on one end. At the very front of the room was a massive, elevated oak chair with an equally massive oak canopy. In the chair was seated a quintessential English gentleman with the same breeches and jacket the Ushers wore, but with a powdered wig. The members in the chamber addressed him as "Mr. Speaker."
They had arrived about twenty minutes prior to the time scheduled for Prime Minister's Questions, and so after a while were able to figure out that Members of Parliament, first from one side, and then from the other were asking questions to a Minister which the Minister then answered. The members behind the Minister asked generally friendly questions, while the ones on the other side asked insulting questions and were in turn insulted back.
Sean looked at Andy, smirked, and said, "So, when I'm on the City Council and you're on the School Board, are we gonna get to sit around and insult people like this?"
"I hope so..." Andy giggled, winking at Sean.
Presently, after the Minister answered a particularly scathing question and sat back down, the Speaker barked out, "Order! Order! Questions to the Prime Minister! Question Number One, Mister Alan Haselhurst!"
A tall, slim middle-aged man rose from behind the Government front bench and said only, "Number one, Mr. Speaker."
The Prime Minister rose. He was seated so that when he rose the big table in the middle of the room was in front of him. He placed a huge binder on the table and responded, "Mr. Speaker, Sir! This morning I had an audience of Her Majesty the Queen, and I had meetings with ministerial colleagues and others. In addition to my duties in this House, I shall have further such meetings later today."
After that, the tall, slim man asked the Prime Minister another question about something of which the boys had no idea.
After sitting down, the Speaker called out in the same roaring voice, pointing to the bench directly across from the Prime Minister, "The Leader of the Opposition!"
A rather unkempt-looking man with a scraggly beard in a rumpled, brown suit stood facing the Prime Minister directly across the table in the middle of the chamber, which through googling, Sean and Andy figured out was called 'the Despatch Box.'
Instead of only one question, the Leader of the Opposition got to ask the Prime Minister six questions, each in turn answered by the Prime Minister. The tone of the questions and answers were, to the boys, at once alarmingly sarcastic, argumentative, and taunting, but at the same time theatrical and hilarious.
"Jesus Christ!" Andy whispered to Sean, "these Brits have stilettos for wits! I couldn't think that fast on my feet!"
"Oh, yes we can, it's just done a bit differently. You know, And, we've had a lot land on our shoulders in the last year-and-a-half. We have to answer to it. I mean, who do you know that's our age and looking down the barrel at the opportunities we're gonna have? No one..."
Fascinated by what they were observing, Andy and Sean sat in rapt attention through the remainder of Prime Minister's Questions. Once over, it seemed as if most of the members left the House chamber.
"How come you think they're all leaving?" Andy asked Sean.
"Not sure, but maybe there's not too much going on after this. Should I text Pritchard to pick us up?"
"Yeah, I'm ready to go home now, Sean-o."
"Me, too. Let's blow this popcorn stand. Pritchard said to give him 30-minutes notice, so I'll text him now to meet us by the park across from Big Ben. OK, he answered back. He just said, `Right,' so well, let's go!"
"I'd come back in a heartbeat, Sean-o. I loved London. Maybe I'd even live here..."
"I could see that, or at least for part of the year. Butcha know, when we get back, we gotta report to George, and then we gotta get down to the election business. It's not even two weeks until the debates, you know!"
"I know. Actually, I'm ready to go now. You?"
"I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. It's probably not a lot different than reading your opponent in a football game. Honestly, I dunno what the hell they think they're going to do with seven of us on the debate stage in a debate that lasts so long, ya know..."
"I think if you hit one home run, then you've won the debate. I mean, we've watched a few City Council meetings, and pretty much they're gonna stand there and bore the piss out of everyone..."
"I get that. All I can do is put down my policy of developing properties around town to get more tax revenue and see how that flies."
"What if someone asks how you're gonna do that?"
"I'll tell the fucking truth, or as much of it as I care to tell, anyway... I mean, hey, I've identified the properties, done the math, the whole nine yards. No one else is gonna have anything like that to say, saving property taxpayers a couple million a year... I'll be fine."
"Oh, you'll win a seat, Blondie. You're a winner, and everyone loves a winner."
"You're a winner, too. Besides, you got that audit that Ginny ordered. There's gonna be a lot of people's jaws hit the floor when you start in on how much money is wasted every year."
"I'm not gonna lead off with that. I'm gonna wait until that UW-Whitewater guy, the Communist, says the schools are underfunded, and then I'll egg him on a little bit, and then I'll lower the boom. That crazy chick? She's just running because she's an attention whore. She won't have any ideas about anything, and from what I've heard, every time she opens her mouth, she's a fool."
"What about all the wasted money, though... What are you gonna suggest about that?"
"Just wait and see, Sean-o. Just wait and see..."
"Prick!"
"Cocksucker!"
"Fucker!"
"Fuckee!"
With Andy's remark, both of them broke up laughing, drawing stares from the understated British as they walked out of the Palace of Westminster.
At London City Airport, they bade good-bye to Pritchard.
"Pritchard, thanks for putting up with us. You mind if we come back sometime?" Sean said.
"Sirs, the pleasure was all mine. You were the easiest guests I've had in a long time."
"Good, `cause we really liked it here. We'll be back. For sure."
"As you Yanks say, `Fo Sho,'" Pritchard quipped.
"Pritchard, we might hire you ourselves someday!" Sean said. "Thanks for everything. I don't know if we're allowed to tip, but here's four fifty-pound notes. I figure that's about $300. It's all the English money we've got left, and I can't spend it when I get home. Please take it."
"Sir, I really..."
"We insist!" Sean said. "See, I learned some of your lingo, too..." Sean smirked at Pritchard.
"I'd be delighted then, Sir. And thank you. Just between us, of course."
"Just between us..." Sean answered.
"But of course," Andy said. "And I've got something for you, too..."
"Sir!" Pritchard demurred.
"Don't worry, it's not money. It's just a little something for driving us around..."
Andy then reached into his jacket pocket, producing a jar of Grey Poupon. "Take it, Pritchard!"
Pritchard snickered.
"Glad you got the joke, Pritchard. Next time we're here, we're taking you out for dinner and drinks. You're awesome!"
"And so are you, Sirs. So are you. Have a pleasant flight back. I shall look forward to seeing you both again!"
With that, Pritchard returned to his station behind the wheel of the Bentley Mulsanne. Just as it had arrived when Sean and Andy got to London, so it departed. Silently. As if on a cloud.
Seven and a half hours later, Andy and Sean were woken from their sleep by the Cabin Steward. "Sirs, we are beginning our descent into Janesville. Sorry to wake you, but I've got to have you both in your seats and buckled up!"
"OK," Andy said, yawning and stretching. Sean simply nodded and took his seat. In the distance, he could make out the lights of the city, the 300-degree bend in the Rock River south of downtown, and the lights of the GM plant and its environs shining brightly on the opposite bank of the river from Monterey Stadium. He pursed his lips wondering what would be in store once they landed. Uncharacteristically for him, he pondered where he'd be and what he'd be doing in five years' time. Shaking himself out of it, he realized that it didn't really matter. He looked over at his husband, thought about his twin sons, and realized that no matter what else, he had everything he needed.
The airplane, with landing lights on, circled once to zero in on the runway, then came dead straight in for landing. Sean and Andy felt the wheels make their initial chirp on the tarmac, then the nose of the plane settle onto the runway. On the taxiway, they came to the small terminal and made ready to disembark.
Descending the stairs, Andy and Sean were somewhat surprised to be greeted by Brad. Not only by Brad, but with Ginny's Mercedes waiting in the wings just beyond the taxiway apron. That puzzled them.
"Hey, Brad!" Sean said, giving Brad a hearty hug. "How ya doin' bro?" Andy and Sean still didn't know why of all people, Brad would be the one picking them up, and not only that, why he should be in Ginny's car.
"You need help with yer bags?"
"That'd be great, Brad. But where's YOUR car?" Andy asked.
"I told to pick you up in the car I drove here. That all."
"Um, OK..." Sean said, looking at Andy and shrugging.
The three young men collected the bags and trudged to Ginny's car at the edge of the apron. They loaded the bags into the trunk. Brad instructed, "Sean, you get in front. Andy you get in back." Again, they looked at each other and shrugged.
Opening the back door, Andy almost passed out.
There, sitting in the back seat of the Mercedes, primping her hair, was none other than Ginny Miller in all her glory.
"Well, hello boys!" Ginny called out with a highball glass of Scotch in her hand. "Brad here was kind enough to drive me down. So, get in and tell me how much of my money you gave away... I've got cold ones here for ya if ya want..."
Uncharacteristically, Sean was dumbfounded. Andy was in shock.
"Well, c'mom, you two, tell me whatcha got for a deal out of the British... I could die any day now."
"Well..." Sean started out.
"Look, didja at least get the principal back? Fifty million pounds?"
"Yes, and I think we did better than that," Sean said.
"Do tell..." Ginny answered, fanning herself.
"We agreed to take payment in dollars, or in pounds, but not at today's rate. We agreed at $3.70 a Pound, plus interest. We have the agreement with us, and it is subject to George's review."
"What's that come to... I'm old..." Ginny said.
"Just about $190 million," Andy answered.
Ginny sat in stony silence while Sean and Andy sweated. Sean turned around, looking at Andy with anxious eyes. We've blown it,' he thought. Now, she'll never trust us...'
Several minutes passed. After a seeming eternity, Ginny took a sip of her Scotch and looked up. "Let me see the agreement!" she said.
Sean fished it out of his jacket and handed it to her, having printed it out before they left London.
Ginny thumbed through it, saying nothing other than an occasional mmm-hmm,' or aha!'
She handed it back to Sean.
"I'm shocked," Ginny said. "But not surprised."
"What's wrong? What did we do wrong?" Sean finally asked.
Ginny roared with laughter.
"Boys, you fucking KILLED IT!"
"Wha'?" Andy gasped.
"I never thought to ask them for payment at anything close to the exchange rate way back then. I mean, I thought I'd get sixty, maybe seventy million out of them... Seventy-five tops, anyway... You got ore than TWICE THAT!"
"The Chancellor gave us a tip about the EU and the Channel Islands, too," Sean said. "He was a business man. Look, we know he won't be in his job forever, I mean he's a politician, but once he leaves office, he could be a big wheel in a private financial firm, and we decided only to press him so far. He gave us a deal, and we'll do business with him in the future. That's the feeling I got, anyway... Especially if the Queen puts him in the House of Lords."
"How do you mean?" Ginny said.
"Well, so the British government pays us now. He knows he'll make a ton more doing business with us in the future. And we liked him. He seemed honest. Tough, but honest. And he seemed like a guy who expects we'll see him in the future if, and when we need to."
"You did well, boys. I'm proud of you. I think we can accelerate the transition. Oh, I'll be around to help you, but this was high-stakes finance and you delivered. Almost two-hundred million!" Ginny laughed her raspy laugh. "By the way, Brad, you don't have to drive like an old lady!"
"Not my car," Brad deadpanned, continuing at the same speed.
"You're a keeper, Brad," Ginny said. "If I were your age, I'd eat you right up!"
"Don't think so," Brad replied, monotone. "I a fag."
"You wouldn't be if I were fifty years younger..." Ginny purred.
"Yer not," Brad said, eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead.
Ginny looked at Sean and Andy and just nodded, mouthing, `He's a keeper.'
"I know I a keeper," Brad again deadpanned, this time with a barely perceptible twinkle in his eye, and a tiny up-curl of his lip.
"Anyway, boys, you're not in school tomorrow. You'll be at my house. So, will Brad, and Peggy as your campaign managers. There's stuff we have to go over regarding the election. The debates are less than two weeks off and I want you ready. I want you to kill it! You're gonna go in there prepared if it's the last thing I do, and given what's happened, it very well could be."
"We'll be prepared, Ginny!" Sean said.
"Yeah," Andy echoed. "When we were in London, we got tickets from the Chancellor to see Prime Minister's Questions in the House of Commons. Trust me, we picked up a few debating techniques! Those guys are brutal..."
"Good," Ginny replied, freshening her Scotch from a silver flask.
TEN DAYS LATER
"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Craig High School. Tonight, we have the candidates for this Spring's School Board Election on deck for their debate. After that, we'll have the candidates for City Council in their debate. Each debate will last ninety minutes and there will be a thirty- minute break in between. There will be refreshments served during the break in the cafeteria.
"The format will be that each candidate will field an opening question from the Editor of the Janesville Gazette, and then we will open the floor to questions from the audience. Each candidate will have one minute to respond to questions.
"We've got a lot of candidates to get through here, and this should prove to be an interesting evening!"
"Alright, let's meet the candidates!"
Andy took the stage along with the other two candidates. He was dressed sharp in the same suit that he wore to London. He looked businesslike, and smiled politely at the audience, cutting a fine figure juxtaposed with his two opponents, one being a somewhat disheveled man looking like a caricature of an absent-minded professor, and the other appearing as if someone had assigned her to wear a Cyndi Lauper Halloween costume.
Andy was assigned the middle podium of the three and looked left, then right at both of his opponents, adopting quizzical looks at each one. He shrugged, thinking to himself, `Let's just get on with this.'
The other candidates were asked to introduce themselves first, which was fine with Andy. The UW-Whitewater Professor droned on and on about his years in the educational field and used terms which Andy knew would put any audience to sleep. The woman in the Cyndi Lauper outfit was just as exhausting, prattling on about Andy thought God only knew what.
Finally, it was Andy's turn.
He nodded to the audience, smiled, and began. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I see some of my classmates here! Anyway, I'm Andrew Churchill, and if my opponents haven't bored you to death in the one case, or confused you to death in the other, I'd like to get right down to business. I'm a Senior here at Craig, and I'm running for two basic reasons. Number one, we all know that we've got to deliver the best product we can while protecting the taxpayer's purse. That is our job. None other. The second reason is that unlike other members of the Board, I see things through the prism of a student. We're where your dollars end up, and we have a pretty good idea of what's necessary and what's not. I'd like also to thank everyone who's been so kind to me as I've gone around the city knocking on doors and pestering you. I've done that because I want you all to see me, and I want you to know that I'm qualified and I'm ready. I'm here tonight to get your vote, and I intend to win this election, so let's get started, shall we?"
The first two audience questions went to Andy's opponents, the last one being the Professor. The Professor was perturbed by Andy's introductory remarks, which Andy hoped he would be, and he let it show.
In part, he answered his question which had to do with School System budget increases over past years by saying, "I've been an educator for my entire adult life. Now, I don't know if I've bored, or confused my young opponent here, but the point is that us per-pupil spending in only just at the State average, and if we intend to upgrade quality, we'll need to have more money. So, yes, it is conceivable that property owners might have to pay a little more It's just that simple.
Luckily, Andy's audience question was a softball. "Mr. Churchill, we just heard the Professor say we'd probably get higher tax bills. How do you feel about that?"
"I only get a minute to answer you, so here goes. I have with me tonight an audit report of the Janesville Public Schools spending. Let me pick out a couple interesting facts here. The old Marshall Middle School had two swimming pools, the new building has one. The School System is still paying maintenance on two pools. There are fourteen elementary schools, but we are paying fifteen Principals. The cost of running Monterey Stadium, which ostensibly falls under the Parks Department, is being double-billed with an identical bill being paid by the School System. I could go on, but I've had an outside Accountant look at the audit, and there is sufficient money going out that shouldn't be so that could pay for everything the Professor talked about, and then some, without charging taxpayers an extra dime. And that's even IF I agreed with everything the Professor wants to buy, which I don't. And I have to say, I've got no idea how this got past the Board for all these years unless School System Management weren't giving them all the facts. Well, here are the facts..." Andy then produced a copy of his audit and motioned the Editor of the Gazette to approach his podium and take it. "This ought to give you something to write about, Mr. Editor."
The audience gasped, and it took some time before order could be restored.
The rest of the debate time was taken up with angry community members peppering all three candidates about the results of the audit. Andy's opponents stammered and struggled. Andy held his ground, even lecturing the Professor at one point, "I see my opponent, the Professor, isn't quite sure of his facts! Let me help him..." And then Andy read out figures from a second copy of the audit he'd brought with him knowing he'd need it and asked the Professor if he'd like a further explanation.
At the end of the time, Andy knew he was home and dry. He had reduced his opponents to mere babbling while he held the audience in the palm if his hands.
After the break, it was time for the City Council candidates. Like Andy, Sean was dressed in his London suit. He stood amongst a group of people who appeared as if they could have been drawn from any Applebee's Restaurant on a Sunday morning. Sean stood out with his tall good looks and smirky smile. He eyeballed the audience, nodding at people he knew here and there. He didn't regard this group of opponents as appearing to be one that would give him any trouble.
The format proceeded the same way, and like Andy, Sean went last for opening remarks.
"My name's Sean Wyman, ladies and gentlemen. You're probably tired of listening to us already, so I'll keep it short and sweet. I'm here to get this town moving again. We've got a great town here with great potential, but it seems as if the City isn't letting the town realize its potential. We can have stunning growth and development with what's here right in front of our faces, and that will save us all money. You're not going to hear me talk about sidewalks, or dog licenses, or anything like that, and it seems from reading my opponents campaign literature that's all they think is important. It isn't. I'm going to talk about how we can all have a better town and make money while we're at it. At the end of the day, isn't that what this is all about? Aren't we here to serve you?"
By luck of the draw, Sean also fielded the first audience question, and he didn't like the cut of the jib of the man who stood up.
"Mr. Wyman, you say you've got ideas to get this town moving again. Do your ideas include using the City government to basically award you the ability to take the Monterey Hotel out from under the present owner using Eminent Domain? And isn't it also true that you are a homosexual, that you live with your `lover' who's running for the School Board, that last year you got a girl pregnant, and that you have two kids that you won't let her family see? Isn't it also true that, and I have no idea how someone your age could have achieved it, are a millionaire? Just how DID you achieve all this? Why, Mr. Wyman, should anyone in this town vote for a scheming rich punk like you?"
Sean could have heard a pin drop.
END CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE