Stump Speech

By Bob Gabbert

Abby Parsons is an American schoolteacher who has spent 20 years working undercover in London for the CIA. As a very high-priced escort, she dates important men in the British government and the Royal military to uncover Russian spies who infiltrate those institutions.
Ronald Stump is a billionaire who decides to run for President of the United States. He makes a number of statements that frightens people both at home and abroad. One such statement that shakes the British Prime Minister to his core is Mr Stump’s statement that NATO is no longer relevant and should be terminated. The Prime Minister fears that if the United States withdraws from NATO, it will collapse. With the UK’s recent withdrawal from the European Union, the Prime Minister fears that such action would leave the UK vulnerable to misadventures by Russia, ISIL, or other unsavory actors on the world stage.
Abby gets wind of a possible plot in the UK to end Mr Stump’s chances of becoming President of the United States. It sets in motion events with unexpected and bizarre consequences that change the course of American history, and dramatically alters Abby’s life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Gabbert
• Release date: Oct 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370201082

Bob Gabbert

Bob Gabbert has been writing novels about strong women for eleven years. Asked why his protagonist is always a woman, Bob said that generally speaking, women are physically smaller and weaker than men. Consequently, they must use their intelligence to solve important issues, and that's more interesting for a writer. Bob Gabbert is a world traveler who has lived or worked in many of the places he writes about. He graduated from the University of Washington in Seattle where he and his wife, Janet, make their home.

Book preview

STUMP SPEECH

By Bob Gabbert

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Copyright

Copyright © 2016 by Bob Gabbert

All rights reserved, except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission by the publisher.

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e-Book Edition: October 2016

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

About the Book

Abby Parsons is an American schoolteacher who has spent 20 years working undercover in London for the CIA. As a very high-priced escort, she dates important men in the British government and the Royal military to uncover Russian spies who infiltrate those institutions.

Ronald Stump is a billionaire who decides to run for President of the United States. He makes a number of statements that frightens people both at home and abroad. One such statement that shakes the British Prime Minister to his core is Mr Stump’s statement that NATO is no longer relevant and should be terminated. The Prime Minister fears that if the United States withdraws from NATO, it will collapse. With the UK’s recent withdrawal from the European Union, the Prime Minister fears that such action would leave the UK vulnerable to misadventures by Russia, ISIL, or other unsavory actors on the world stage.

Abby gets wind of a possible plot in the UK to end Mr Stump’s chances of becoming President of the United States. It sets in motion events with unexpected and bizarre consequences that change the course of American history, and dramatically alters Abby’s life.

Table of Contents

Title

About the Book

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Acknowledgement

About the Author

Other Novels by the Author

Preface

It is not truth that matters, but victory.

Adolf Hitler

It may be shocking to some people in this country to realize that, without meaning to do so, they hold views in common with Hitler when they preach discrimination against other religious, racial, or economic groups.

Henry A Wallace

Exploiting people’s emotions of fear, envy and anxiety is not hope, it’s not change, it’s partisanship. We don’t need partisanship. We don’t need demagoguery, we need solutions.

Paul Ryan

It is not an overstatement to say that the destiny of the entire human race depends on what is going on in America today. This is a staggering reality to the rest of the world; they must feel like passengers in a supersonic jetliner who are forced to watch helplessly while a passel of drunks, hypes, freaks, and madmen fight for the controls and the pilot’s seat.

Eldridge Cleaver

Chapter 1

Abby Parsons opened the door of her flat located in the Mayfair district of London. A Royal Army lieutenant in full dress uniform was standing there. Pardon me, ma’am, are you Ms Abigail Parsons? he asked.

I am.

He bowed and handed her a small box with a blue ribbon holding an envelope to the box. Compliments of General Sir John Rupert Bradshaw.

Thank you, leftenant.

He came to attention, saluted, and left.

She shut the door and opened the envelope. She smiled when she saw it was an invitation that read:

Queen Elizabeth II

The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by

Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II to invite

You and a few select guests to attend the

Commemoration of Her Majesty’s 90th

Birthday celebration at Windsor Castle

On Saturday, 14 May, 2016 at 2:00 PM

At the bottom of the invitation General Bradshaw had scrawled: My car will pick you up at 1:00 PM. It’s white tie of course.

She put the card down and opened the small box. There was a diamond chocker in it with a note: Wear this to the reception, but I must return it tomorrow. JB She took the diamond chocker out and laid it across her hand. The diamonds sparkled in the light. Wow! This must be at least £50,000 pounds. Thank you, John.

She went over to the sofa where a stuffed pig was looking at her through button eyes. The stuffed toy was pink with huge cheeks as if it were holding its breath. Look, Waddles, Mommy is going to see the Queen. Isn’t that nice? No, you can’t go. Don’t cry. I’ll bring you a silver spoon from Windsor Castle. Okay? She patted the stuffed pig on the head and kissed its bright pink nose.

Abby Parsons was 42 years old and lived alone in a flat on the third floor of what was called Duke Street Mansions. The mansions were just north of Grosvenor Square and less than a block from the Bond Street Underground station. She didn’t have a car; there was no need for one. The men who hired her as an escort always provided a car, and it was usually a limousine.

Abby had lived in London for 20 years, and no one suspected that she was an American spy who was born and raised in Mobile, Alabama. She majored in English literature and taught it at Mobile High School for two years, before the CIA came one evening to her apartment and recruited her. She was trained to be a field agent and sent to the CIA/FBI language school where she became fluent in British English, French, and Russian. She was sent to London and given the persona of a high-class escort. Her assignment was to uncover Russia spies that had infiltrated the British government and military command structure.

Over the years, she became British in every important aspect of her life. If someone curiously asked where she was from or where she was educated, she was coy and wouldn’t answer. Because she never talked about herself, she became something of a mystery.

Those who guessed where she was from usually placed her in various parts of London, although some thought her accent sounded more like the Lakes District. With all such speculation, she only smiled or perhaps lifted an eyebrow.

If they tried to guess where she was educated, the Imperial College of London came up often, most likely the South Kensington branch, because of its close association with the Mayfair district. Her response was usually a smile and a, Maybe.

It was her smile that attracted most people, because it lit up her pretty face. A face framed by long and dark brown hair and brown eyes that seemed to sparkle. Her fair complexion was flawless. She could easily pass for a woman 10 years younger.

At five-feet seven-inches tall, she was the perfect height for her... work. Using different height heels, she could adjust to the height of any man she was with, and her slim, athletic figure made her light on his arm. If anyone was critical of her figure, it was probably that her chest was too small, but no man ever complained.

When she was out with a man, she rarely did more than smile and listen attentively, but if asked, she could intelligently talk about the London real estate market, or the stock market, or the potential affect on the euro or the pound sterling of some event that had happened or was about to happen.

Listening was not always her forte. When she went into training with the CIA, she prattled on and on about anything and everything. Her boss at Langley, Operations Officer Harvey Desmond told her, "You will learn nothing by talking! You will only gain the information we need if you keep... your... mouth... shut!"

He yelled, Don’t talk! so many times during training that when she went to London and filed her first report, she signed it: Agent DT, and it stuck. Thereafter if the President or anyone wanted to know where the information came from, Desmond replied, Agent DT.

Agent DT became so effective at finding Russian spies that Desmond took field control of her away from the London station chief and had her report directly to him. After 10 years or so with various CIA station chiefs coming and going, the London office of the CIA lost track of her. That didn’t bother her or Desmond, because she was the most effective agent he had, and over her 20 years in London, she had identified 62 Russian spies working in the UK.

Abby was a very wealthy woman, but it was only partially because of her salary. After 20 years with the firm, her salary was nice at just over £94,000 pounds ($120,000) a year, plus, because of the unique nature of her... business, she received another £60,000 pounds a year to maintain her high style of living. But, what made her wealthy was the fact that her CIA supervisor, Desmond, let her keep what she earned as a very high priced escort; her rates were anywhere from £1,000 pounds to £3,000 pounds a night, plus usually a very large tip. By typically working two to three nights a week her combined income was around £415,000 pounds ($528,000) a year, and only her base salary was reported for tax purposes.

Abby’s clients were important men in government or the military or business, and they were always giving her money for clothes or shoes or jewelry, and of course they paid for all expenses when they took her out to dinner and dancing or to political or business function. Consequently, she had to spent very little of her own money, which she invested wisely.

Four years ago, she bought a luxury flat in Mayfair for just over three million pounds, and then she had workmen make another £300,000 pounds worth of modifications. She paid cash for it all.

Her local bank account at the Royal Bank of England had a balance of a few thousand pounds, but balances in her three numbered accounts in Cayman Islands banks were several million pounds that the firm didn’t know about.

Another little activity that the firm didn’t know about was her freelance contract work. If the price was right, very wealthy and very private individuals and companies could hire her to take care of... problems. Sometimes that included eliminating someone. In those cases she used her CIA training to get the job done quietly and efficiently. She handed out business cards to her private clients that read: Anne Bolen, Pest Control and gave an unlisted telephone number.

Chapter 2

Abby looked again at the invitation to Windsor Castle for the Queen’s 90th birthday. It wasn’t the first time she’d been to functions at Windsor Castle or Buckingham Palace. She had met the Queen twice before on the arm of Royal General Sir John Rupert Bradshaw. He was the deputy commander at NATO headquarters in Mons, Belgium. He introduced her to the Queen as his niece. Once when he asked Abby to visit him in Mons, she accidentally met Lady Bradshaw at a party. It was an awkward moment, but both women were of the upper class, so they maintained their dignity and avoided a scene.

Later, Abby found her alone in the ladies loo and apologized. Lady Bradshaw lifted her chin and said, I knew there was someone. Try not to hurt him. And then she left the loo with her head held high.

Abby knew that Lady Bradshaw was speaking not of hurting her husband’s heart, but rather his reputation. When she got back to her flat in London, she wrote a note to Lady Bradshaw:

Lady Bradshaw,

I sincerely apologize for any embarrassment that I may have caused you. I regard Sir John with fondness and respect, but if it is your wish, I will be busy the next time he calls and thereafter.

If you need to contact me, I live in Flat 3G, Duke Street Mansions, 65 Duke Street, Mayfair, London, W1K.

Yours sincerely,

Miss Abigail Parsons

Two days later, Abby received the following letter:

Dear Miss Abigail Parsons,

Thank you for your apology for the situation we find ourselves in. My first inclination was to hang my head in shame that my husband no longer found me, shall we say, enough for him. After much soul searching I came to the conclusion that you are probably not the first person in his life nor shall you be the last. Sir John has been in many far away postings over these many years of our career in the Royal Army, and I have not always been there to comfort him.

I will confess something to you, and I trust that it shall remain our secret, but in those long lonely years, I too have... shall we say sampled forbidden fruit. I’m not proud of it, but there it is.

I believe you to be of good character, and you are certainly a beautiful woman who will compliment Sir John on those occasions when he finds it necessary.

Should you happen to find yourself in Mons again, please allow time for me to show you our home and garden. I’m particularly proud of my roses.

Sincerely yours,

Lady Meredith Dalwipple-Bradshaw

Abby frowned. Are you saying that I can keep shagging your husband? She read the note again. You are. Blimey!

That was six months before the Queen’s 90th birthday celebration. Abby attended several functions with Sir John Bradshaw after Lady Bradshaw’s letter. Four months later, she wrote Abby again:

Dear Abigail,

I hope you don’t mind if I call you Abigail, but it seems to make sense in view of us sharing so much, and you may call me Lady Meredith.

The purpose of this letter is to request your help. Our family physician informs me that John keeps avoiding a test that that will confirm or disprove an embarrassing form of cancer. If you care for my husband as you say you do, please insist that he be tested immediately. If you require particulars, you should call our home phone. I understand that you have the number. It’s best if you call at midday, because I don’t want my husband to know that I’ve solicited your help.

I hope this note finds you well.

Yours,

Lady Meredith

The next time Sir John Bradshaw spent the night, Abby asked, Are you following your doctor’s orders?

Bradshaw was 55 years old. He had been in the Royal Army since he was 18, started out as a young cadet at Sandhurst. Now, he was deputy supreme allied commander Europe—NATO. He reported to the chief of the general staff at Army headquarters in Andover, who reported to the Ministry of Defense for the UK. The Ministry of Defense is responsible for implementing the defense policy set by Her Majesty’s Government—the Prime Minister, so Bradshaw was only three steps below the Prime Minister. He was highly respected and didn’t suffer questioning easily.

Why are you asking me this?

Abby had known Bradshaw for six years. She thought he trusted her implicitly. I know about the concerns your physician has expressed. I don’t want to lose you.

How do you know about my medical condition?!

I’ve done some research. The test only takes two hours, and it can be done tomorrow right here in Royal Marsden Hospital. I’ll go with you. We do the test. We find out that there nothing to be concern about, and it’s done.

He lay back with his arm over his eyes.

She lay across his chest and touched the side of his face. Shall I arrange it for tomorrow?

He took his arm away from his eyes and laid it gently across her back. How do you know this?

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we find out if there’s a problem, and if there is, we take care of it.

I can’t go tomorrow. I have to meet with the Prime Minister.

Can’t it wait?

You’ve met the Prime Minister. You know he’s not the kind of man who will wait.

What’s so important?

It’s this wanker the Yanks are running for president.

Since when do we care what the Yanks do?

Well, this wanker is promising to pull the States out of NATO, and we can’t allow that to happen.

That’s daft—can he do that?

I don’t know. I think that’s what the meeting is about.

Let me come with you. I’ll wait for you in the Guest Lobby, and then we can go to hospital and find out for sure if there is a problem. If there is; then we’ll take care of it.

Chapter 3

Three months earlier when Abby turned 42, it really depressed her. For 20 years her training required her to remain in control of herself during hundreds of intimate moments when her paramours were in the throws of passion, because it was during those times and immediate thereafter that the most revealing secrets came out. Future plans and trips were talked about, national secrets, spies, war strategies, and wives and lovers both male and female.

She couldn’t afford to lose control of her emotions during those passionate times, and that caused her to bottle up her feelings for so long that she was ready to explode. When her birthday came around, and she had no one to share it with, she felt that her life was slipping away in loneliness. She became sad and depressed for the first time in her life.

The day after her birthday, she stayed in bed until noon, but even then she didn’t want to get up. A phone call from an important client in the Royal Air Force came, but she told him she was busy. It was the first time she had ever refused a client unless she was actually booked, and this client was important. He had told her about a US air base that the Brits wanted to close.

She continued to lie in bed thinking back over her life and regretting much of it. She stayed in bed for over 18 hours only getting up to get a drink of water or use the toilet. She wanted—needed—something to add spark to her life.

It was almost tea time when she finally got up and took a shower. She felt nauseous, so she drank an instant something while leaning against the kitchen sink. She kept shaking her head. Where is my life going? Why am I still doing