The Glastonbury Gift

By Tom Tyner

As billionaire Wade Rivers sits in front a Key West hotel with a newspaper and a cup of coffee, it appears to be an ordinary morningexcept for the black sedan parked across the street. Inside are three males who are observing him. Wade knows he has lived with his secret for far too long. As one of the men exits the sedan, Wade tries to prepare himself for the inevitable.

Noah Jackson is a CIA agent who is battling terminal cancer. After he shakes Wades hand and sits down, they both look down at the Masonic rings they wear. As Noah encourages Wade on a journey of remembrance he hopes will lead him to the truth, a story unfolds of a young World War II flyer as he is led from Florida to England and finally to a beautiful woman and a mystic object that changes not just his life, but also the lives of many others. When Wades story concludes, will both men be granted what they need most: healing and freedom?

In this tale of adventure and mystery, the paths of a CIA agent and a person of extreme wealth become intertwined as one of them searches for the truth and the other for peace after the discovery of a powerful cup.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Sep 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781480850897

Tom Tyner

Tommy was  born  in  Savannah, but  has  spent most  of  his  life  in Florida. He is an avid history buff who enjoys football, golf, and good history books. He and his wife, Diana, have three lovely daughters and reside in Dunnellon, Florida. The Glastonbury Gift is his first book.

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Copyright © 2017 Tom Tyner.

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ISBN: 978-1-4808-5087-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-5088-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-5089-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017953685

Archway Publishing rev. date: 09/11/2017

Contents

1 - Key West, Present Day

2 - The Beginning

3 - Essex Manor

4 - Glastonbury

Epilog

1

Key West, Present Day

Wade Rivers nodded up from the newspaper he held. He took in the stranger who strolled by. He was nothing exceptional—just one of many who took a morning constitutional. This morning, compared to the last, was almost surreal. A few hours ago, people had walked down the middle of Duval Street with drinks in hand having all the fun the law would allow and then some. Now, as he sat in front of the La Concha Hotel with a newspaper in one hand and a coffee in the other, the only people he saw on a Sunday morning were those preparing their shops for the upcoming business day, a few going to church, and of course those departing for the mainland. For sure there were always a few who didn’t want to be seen and couldn’t have cared less. About any events The police had picked up two since Rivers had begun his morning ritual. One who was sound asleep in the alley across the street, his only companion an empty wine bottle. If he was a local, the gendarmerie might have missed him, and he would have awakened to just wander off to some safe refuge until his next binge.

These scenes Wade Rivers had witnessed numerous times. He was Conch born and raised in the Keys. This time, though, the object of his attention did not fit in to his almost-daily routine. It was the big, black sedan parked across the street—and the three male occupants who watched him.

His train of thought left him for an instant as the waiter freshened his coffee. Rivers thanked him with a smile and a nod. Words were not necessary. They had known each other for a long time.

His attention returned to the car. He thought, Is this at long last the event that has to happen? One ordained by God Himself?

It seemed as if it had been an eternity in coming. Sooner or later, it had to come to light, and if so, it was a blessing. It was the old cliché about the double-edged sword. The situation rang of conflict—not good or evil, not right hand or left hand, knowing or not knowing, having but not wanting, having and not knowing what to do with it, asset or liability.

Why was his mind asking questions that did no good. It was the circumstance of stark reality laced with mysticism that his mind toyed with—the will of God to those who were religious or the hand of fate to the agnostic. He liked to think it was the hand of God. That soothed him and gave him confidence. The bottom line was that it was a secret he had lived with for far too long, and it had to come to fruition—especially considering the experiences he had encountered.

The young man sitting in the front of the large sedan spoke as he looked back, addressing the old man who was watching out the window. Would you like me to come with you, sir?

No, no. I will be fine. Just watch and don’t get out to open the door for me. I am not an invalid yet.

Noah Jackson knew that was lie. Cancer was slowly eating away his liver, and he had been told his remaining days were numbered. Just sit here and relax. Maybe a couple of hard bodies will come along and kidnap you two.

Picking up a computer from the seat, Jackson opened the door, his mind trying to comprehend what he was doing. It all seemed like a dream. Could the man he had been studying actually be nearly a hundred years old? Hell, he didn’t look forty! All the information had to be wrong, yet the concept of reality was far stronger than the realm of fantasy, and the computer at his side contained too much knowledge to question.

Rivers folded the paper, his cold, blue eyes now studying the man who crossed the street. His walk, clothes, car, companions, and computer were dead giveaways: government. But the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was which branch? Soon there would be an answer to that question and many others. All truths. No lies.

Finality was the key word. Too many lies and pacifications had guided his life over God knew how long. It hurt his head to try to recall any particular circumstance. There were far too many instances of good and bad. Somewhere in his psyche crept a thought: he hoped the man— But his thought was complete the stranger interrupted.

Wade Rivers? Jackson enquired as he extended his hand for a shake. May I? He pulled back the chair.

Help yourself, Rivers responded, instantly starting to rise.

Keep your seat. Jackson my name, Noah Jackson

Before Rivers could ask, the waiter poured Jackson a cup of coffee. Looking up from the rim of the cup and placing the computer on the table, Jackson sternly stated, I think you know why I’m here.

Yes, I do. But may I ask you two questions before you begin?

I’m not sure you will get answers, but ask away.

Before Rivers could begin, Jackson studied him a bit closer. Aside from the full head of gray hair, Rivers could pass for forty, forty-five. He was lean, tan, and fit, his eyes as clear as a baby’s. Jesus, Jackson thought, what sits before me?

Rivers’s words floated in and out of Jackson’s ears. Obsessed with the man before him, Jackson faintly heard any words that Rivers spoke.

Being as we are both traveling men, can I ask how many know? Rivers asked.

Awakened by Rivers’s blunt question, Jackson cleared his head and looked down at the Masonic ring on Rivers’s finger. Are you active?

Pretty much. In the West again. How about you?

No, don’t have the time. On the go too much. To answer your question, not many. About three. I’m with the CIA. Was that going to be your second question?

Yes, you hit it. I guess I rate if I get you.

Rivers dissected the man. Jackson was over six feet tall, nearly bald, thin—too thin. He had large, bloodshot eyes and a face full of wrinkles. He had a pale complexion, no doubt due to some underlying health condition. His face mirrored the reflection of death. Many times Rivers had seen conditions that forecast death, and all too many times they had proven to be true. This man fit the bill. The great arbiter was time.

Jackson asked, You’re wondering how we found out about you, aren’t you?

Before Rivers could answer, Jackson continued. Actually, I’ll give you credit. You covered your trail quite well. Your big mistake was cashing in the gold. Believe it or not, it’s rare when a person sells twenty million in gold. Let’s see. You own a house in New Orleans and a small but nice ranch in Cottonwood, Arizona. Why New Orleans?

Food’s the best, Rivers inserted quickly.

"You should have sold it in Geneva as you did the other times, or sold some of that stock you have. Good Lord, you have enough. We have you at around four billion, and heaven only knows how much you have still hidden that we don’t know about. By going to a broker, you got careless. That led to the IRS and then to us. They first thought you were receiving money from some terrorist cell. When they cleared that up, you were handed over to us. We figured the FBI should have gotten your case because you flew nine times in one month. Homeland Security picked that up instantly.

Well, you ended up with us. I’ll give you credit for one smart trick—every stock or any form of banking account you open, you put in a fictitious brother’s or nephew’s name. You have money in twenty-six banks, American and foreign. That’s quite a portfolio.

Yeah, Rivers chimed in. I just wait a while and come back to one of them. They all had the same line, great family resemblance. A little makeup and a false ID. Well, that’s child’s play getting one of those. You know that.

How in God’s name did you accumulate such wealth?

Well, I left England with about a thousand. In the States, I came to find out that I had a special gift—or should I say a guardian angel? It was the Midas touch. Everything I touched turned to gold. Hell, I even found a sack of money. With every gambling device known to man, I couldn’t miss. I even stopped playing poker with the boys at the base, feeling sorry for them. After finishing my army career at Randolph Field in Texas, I went to Vegas after it got established. Cleaned them out, got banned. They even sent a couple of hit men after me. They met with accidents. That part of this saga will make sense after you hear more. After that, it was Europe and the casinos. Cleaned them out too. Then came stocks, bonds, whatever. I couldn’t miss.

Rivers turned to the waiter for more coffee, resting his elbows on the table. Being, as I said, that we are both traveling men, is that fact going to make any difference in the outcome of all of this?

Jackson looked down again at the Masonic rings they wore. His head turned to glance down Duval Street, and he watched it as it come to life. His brain, not hurrying for an answer, pondered the question, searching for an answer. God knows it should. This is not simple. The complexity could be disastrous for you. After you are charged, you will probably end up in some government research facility as a guinea pig. You are a freak of nature. I can’t say what kind, but I know you are of prime importance. That’s for damn sure.

Jackson snapped to attention and opened his laptop. His fingers brought it to life. In a matter of seconds, he would conjure up questions that had to be answered, and the only person with those answers sat across from him. "Are you ready for twenty questions—or should we call this Jeopardy?"

Fire away, Rivers responded. Are you hungry?

No. No, Jackson replied, agitated. "Let’s get this over with. Tell me about yourself. First, who