So now there was a very distant connection between Gibril and the limo company. She would ask him if by chance he used the same car service.
She thanked him, gave him his usual hundred dollars, and retired for the night. Pulling the computer from the bag, she plugged it in at her office to let it fully charge before starting it up again.
She fixed an ice water in the kitchen and clicked on the news. There was some political reporting and a follow-up on the Portland killings, which she’d all but forgotten. Weather was going to be clear all week.
She wasn’t hungry, so she shut down the lights in the office after checking all the doors and windows downstairs and the deadbolt on the front door. The housekeeper had been in to clean yesterday so everything looked in good order.
She slipped off her shoes and climbed the stairs to her bedroom, bringing the rest of her weekend bag. She emptied and sorted the dirty clothes, added things to the cleaner’s bin, placed her cosmetic pouch back on the hook in her closet, put her hair up in a clip, and stepped into the shower.
Afterward, she noticed she’d missed a call from Gibril. Tucking herself into the covers, clean and with a clean flannel nightie for this chilly night, she dialed him back.
“Aw, I am so sorry for you, Halley. You must be exhausted and panicked,” he said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Your friend and then your computer. How are you ever going to get by without all your information?”
“I’m hoping they’ll find it. I’ve called the lost and found at SFO several times, but—”
“Oh, so you lost it at the beginning of your trip.”
“I was so distracted. I rushed to catch a flight.”
“Halley, are you sure you wouldn’t like some company? I can be a very good shoulder to cry on.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet, Gibril, but I’m going to turn in early and try to pick up the pieces tomorrow. It will be a hard day.”
“Again, so sorry. Now, what can I do? I insist.”
She tried to laugh and sound gracious, but his persistence was annoying her.
“I just need the time to reflect on things, meditate. I haven’t been able to do that for two days now, and I need it.”
“Then do it tonight.”
“That’s a very good idea. I think I will! Thank you, Gibril. And how is everything with you?”
“We’ve been in several high-level meetings for these past two days. Very close to funding a really big venture.”
“That’s awesome. Are you point man?”
“Hardly. But I introduced the two sides together, so it’s partially mine.”
“Never a bad thing to make brownie points with the boss, is it? Well, I’ll let you get to bed yourself. I’ll ring you tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to sort my to-do pile.”
“Yes, I’ll look forward to that. Good night, sweet Halley. May the stars rock you to sleep and bring you a hundred years of refreshment.”
“That was lovely. Another thousand-year-old poem?”
“Indeed. Rest well, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
After they hung up, Halley considered reading one of her romance novels, but with the memories of her past two days still fresh, she didn’t want to alter her dreams with another hero.
She turned off the lights and slid down, hearing the quiet, all alone in her big bed with the expensive sheets scented with lavender. It used to feel so lush and opulent.
Now she felt like a young princess from a fairy tale, locked in a castle and all alone. Waiting.
But she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling and realized she wasn’t waiting. She was resting, garnering her courage and her energy.
Tomorrow, she would do battle. And if the hero showed up in this story, that would be all the better.
Chapter 17
Morgan and J.J. decided to take a field trip to the Grand Fordham in San Jose to check out the venue. Halley had told them she was using the security staff from the hotel, which was usually how it was done. They wanted to snoop around and perhaps talk to them under the guise of wanting to put on a rock concert at the auditorium.
“I think we should take a visit to our friend Gibril’s office, too. What do you think?” Morgan asked.
“Both of us?”
“Wouldn’t it be more plausible? Perhaps ask him how the start-up was done. Say we’d invented something we needed help with.”
“I don’t think it works that way, but we can try.”
On the way up, they brainstormed several companies they could say they were seeking venture capital money for. After much back and forth, they found the right one.
At the Grand Fordham, they were met in the lobby by Jason Kalolo, the hotel’s Samoan head of security. He looked more like he belonged on a wrestling tag team, with arms twice the size of Morgan’s and knuckles that very nearly did drag on the ground. His stubby legs were hidden under the black uniform he wore, but the former SEALs knew he was probably fast as the wind with deadly accurate kicks.
“I got the venue all worked out here, Bro,” he said when they asked to see a sample of how they’d set a big event up. He’d taken them to his office, a small cubicle around the corner from the reception desk. He stood in front of a huge post-it note, a diagram of the property set up in the middle, and exits noted, as well as assignments made for manning them. “These are my men.”
“Will they be armed?”
“Not allowed in the city limits. We’ll have pepper spray, and we plan on interfacing with some San Jose PD, who will be armed. We’ll be in constant radio communication. A couple of my guys are also on the force.”
“So this is for over a thousand attendees?” Morgan pretended.
Jason checked the center of the building, putting his finger on the icon. “Says 2400. That’s capacity for this room.”
“What happens if you get more attendees?” asked J.J.
“Not likely. Fordham Corp. is not too keen on losing their license to operate these events. We got a city fire Marshall, a woman, and she’s a ball buster.”
Perfect, thought Morgan.
“So how do you control crowd size, and how do you run security behind stage?” J.J. asked.
“Normally, the musician provides that. We’ll interface, of course, and always have two uniforms there. That’s part of the fee you’d pay in advance, because sometimes we’re paying time and a half to the off-duty police who volunteer, but it’s still overtime, and they get the free show from stage side.”
“How do you know who’s legit?”
“You can issue a backstage pass, or just have one of your crew only let in certain people. That’s the way it’s usually done with concerts.” He slapped the sticky paper with the back of his hand. “She doesn’t have anyone like that, so we’re providing the beef, except for a few people she personally wants to include.”
They determined the crowd was not processed with a metal detector, that it had to be requested, and Halley hadn’t done so.
“So what kind of music do you guys play?”
“Rock, heavy metal. We do some tribute things,” said J.J.
“So I haven’t heard of you then?”
“Not likely,” they both said in unison.
“I’d like to take a look at the auditorium and the stage, if we could,” Morgan asked.
“Sure thing. Follow me.” Jason led them to one of a series of four double doors all labeled A through D. Oracle Auditorium was spanned above all four sets of doors in foot high, gold letters. The Samoan pulled on the first set and found it locked. He tried the second one and had more success.
Morgan was shocked that the auditorium wasn’t fully secured. Inside, Jason turned on the house lights, and two huge amber-colored chandeliers lit up, sending a warm glow over the sloped floor and light tan cushioned seats. The stage was farthest away, circular-shaped, elevated about five feet, and extending out into the audience so that a performer could nearly work in the round. There were a couple s
ets of stairs at each side.
As they made their way to the front, a small piece of crepe paper or tissue floated to the canvas floor from above.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“We have balloons, confetti, you know, anything you want, really. Most bands like streamers and glitter squares, but it’s up to you.”
“So the renting party has to designate what they want then?” asked J.J.
“You have the facilities to package all these things up?”
“No, sir. We hire that out. They have a crew who work the whole bay area, including the sports teams. They come in here the day before and set it up. Part of the fee. We call her our confetti lady. Terrific gal.”
J.J. looked to the ceiling and could make out clear plastic bags filled to bursting with pink and white balloons. “So you’re ready for your next release, then? When does this one kick off?”
“Yes, tomorrow night. They loaded these up this morning. There’s a shoot they throw their bags through up top above the rigging for balloons. All the tethers are tied together until the drop. They yank out the plastic as the balloons are released. Easy as pie. For the confetti, she uses her canons.”
“Can I speak with her directly about what my options are?” J.J. continued.
“Well, normally people go through us. I mean, you can’t schedule anything except through the hotel, but I guess she’d talk to you about what they use. Is that what you mean? They aren’t going to use something that isn’t cleared by us first,” said Jason.
“Of course.”
“I’ll get you her card when we stop by my office.”
Morgan couldn’t believe how many unsecure places there were that someone could sneak in and cause havoc. Even backstage, there was a rear roll-up loading door that didn’t even have a lock on it, if someone knew to just yank on the outside handle.
They completed their tour, declining to book a date for their rock concert. They promised Jason a follow-up visit.
Morgan surprisingly got an appointment with the Focus Forum, under the guise of seeking capital for their farming operation. He was hoping to get to see Gibril himself and asked for him in person.
The chrome and glass building was just down the street from several other icons of Silicon Valley. The two former SEALs entered the lobby and waited on brightly colored fabric cubes, scattered like jacks on the granite tile floor. They didn’t have to wait long.
Mr. Messi himself greeted them and signed them in. Morgan watched his slim physique, his long delicate fingers, and his stunningly handsome dark features, and it created in him a personal storm he worked hard to control. He was dressed in an expensively tailored dark blue suit with, of all things, a red, white, and blue tie. It burned him no end. What he really wanted to do was squeeze the life out of him, slowly, strangle him with that tie. But, like he told J.J., he was there to see if the man could incriminate himself.
And then he’d strangle him.
They were taken to the elevator. “So you are in the farming business. Is this in California, or elsewhere? I detect a southern accent,” he said with a dashing smile and a sweetness just under the gay-dar range. He pressed the sixth floor button with flourish, showing off his white cuffs and expensive gold cufflinks.
J.J. spoke up first. They’d talked about Morgan being the lead with the questions, but he sensed J.J. understood he was having to swallow his tongue. He made a mental note to himself to stop fisting his hands, a surefire giveaway of his deepening anger. If he wasn’t careful, he’d start stuttering or drooling and make a fool of himself.
“Actually, Mr. Messi—”
“Please, call me Gibril.” The man’s smile was wide and confident. There wasn’t an ounce of condescension anywhere. Morgan thought his acting abilities were amazing.
“Gibril,” corrected J.J., “We’re setting up a marijuana collective and are planning to use state-of-the-art Dutch greenhouses. The marijuana industry will be booming in California, Colorado, and elsewhere.”
“Already is,” Gibril responded.
The doors opened to several offices with only glass partitions. There were no privacy walls of any kind. Only half of the offices were populated. Salesmen with headsets and stand-up desks were hard at work.
They were shown to Messi’s private office, and the glass door was closed. Within seconds, an attractive secretary brought a tray of fruit, cheeses, and an array of bottled waters, all chilled, ice in etched glasses with the Focus Forum logo on them. Messi’s desk was spotless. It contained a silver tray, probably his inbox, Morgan thought, with nothing in it. The black blotter his folded hands sat on was without a smudge or scratch.
His erect posture, as he leaned toward them, told them he was ready for their pitch. He didn’t ask. He just smiled.
J.J. cleared his throat and managed a frown in Morgan’s direction.
“Well, we have optioned a plot of land in the town of Lodi. We like the weather, and we think we can work with the town fathers without too much drama.”
“I understand,” Messi said.
Morgan was examining photographs on a glass credenza to Messi’s back. He spotted Halley’s picture from one of her events, her headset atop her head, her hands gesturing, while rose petals were being showered all around her. It was a fabulous picture, and Morgan understood how she felt, doing what she was doing at the time the shot was taken.
As J.J. and Gibril chatted back and forth, Morgan also scanned the other photographs set in crystal frames of family, groups of his colleagues in front of the Forum building, and a large gathering of what must have been a wedding party. It didn’t take him long to spot the distinct white turban of an Imam who looked a lot like Al-Moustafa. He returned to target Messi and gave him a hard stare.
“Um, feel free to fill in the blanks here, Jeff,” J.J. said to him with a scowl. He smiled at Messi, but Morgan could see it was one of those sickly sweet ones. “My partner here, I think, is in awe of your beautiful surroundings. He’s normally very talkative.”
“Ah. Well, coming to a venture capitalist firm in the first place can be intimidating. You have worked hard on your little project—”
Morgan began to growl with the sound of the word little. He was pretty sure he could own the word big, and there wasn’t anything Gibril could do about it. Genetics.
J.J. turned to him in panic. “Are you alright, Jeff?”
All eyes were on Morgan. He didn’t want to stare at the photographs to give himself away, but he couldn’t help it.
“Pretty lady,” he croaked, pointing to Halley’s picture. He felt like a five-year-old with messed pants. He would thank J.J. for putting him on the spot later.
“Oh yes, she’s a very close personal friend. Halley Hansen. She does women’s empowerment events and seminars. Very talented.”
“Very pretty, too. Your girlfriend?” Morgan’s voice broke like he was fifteen.
He heard J.J. gasp next to him and, from the corner of his eye, saw him grab a handful of grapes and then throw one at him.
“So we’re gonna ruin this guy’s nice office with a food fight?” Morgan barked.
“I’m just saying that wasn’t an appropriate question, Jeff.” J.J. made his eyes full and round as if to say what the hell’s the matter with you, Morgan?
“No, please, please. Do not trouble yourselves. We are an open book here. If I didn’t want you to see this lovely picture,” he picked it up and handed it to Morgan, who nearly dropped it on the tile floor, “I wouldn’t have put it there to be seen. She’s a very special lady to me, but, sadly, I cannot call her my girlfriend. She’s rather independent, and we are both playing the field. But I love being around her charm, and her charisma is off the charts.”
Morgan found that his jaw had dropped, and he was about to drool. The picture in his hand felt like a hot coal. He returned it to Gibril immediately and adjusted his seat, crossing his legs.
“If I could bottle or invent what she has, I’d be a rich man,” Gibril adde
d.
It was an odd comment, but Morgan sized him up as genuine. He didn’t overplay his relationship, and it agreed with what Halley had told them. Morgan began to see a bit of what Halley had seen in him and thought perhaps, maybe he was an honest man. But just maybe.
“Wow, that’s nice. We don’t run across much of that in our farming business, do we, Jeff?” J.J. was trying to prime the pump and get him to talk. He knew that. He hated him for it, too. So he pushed himself forward.
“So, Mr. Messi—”
“Ah! Ah! I insist. Gibril, please.”
Fucking idiot.
“Gibril.” He thought about screaming how many times he’d fucked her and made her come. He wanted to see the expression on this man’s face when he told him that. But maybe later.
J.J. interceded. “You know what, Jeff? I can see you’re having a bad day. Gibril, perhaps we could come back later?”
“Sure.”
“No. I’m fine, Hank.” Morgan saw Gibril confused, looking between the both of them, with a brittle smile, sitting back in his chair, with his fingers tented, gently resting on his slim thigh. He waited.
“Do you know anything about farming?” Morgan asked.
Behind Halley’s picture, Gibril again smiled. “As a matter of fact, I have family in the business, although they don’t grow marijuana.”
“Really? Where?”
“Well, actually not far from Lodi. They’re in Modesto. I think it’s about an hour-plus away? On the other side of Stockton from your location.
“A big farm?”
“Yes, family-owned and mostly family-run. Owned by my uncles and other family. They raise fresh vegetables for supermarkets. I doubt they’d ever get into the marijuana business. As you might guess, we are not originally from the U.S. and the use of drugs is frowned upon in our culture of origin.”
Bachelor SEAL (Sleeper SEALs Book 5) Page 14