“So, I’m at the airport, heading back to Florida this afternoon. I changed my plans. I wanted to get out of here, so I’ll be home late tonight Florida time, but way better than the red eye. I have some messages from my Administrator I’m afraid to listen to, but I’ll do it on the plane. Just wanted you to know.”
“Awesome. I like you being back in Florida. Take a nice long walk on the beach, for me. Go have banana pancakes and a good strong cappuccino. I’ll call you when I can. We’ll be in a different time zone, but not sure. Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you back. Thanks for calling me. I needed to hear your voice. I didn’t want to bring you down.”
“No, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll tell you if it’s a problem, trust me. But you gotta lean on your team. That’s the way we do it. No feeling lonely by yourself. You’re part of the team, my team now, and we do this together. That’s how it works. That’s how we get through all this.”
“I know. God, I miss you.”
“Well, you could have stayed for Crissakes!”
“I know.”
“You did your job. That part to be continued. Something tells me she’ll reach out, if they let her. But it’s out of our hands right now. You do see that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
The meeting was beginning.
“Have to go. Love you.”
He was forced to hang up before he heard her response. He turned off one switch and turned on another. His attention was laser-focused on the mission in front of them and what part he would be playing.
Coop had been right. Kelly Fielding and Special Agent Ridgway were missing, feared captured by the cartel they’d been sent to negotiate safe passage so they could lead a later team to apprehend a rival cartel leader. She’d probably gone down there with tons of cash from Uncle Sam.
Damon guessed it wasn’t enough. The cartels, all of them, were getting very rich already from Uncle Sam, the Mexican government, and the poor people being delivered inside the United States in the hundreds.
Things had changed, and the stakes had just gotten higher.
He settled down on the transport plane headed to Baja, adjusted his headset so he could listen to Margaritaville music, used his duty bag as a pillow, and tried to sleep.
They numbered ten and a lot was expected of them. He’d been told it was probably one of the most dangerous missions he’d ever be on, a fact he neglected to tell Martel.
Chapter 8
At the airport, Martel listened to the first of three messages from her school Administrator, Carlton Greene.
‘Martel, we have a situation here, and I know you are in California for the Valentine’s weekend, but I need you to call me back when you get a chance. I’m getting some pushback from a local attorney and I need your input, if you don’t mind.’
The second message was a bit stronger, and came in about two hours later, which was late last night, very late for him in Florida.
‘Martel, this is Administrator Greene again. I’d like to schedule a time before you return so I can speak to you. I have some questions, and as I said before, I know you are busy, but I’m running into something and need your urgent help. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience.’
And in the third one, which came in early this morning, Greene sounded near desperate. ‘I’m going to simply insist I get a call back, Martel. We may be facing a full-scale lawsuit against the school and you may also be, personally. So that things don’t spin out of control, I have to have your cooperation, or other steps will be taken.’
That sounded like a threat.
She kicked herself for not checking her phone before the flight to San Jose today, but she’d been preoccupied, after all.
“Carlton Greene,” he said when she dialed his number, picking up before the second ring.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to return your call, Mr. Greene. I boarded a plane this morning, and then was in a meeting. How—”
He interrupted her. “The Gibbs family have retained a lawyer, and he’s making all sorts of threats against me, against the school, and against you. I want to avoid the publicity, but he’s demanding I set a meeting up with the both of us tomorrow first thing. I suspect he needs to serve papers, too, but he doesn’t need us to do that. He’s a bigshot, personal injury attorney from Tampa. I don’t like his tone, nor his tactics. He came over to my house last night!”
“Oh, gee. I’m so sorry.”
“I told him you were out of town this weekend, but he insisted on coming over, even interrupting a nice Valentine’s dinner with my wife. The guy is a real jerk, a grandstander. Don’t quote me, but I want to get my ducks in a row before we make too many waves, and before I have to call the District counsel’s office.”
“I don’t understand. What’s the complaint?”
“He claims their daughter has been bullied, harassed. It’s a sexual harassment issue now. That as a school district, and you in particular, didn’t protect their Cora, and so she’d been sexually assaulted on campus. So, I guess you got pretty graphic with them.”
“Well, I did tell them what I saw, and why I was calling for the conference. As far as specifics, I don’t have any specifics except what I could see from a distance.”
“He wants assault charges brought against the boys. He wants names. Claims we’re trying to cover up the abuse by blaming the parents. He says that now they feel like victims too.”
“But that’s absurd.”
“You did call the Sheriff’s office, right?”
“I did. I spoke to a young lady—I have the name back in my office. They were going to go out and interview the parents and the girl. Do you know, did that happen?” Martel asked.
“Apparently they refused to let the interview take place. They called their lawyer instead. Said you admitted she was assaulted on campus. I guess you did say that.”
“Well, they challenged me in my opinion that she’d been exhibiting certain behaviors—”
“Yeah, I know. I know exactly what they’re going to go after. Well, can you make a nine o’clock meeting if I can get our counsel there?”
“Sure. You’ll have to call a sub for my class. I don’t have the list here.”
“That’s no problem. We’re already covering that. But you’ll have to contact your union rep.”
“My union rep? What for?”
“You’re gonna need to get representation. Separate from the school district, your own attorney to represent you. Your union does that or will make recommendations.”
“Nobody is going to be open today. It’s Sunday. I think maybe you should hold the meeting after school. That would give us time to get our ducks in a row.”
“Well, there’s an issue with that. The other side probably doesn’t want us prepared. But they’re saying they don’t want you teaching Cora’s class tomorrow, endangering other students. I think he’s going to be going after you, personally, Martel.”
She was going to be sick. Nothing like this had ever happened to her, nor to anyone she knew. “Endangering other students? Really? I was trying to let them know about that incident, not hiding it. I wanted them to seek counseling for her and gave them the courtesy of a head’s up before the Sheriff or Child Protective Services showed up at their front door.”
“I know. We discussed all this before you had your meeting. I didn’t see this possibility. Wish I had.”
That brought up another question. “So, will I be placed on administrative leave then?”
“Possibly. I have to wait and see what counsel says.”
Her spotless reputation was already trashed in her own mind. The upset over her meeting with Ainsley this morning was a distant second to this one. For the first time, she began to question whether or not she’d have a job after today. It might even become something of a criminal nature, although she doubted it.
“I’ll be boarding in about an hour. I get in at ten, and by the time I get home, it will be close to midnight. Yo
u just call me with the where and when of the meeting, and I’ll spend my minutes here right now and see if I can get in touch with the union. And Mr. Greene, I’m so sorry for all this. I still think we made the right call. This wasn’t the reaction I was anticipating when I spoke to them on Friday. When they left, they were totally focused on their daughter, or so it appeared. I was proud of how they were handling it as a couple. I even—”
Martel stopped mid-sentence.
“What?”
“I gave them my cell phone number and asked them to call anytime over the weekend if something came up. They planned on keeping Cora home on Monday. I wonder if the visit from the Sheriff’s department went badly.”
“That’s a question for counsel, if they can get that.” Greene sighed. There was an extra weight to his concern. “If they go after you, they’ll dig into everything. Everyone has something in their closet. Whatever it is, if this goes into a full trial situation, everything about your past will be on public view.”
He was sounding like a man who had a past, Martel thought.
In any case, she certainly had one. And that would definitely alter the odds of any chance she’d have a relationship with Ainsley or her parents going forward, and even that was a stretch. Her move to San Diego might be seen as her running away from some painful chapter for her in Florida, a gross mischaracterization.
But it could happen.
The timing was so wrong. Damon was gone. What a thing to drag him through when he returned. How would she be able to explain it to him?
She needed someone in her corner who could defang the aggressive Tampa attorney.
Her call to her union representative went to voice mail, of course. She tried to call Kaitlyn but didn’t get an answer. She and her new husband, Greg, had gone to Disney World, and she wasn’t going to be back in class until Wednesday.
So, she called Aimee Carr, the wife of Andy, who had served with Damon on SEAL Team 3 and now lived in Sunset Beach.
Grateful she didn’t ask too many questions, Aimee suggested she might have someone who could assist her in getting someone good. But she’d need until tomorrow.
There was no one else to call. With Damon and Kaitlyn gone, her mother gone and her father more or less MIA, Martel was all alone.
Then she thought about Gran Karmody, the attorney who helped her set up the meeting with Ainsley. He was a grandfatherly type of old cuss, and perhaps not as sleazy as it sounded like the Gibbs’ attorney was, but he could be just the right kind of sly.
There was so much riding on this, she hesitated to call him, but did leave a message, finally. “I’m flying home tomorrow from my meeting with my daughter. She’s beautiful, Mr. Karmody. But now it seems I have another unrelated problem. I need you to help me find someone who can help me out with that. Call me and we can talk.”
That was all she could do, she thought as she boarded the plane for Tampa. She settled in her seat, looking out at the blue sky of San Jose, so close to where she’d been raised. Was she leaving California or coming home? No answer came to mind as the plane took off, soaring into the air above San Francisco Bay, before taking a sharp turn inland, crossing over green, valleys, orchards in the distance, the San Joaquin valley breadbasket, and beyond.
What if all the mistakes of her past became public gossip? She’d agreed to own up to all this, to move forward, learn from these mistakes and create a compelling future with Damon.
But she never anticipated this. This had the potential to follow her all the way across country, affect her ability to work in California, do anything anywhere. It was like having to wear a scarlet letter. She’d be gobbled up in the social media explosion that was surely coming. She could even see the headline in the Tampa Bay Times,
Local Pinellas County teacher accused of abuse.
She was about to find out how strong she was, and who her real friends and allies were.
Chapter 9
When the transport landed at the former military base in Baja, it was still dark outside. These big behemoths were so loud that any planning or discussions were futile. The group who went consisted of Kyle, their LPO, Coop, Tucker, Trace, Jason, Fredo, Armando, Danny and T.J. Jameson Daniels elected not to go because his wife was due to deliver any day. It was a good mix, with communications specialists, snipers, explosive experts, a drone specialist, two native Spanish speakers, and most of their most senior members.
They were transported to an abandoned housing project along the Sea of Cortez a half hour bumpy ride from Cabo San Lucas, just outside of LaPaz. The project was part of a new resort that had bankrupted before the rest of the infrastructure and town itself was created. Grand vistas of the ocean and Mexican lands beyond were plentiful in the long view, but many of the thoroughfares that were to be four-laned expressways were reduced to two lanes, and often only one. Night travel was extremely hazardous and the vans carrying the team snaked around potholes and piles of abandoned construction equipment and materials at a very slow pace.
But what was problematic for their arrival was also somewhat of a barrier for many of the locals, and it isolated the team from the curious.
They were led to believe the road between the project and Cabo San Lucas, as well as Todos Santos were not this bad, however many of them were dirt.
The completed building was three stories, with a great hall/dining room on the main floor and the new condos, beautifully floored in glistening white marble, were above the ground floor. Between the ten of them, they were allowed use of the entire second and third floors, nearly fifteen suites.
Since the ownership of the land reverted back to the governor of the state of Baja California Sur, posing as potential buyers gave them a wide berth with little interference. Local staff were “borrowed” from the governor’s resort on the mainland, oddly enough, so the prospective purchasers could have the full ownership experience. If it was suspected that these men were Navy SEALs, no one indicated such.
They were traveling on their own, with no escort, merely three rotating drivers, undercover regular Navy Spanish speakers, running errands and transporting them by van. Their “fishing equipment” was stowed in surplus Coast Guard duty boxes from the seventies, long used by commercial fisherman in the San Diego area. They were a perfect disguise for some of their explosives and fire power, and the drivers, being military themselves, knew how to handle them.
A banker’s box of real estate contracts and pro forma reports were provided, some even including parcel maps and descriptions of the project itself. But most of the paperwork they brought were props to justify their cover, intended to calm the wagging tongues of the cook and maintenance staff. Kyle indicated they suspected a few of them would be plants, people who would report directly to the Governor.
They were instructed to bunk in pairs. One large suite was designated as the equipment room. The lock on the door was quickly switched out to a keyless entry utilizing a combination code that recorded date and time, everyone’s entrance and exit enhanced with a camera Fredo installed inside the unit and one placed in the hallway outside the door.
He’d brought several other keyless pads and promised to get them working later that morning sometime.
There was only time for a quick team meeting over a buffet of fresh fruits and cold fish, luke-warm rice and beans and corn tortillas—a breakfast none of them had on a regular basis. One thing sorely missed was beer, so that was at the top of the sticky note hung in the kitchen. Cans of juice and waters filled the one of the kitchen refrigerators in the kitchen.
When the prep staff left, Kyle spread out some maps and surveillance posters taken the day before, when the mission had been approved.
“Carter Ridgeway and Kelly Fielding are being held at the Quantos Villa Ascension, home of the C.A.Sur, or as the DEA guys call them, California Surf Club, a relatively new cartel to form here in Baja. It’s a large complex, heavily gated and armed twenty-four seven, about five acres of lush landscaping and pools, with cottages tucked
away here and there. From the air, it masquerades as a tropical Mexican paradise, villas for wealthy tourists, and indeed at one time it was one of the most exclusive resorts on the west coast of Mexico. It’s location to the mainland, as well as close proximity to the open sea of the Pacific Ocean make it ideal for smuggling in and out people and contraband. They have a fleet of very fast pleasure boats. Some of them can outrun our Coasties.”
The team studied the aerial photographs taken by drone.
“We spotted Kelly sitting outside a bungalow smoking a cigarette only once. Unbeknownst to their captors, both Kelly and Carter have embedded microchips which they can turn off and on with the touch of a finger to signal something. We get a weak signal from Ridgeway, but clear on the other side of the complex, which makes sense. He may be being held in a metal shipping container, which could interfere with the transmission. And we don’t know if he’s being tortured, but we do know they’ve both spotted groups of mostly male runners held in a secured lockdown location. They managed to get that information out before their capture.”
“How do you know they’re runners? You mean people being assisted to cross the border?” asked Jason.
“There are all kinds of human trafficking. Some pay a fee to be taken across the border, but others gain their freedom by carrying narcotics in their body cavities, their families back home being watched and held hostage until the mission is accomplished. Many of these will then release into the interior of the U.S. or come back down to help pay for another family member’s passage, when they do it all over again, this time with their little sister, or their mother or grandmother.
They’re like slaves and the cartels pick them up in remote locations and drop them off similarly. Pickups are timed. If someone doesn’t make their rendezvous, they’re done. There’s a high turnover and nearly twenty percent of these don’t survive the trip.”
“So, all this stems from this location?” asked Danny.
“This is one of hundreds all over Mexico. They own ranches and houses in California, Texas, even Montana and Idaho where the drugs are stored and then distributed all over the U.S. There’s so much demand that turf wars in the states are not heard of much. Turf wars in Mexico, now that’s another thing.”
Second Chance Reunion Page 7