Second Chance Reunion

by Sharon Hamilton

  Her next action was to call her attorney, who said he’d be there for sure, and wasn’t sure about the woman he was referring to the case. “I want you waiting for me outside the school, so I don’t have to hunt down the offices.”

  “No problem.”

  “I want you to dress up a bit, a little nicer than you normally go into school.”

  “Funny, I had thought to do the same.”

  “Olivia Noriega is a very bright shining star from Sarasota. I met her as a young law student when the class was working on a project pro bono.”

  “Okay. Has she worked on cases like mine?”

  “I believe so.”

  “What was the project?” she asked.

  “It concerned a woman who had been wrongly charged with child abuse and then convicted and had been separated from her family of five children while serving ten years. I helped them draw up and file petitions on the woman’s behalf. They were successful because of how doggedly she took on this case. I’m going to see to it that she either gets appointed a judge or runs for public office. She’s that good. I talked to her last night after you and I talked, and she’s very interested. Now, don’t get your hopes up about today, but she’ll definitely help out.”

  “I look forward to meeting her.”

  “Who did you say the other attorney is?”

  “Oh, let me think.” She paused. “Mr. Green told me it was Manny Risso. I don’t know anything about him. Of course, I can count on one hand the number of attorneys I actually know.”

  “Manny Rizzo. That’s good. That’s really good. I’m sure Olivia will be pleased.”

  “Is he tough? My administrator says this is to be informal, that he’ll have some questions for me, things that might affect whether or not he actually does file a lawsuit.”

  Gran Karmody laughed into the phone. “Sure. He wants to take the temperature of his case and get a hint of how he should write it up. As far as if he’s good, I’ve never opposed him before, but I understand he can be quite charming. And he has a nice smile, according to that billboard in the Publix parking lot.”

  “Don’t forget the bench.”

  “Yup, that too.”

  “So, you aren’t worried.”

  “Well, he just tried to pull off something very obvious and we’re going to stop that. He tried to get in there and interview you without representation, and he tried to get your administrator, because he’s scared to get involved, to grease the skids for him. It’s a sleazy maneuver, and he’d never try it if he knew he was up against somebody good, so he’s already made his first mistake: he’s underestimated you, us, the situation. But don’t worry, he’ll quickly adjust.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll see you at ten. Do I bring anything?”

  “Just dress for success, like it was a big job interview. Look as perfect as you can be, which shouldn’t be hard. And don’t do a lot of talking. I’m going to step on your foot if you do too much of that. Save it for the judge, if it goes that far.”

  It was going to be a hot February day, not unusual for Florida, but she changed her mind on what she was going to wear. She took off the slate blue suit she had put on, over her white long-sleeved blouse with the self-tie at her neck and put on a light blue seersucker suit over a short-sleeved silk blouse with a smooth neckline. She put on her mother’s pearls, put her hair up in a twist to keep her neck cool, and felt much more comfortable.

  Using the restroom before she left, she saw a light pinkish bleed on the toilet tissue and figured her period would be starting soon. She’d been slightly concerned that her period was late but chalked it up to the stress of her California visit. Now she could relax a bit with one less thing to worry about.

  It never ceased to amuse her that, while she was readying herself for a big meeting, the rest of the people in the Sunset Beach area were on vacation. It was one of the things she loved about the Florida Gulf Coast, a much-needed reminder, especially this morning, about the fact that the whole rest of the world was operating at a different vibration. The pilgrimage to the white sand and surf had begun and would continue until the bright sunsets. She was going to have to find that same routine back in San Diego, because it was soothing, healing, and it kept her sane.

  She saw parents with young children crossing Gulf Boulevard, wearing clothing they wouldn’t be caught dead in elsewhere. Men normally dressed in business attire here could wear loud flamingo prints and straw hats, sunglasses and flip flops, their arms laden with towels, coolers or pulling wagons with big wheels. The golf cart rental business was booming, since it was peak season. In this community, they were an adult form of four and six-seater bumper cars. People decorated them with lights, particularly when celebrating special events like Halloween, weddings and bachelor parties. And unlike the Miami area, this part of the Florida Gulf Coast was a senior citizen paradise, a mini-Disneyland with endless warm days and shockingly beautiful sunsets.

  It felt odd heading off to her school anticipating being served with a lawsuit.

  She’d have to remember not to take things too seriously—at least not until she had to.

  Gran Karmody was waiting for her in the parking lot, dressed in his signature white linen suit and string tie. Next to him stood a petite Latin woman with jet-black slightly wavy hair she wore back in a clip. She wore a stylish navy-blue suit and light-yellow shirt underneath with pumps that gave her a couple of inches extra height. Next to Mr. Karmody, she almost resembled some of the girls in her class. If Ainsley stood next to her, she’d tower over the woman.

  Karmody was a little slow with the introductions and so she extended her hand, cutting him off.

  “Olivia Noriega, nice to meet you.” Her handshake was firm and all business. Her smile was genuine.

  “Martel Long. Thank you for coming on such short notice.” To Mr. Karmody, she asked, “Anything you need from me? We have about five minutes.”

  “Gran has filled me in. Only thing I want you to do is not to answer anything unless we say it’s okay to do so. But don’t make it obvious. Make it natural. And don’t be nervous, no matter what you hear, okay?” the attractive attorney said.

  “I always say walk in a couple of minutes early and catch him off guard a bit. Attorneys are always late.”

  “Good idea,” said Olivia. “Do you have any questions, Miss Long?”

  “Oh, please call me Martel.”

  “Fine. If you need to talk to us in private, you ask for that. Or ask to use the restroom and I’ll probably go with you, so don’t be concerned if that happens.”

  “I pee a lot when I get nervous. It will probably happen.”

  “Perfectly natural,” she said and gave Martel a wide, generous smile.

  “Show the way, little lady,” said Karmody.

  Martel walked ahead of them, passing classrooms in session. She could hear the lessons being taught, the students answering and saw hands go up. She felt so much more comfortable in class. That was her environment, not the Administrator’s office.

  They walked into the Attendance Office and she greeted the school secretary seated behind the long counter. “Good morning, Shirley. We’re here to meet in Mr. Green’s office.”

  “Oh yes, dear. They’re in there now.” She leaned forward. “I think you can go in,” she whispered, pushing her purple glasses back into her nose.

  Martel turned left, crossing a series of teacher boxes, some worktables for students who had to spend study time in the Administrator’s office, or who waited for parents to pick them up, the school nurse’s office, on to the closed door of Mr. Green’s office. She knocked.

  Green was sweating already, reminding Martel that the office had always had trouble with the air conditioning system. His eyes darted behind her, studying the two attorney she’d brought, and then he focused back on Martel. “Manny’s all ready for you.” And then to the attorneys, he extended his hand, “I’m Carlton Green the school administrator. Thanks for coming.”

  Gran Karmody was the f
irst to speak. “Mr. Green, you have yourself a fine little school here. Nice and clean, I can see why my client loves teaching here.”

  Martel noted that Karmody was going to allow the misconception he was just a good old boy, a country lawyer in over his head. Green made a slight grunt, passing right by him and shaking Olivia Noriega’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Green. I’m Olivia Noriega.”

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” Green asked.

  “Not far. Sarasota. My office is in Sarasota.”

  Manny Risso, recognizable by his pencil-thin moustache from the famous billboard, was not much taller than Ms. Noriega, which surprised Martel. He appeared in the doorway and immediately lit up when he saw her.

  “Olivia! Why it’s been too long.”

  Administrator Green appeared ill at ease, and quickly retreated into one of the other little offices while the two attorneys briefly caught up.

  “Manny and I were classmates in law school,” she said to Martel, following it up with a pert smile.

  “Well, this is most excellent. Most excellent. Great to be working with true professionals, and old friends? Why that just makes it even better.” He turned his back and entered Green’s office. Martel and Olivia shared a look between them, until Ms. Noriega rolled her eyes.

  “After you, ladies,” Karmody said.

  Manny Risso sat in Carlton Green’s chair, in front of the plaques he’d earned as Teacher of the Year, and then Administrator of the Year, along with other service club awards, and pictures of him with students at science fairs and two Halloween carnivals, as well as a Rowdies game with several of the parents.

  Except that Manny looked ridiculous sitting there. The chair was too low, and the desk came up mid chest such that he looked like a sixth grader sitting at his dad’s desk. He had a yellow notepad already filled with a couple of pages of notes, folded back on itself. He spoke to Martel first.

  “I think Carlton explained what we’re doing here, Miss Long. This is just an informal meeting to go over some of the allegations—opinions, if you will—so we have a basis and context on which to start.”

  Before he could utter another word, Olivia inserted herself.

  “Start what?”

  Risso sat up straight, beginning to realize how undersized he was sitting at the large desk of a very large man. “Well, to check out the facts.”

  “Why don’t you tell Gran and I what the facts are, as you see it, first. And then we’ll respond.”

  “Well, obviously it’s early, and we’re still gathering the details. I thought Miss Long could fill—”

  “We’d like to know what was communicated to you. You’ve had some discussions with Mr. Green, but you haven’t communicated anything to our client. So, why don’t you fill us in?” she said, smiling.

  Risso squirmed under the three sets of eyes on him, and Martel could see he hadn’t quite prepared to do most of the talking, but now was going to have to.

  “Okay, we can start there. But I would like to get Miss Long’s side of the story, if you don’t mind.”

  Olivia Noriega re-crossed her legs and leaned forward, tapping a red polished forefinger on the edge of the dark oak desk. “Let me be blunt, if I may, Mr. Risso. We aren’t here talking about suing your clients. Our only interest is two-fold. First, we’d like to see the young girl in question,” she turned to Martel.

  “Cora Gibbs.”

  “Cora Gibbs evaluated, and her home evaluated by the Pinellas County Sheriff. The reason is obvious. If there is some type of abuse going on, whether it’s in the classroom or the home or elsewhere, we’d like to see her evaluated by a professional, we’d like the parents on the record in the evaluation. And second, after you give us your take on the whole situation, from your client’s standpoint, if our client wishes to, and we advise it, she’ll answer questions.” She tapped the desk several more times. “But, not until then.”

  She sat back in her chair, and as an afterthought, plastered a smile on her face.

  Risso’s expression reflected the sudden realization he was headed straight toward a powerful locomotive, and he was driving a Volkswagen Beetle.

  Chapter 13

  Kyle had coordinated with the Commander’s team that they’d do a visual with their NVRs. They were also to take the other drone with the infrared camera and do a direct upload to Coronado so the Headshed could see in Realtime what they were up against. It wasn’t to be a raid, per se. In fact, they were to get in and out without anyone being detected, unless conditions were stellar, and they could remove both the hostages safely at the same time.

  He told them State was negotiating with the Mexican government, but it was not being fruitful. Through diplomatic channels, they’d been told that the government officially had no ties to the group that took the two Americans, and said they were trying to establish communication. But the days were ticking along. Two days was already too long.

  Everyone agreed.

  This was all standard, required channels since Ridgeway and Kelly were both federal employees, and Ridgeway’s rank was nearly that of an ambassador. Only difference was that he couldn’t order in troops or call an air strike independent of the dudes at Coronado.

  They were sitting in their huge common area table back at the housing project, just after the domestics and cooks had left for the day. Damon thought the food was delicious, especially the artfully arranged fruit platters they munched on all day and well into the evening.

  He was waiting for a chance to call Martel again. His first message went direct to voicemail.

  “I don’t get it, Kyle. How come there’s no random demand, no contact with anyone in Baja,” said T.J. “It’s not like there will be some prisoner exchange.”

  “It’s because they want something else,” a heavily accented voice boomed from the direction of the front door.

  Damon turned around and saw Sven Tolar completely blocking the entrance. A former FSB, Norwegian Special Forces operator, Sven had stayed behind to meet with a small commando team Kelly’s father-in-law had been organizing to work like a NGO, providing backup and intelligence for the Navy. He was to accompany Team 3 when they were tasked with a mission, but with Kelly’s capture, he dropped everything and came as fast as he could on his own.

  And he was Kelly’s fiancé.

  “Was wondering if you’d show up,” mumbled Tucker as he came over to give Tolar a brief hug and fist bump.

  Tolar dropped his duty bag and joined them at the table, reviewing maps Kyle had spread out. “My theory is that they don’t want to negotiate with the Americans. They can make more money negotiating with the other cartel who was here before. They follow a former Marine, Carlos Gutierrez, who comes from a wealthy family in Monterey, and hung for a time with Delta Group as a special terrorist group search and destroy unit. Except he turned on Uncle Sam, started lining his pockets with gold, equipment and then recruited half his team and went AWOL.”

  “He’s part of the California Surf Club, then,” said Damon.

  “That’s them. I see you’re focused on the villa,” he said, pointing to it on the map. “Carlos knows the State Department isn’t going to want to negotiate with him, because of the double cross he played on Uncle Sam. I think he’s thinking he could get more by negotiations with the old Cortez brothers.”

  “The General,” said Kyle.’

  “Cousins. Same family. The General is a minor player, but he does have the ear to the President of Mexico, and he controls a sizeable militia, all state-owned but used to enhance the family’s assets.”

  “And what value are they to Cortez?”

  “Why, they save the U.S. Special Agents and curry favor with Washington D.C. That means more, like foreign aid, cooperation in Mexico’s economic development plan, etc.”

  “And forfeit their holdings in Baja,” said Trace.

  “It’s a small price to pay. They will get protection here. The turf war stops, and everyone goes back to their corner
s.”

  “It’s kinda brilliant, if you think about it,” said Kyle. “The Surf Club gets the girls and drugs between Baja and the US, without having to watch their backs. They hand the Cortez group something they want, a direct line to elements in our government who might want peace and safety for its citizens on vacation. Not to mention lucrative contracts to partner and build more hotels all over the resort areas, not just Baja.”

  “Exactly,” beamed Sven.

  “Have you or anyone had any contact with either of them?” Kyle asked.

  “Ridgeways has been disabled, or temporarily removed,” said Sven. “Not sure what that means.”

  Damon could see the burden of Kelly’s kidnapping weighed heavy on him.

  “Tonight, we’re going for a look-see. I’m assuming you’ll want to come.” Kyle’s tone was flat, his eyes downcast. There wasn’t much anyone could say to make Sven feel better. Damon knew he just wanted to see with his own eyes she was okay.

  “You sure we can’t pull off an extraction?” Sven pleaded. “Problem is that these things are fluid. They might make a deal, and then she’d be shipped out. I know the bosses will do everything they can to keep her alive, but the rank and file?” He shook his head. “They can be careless. And some of them don’t have much of a moral code, if you know what I mean.”

  “We’ll get her,” said T.J. placing a hand on his shoulder. “She’s one of us. She’s kept a bunch of us alive more than once. Now, your sorry ass, I’m not so sure.”

  Everyone had a good laugh at that one.

  “You go on up and take a shower, Sven. Take the room upstairs on the left, at the end next to mine. Everyone else’s paired up, so you’ll have the suite closest to the equipment room.”

  “What did I do? Is it my feet? My snoring?”

  “It’s your breath, Sven. You fish-eating Norwegians need to brush your teeth more often.”

  The men started to scatter. Kyle shouted instructions, “Get some rest. We head over there after nightfall, nineteen hundred. On foot.”