The room was silent. Jane Doe number one now had a face, and a story. She was no longer just a name symbolizing anonymity.
Deke said, “That’s the story of our first plaintiff, but as you might imagine, we’re now representing dozens of Jane Does. The way I look at it, this could be our Spartacus moment.”
Deke took a read of the mostly blank faces. “Anyone familiar with that name?”
When no one answered, Jake said, “Didn’t he lead a slave uprising against Rome?”
“That’s right. A Rome which at the time had the most powerful government and army on the planet. Hollywood made a movie of Spartacus, with Kirk Douglas playing him. One of the great scenes of all time is when a defeated Spartacus tries to turn himself over to the enemy in the hope that the other slaves would be allowed to live. But his comrades refuse to let Spartacus die alone. One by one, they stand up and tell the Romans, ‘I am Spartacus.’”
Deke let those words sink in before adding, “That needs to be our message, and the message of our Jane Does. We have to stake out our position against this modern slave trade.”
“Damn right,” said Gina.
“I know enforcing the law shouldn’t fall to trial lawyers,” Deke said, “but I’m convinced that is where we now find ourselves, especially since it seems the government and law enforcement are asleep at the wheel.”
Deke’s gaze turned to Jake, and then to Carol. Her smile and nod encouraged him to keep talking. Time for my confession, he thought.
“There’ve been whispers here recently about the condition of my face, and how it looks even worse than usual. There’s a reason for that. I recently tangled with a human trafficker. My hope was to liberate a young woman named Lily Reyes. My connection with Lily is that I am her godfather, or at least that’s what I was supposed to be. Truth is, I failed miserably in that responsibility. While Carol’s team continues to track down Lily, I’m trying to find what atonement I can by doing whatever it takes in the Welcome Mat case to assist other women who have been trafficked.”
Deke shook his head and sighed. His goddaughter was still out there. He stopped talking and sat there, lost in thought. People stirred, unsure if the meeting was over. Deke knew he should say something, but the words wouldn’t come.
There was movement in the room, and someone cleared his throat. Deke looked up to see Michael standing up from his seat.
“I am Spartacus,” Michael said.
The unexpected words reverberated through the room. At another firm, with a different group of associates, Michael’s announcement might have been met with laughter, or even derision. But for those at the table, the rallying cry brought everyone to their feet.
One by one, each announced, “I am Spartacus.”
Deke swallowed hard, multiple times. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t feel like I deserved that, but . . . thank you.”
He found his smile again, and said, “I suppose I should mention that Spartacus and his slave rebellion were utterly crushed, and the Romans were anything but merciful. Crucified slaves lined the Appian Way for miles and miles. I can only hope the slave insurgence that we’re a part of has a much better outcome.”
XVII
Michael took to the road right after the meeting. There were fewer drivers than usual; the pounding rain was discouraging traffic. For Michael, taking a drive in these conditions was a playtime of sorts, giving him an opportunity to enjoy the challenge of the elements. His Jeep Grand Cherokee Trailhawk had been specially modified for adverse weather. It was equipped with a lift kit that had premium coil springs and bigger wheels, as well as a snorkel attached to the air intake to keep it from being clogged by mud or water.
The Jeep’s modifications weren’t designed to stand out. Even its color was understated: a flat gray. Most Jeep owners went with black, or flame red. They wanted their vehicles as much for show as for go. Michael saw that as a liability. Cops targeted showboats. Michael didn’t see any reason to make himself a bull’s-eye to the police or anyone else.
During the drive, Michael’s thoughts kept returning to the meeting he’d just attended. Deke’s spilling his guts, and not making any excuses, had reaffirmed his good opinion of the man. That was what had brought Michael to his feet. By nature, he was reserved, but doing that had felt right. In the car, he found himself once more saying the words, “I am Spartacus.”
Maybe his decision to become a lawyer hadn’t been so crazy after all. Not all battles, he was learning, needed to be waged with camos and M16 rifles. Sometimes the better weapons were suits and briefcases.
Michael used the GPS to direct him to the Emerald Hideaway, but pulled over a mile short of the destination in the deserted parking lot at James Lee Beach. The storm was keeping people home.
Using voice commands, he opened his phone’s search engine and began preparing for the mission. The Emerald Hideaway described itself as a “boutique hotel.” From what he could determine, being a boutique hotel meant that it had only fifty guest rooms, with room rates starting at five hundred dollars a night. All the suites had full water views.
Michael was interested in more than the brochure description. He tweaked his search engine commands and studied the property’s layout, including areas of ingress and egress. Unlike most of Florida’s lodgings, which featured open layouts and catered to walk-in business, the Emerald Hideaway was enclosed on all sides. At the front entrance was a bellman’s stand that controlled foot traffic entering the property. The subterranean garage offered the only other access to the hotel, with parking attendants and security gates controlling all comings and goings. That was enough for Michael to decide to park away from the property. He didn’t want to surrender his keys to a valet, or allow the hotel’s security system to record his Jeep’s license plate number.
According to the GPS, he was only five minutes away from his target. Michael exited the beach parking lot and as he drove familiarized himself with the area, pulling over on a side street two blocks away from the Emerald Hideaway. Before setting out, he pulled an umbrella from the back of the Jeep. After adjusting his tie and putting a comb through his hair, Michael started toward the hotel. In under two minutes he arrived at the property.
The two attendants eyed him as he began his ascent up the hotel stairs leading to the entrance. Both men wore shirts that announced them as staff. One of the men, in particular, stretched the fabric almost to the breaking point.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said the smaller of the two. His name tag identified him as Frank. “Are you checking in?”
It was a good way for Frank to learn his business and control his movements without seeming obtrusive, Michael thought. Though it wasn’t yet noon, Frank already had a heavy five o’clock shadow. Under his right eye was a patch of skin that stood out for its whiteness, a spot where Michael suspected there had once been a teardrop tattoo. A laser had removed it, but had left a telltale mark.
“Actually, I’m here to scout out the property.” That much, at least, was true. “My brother is getting married next June, and he wants me to pick out the perfect location in the Destin, Fort Walton Beach area. I need to talk to someone in sales.”
“You have appointment?” asked the muscle-bound guard, speaking with an accent that sounded Eastern European. His name tag identified him as Andrei. Michael immediately nicknamed him Andrei the Giant. The man stared at him with shark eyes, a dark pupil surrounded by blue. His features looked Slavic, with prominent cheekbones, a broad face, and ears low on his head, one of which appeared to have cauliflower scarring. His nose was flattened, likely as a result of having been broken.
“Appointment?” Michael’s tone made it clear he wasn’t used to being questioned in such a manner. “Why? I’m here to have a conversation with someone who can tell me about having a wedding at this establishment. This isn’t some kind of private club, is it? I was under the impression that it’s a hotel.”
Frank took over from his companion. “Because we get lots of celebrities
here, we look out for the privacy of our guests.”
“If you want me to be a future guest, can we finish with this TSA routine so that I can just talk to someone in sales?”
“I’ll take you to see our director of sales,” Frank said.
Michael was led through the courtyard. The sales office was located off the garden patio, where a blond fortyish woman sat at her desk. As the men entered the office, she raised her index finger to signal that she would need a minute.
Dismissing his escort with a twenty-dollar bill, Michael took a seat in one of the chairs. Frank didn’t linger. Michael tracked his movements until he passed from sight, then it was his turn to raise his index finger, signaling to the sales director that he’d be back in a minute. Before she even had a chance to respond, he was out of her office.
The three-story property was spread out over almost two acres, but Michael was only interested in the guest suites. In one hand he held the umbrella, in the other he palmed his phone, ready to surreptitiously snap pictures. He played the role of a well-heeled guest, covering ground quickly while trying to appear unhurried.
The pool area was absent save for a fortysomething male sipping coffee while sitting under a table with an umbrella. At first glance the man, in a blazer and tan linen pants, looked like a typical guest. But Michael thought it strange that someone would be sitting outside on a rainy day. He also didn’t think it was a coincidence that the spot where he was sitting offered a good vantage point for the hotel rooms.
But what was he surveilling? There was no obvious activity to be seen, or was there? He followed the gaze of the sentry and saw him studying a maid on the second floor gathering some towels from a linen cart parked on the walkway outside the room where she was working. When she disappeared back inside, the man turned his attention toward Michael. Avoiding any eye contact, Michael raised his wrist as if checking the time on his watch, all the while walking toward an elevator. That’s when he discovered you needed a guest key card to access the elevator. Michael stopped to remove an imaginary rock from his shoe, time enough to think about what to do next.
Pretending to feel the vibration of his phone, Michael studied the display, then put it up to his ear and said, “Bret! How’s it going, buddy?”
As he talked, Michael reversed course, returning in the direction from which he’d come. “Yeah, I’m in Destin,” he said, was silent for a moment as if listening to a response, then offered a short laugh. “Destin’s in Florida, of course. I’m doing a favor for my bro. He’s getting married, and I’ve got best man duty.”
The one-way conversation continued past the pool and most of the way back to the sales office. The sales director was standing outside and looking around with a concerned air. Unescorted tours, thought Michael, did not seem to be encouraged.
“There you are,” she said.
“Call of nature, or it was supposed to be, but I couldn’t find the bathroom.”
“There’s one in the lobby.”
“I’m okay for now, and I got to see some of this beautiful property.” He extended his hand. “Grant Conway.” The name came easily to him. He and Grant had gone through PJ special operations training—known as the pipeline—together.
“Mia Jacobson,” she said, and the two of them shook.
“I won’t take up much of your time, Ms. Jacobson. My brother is getting married and I’m the best man. He’s looking for the perfect property, and I’m his eyes. Derek is a doctor, and his wife-to-be is an oral surgeon. Talk about bucks, right? So, they’ve got plenty of money, and are looking to do this top drawer. If you can give me the grand tour, I can report back to them.”
The woman was ready to be apologetic. “I am afraid, Mr. Conway, we’ll need to schedule a time for your tour of the property . . .”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I am sorry, but I’m the only one in the office and have other obligations . . .”
Michael cut her off again. “I’m a lawyer. My time is limited. You can give me a five-minute tour, can’t you?”
“I wish I could, but . . .”
Once more, Michael didn’t let her finish. “If you can’t take me around, then I guess I’ll have to do a self-tour.”
She was already shaking her head. “The ownership requires that you be accompanied around the premises by an employee.”
“Then how do we make that happen right now?”
Michael could see that she was wavering, and did his best to seal the deal. “Tell you what, you give me the fifty-cent tour, and I’ll be glad to provide any free legal advice you might need.”
The offer captured Mia’s interest. “I suppose I shouldn’t be saying this, especially with your brother’s impending marriage, but I’m considering filing for divorce.”
“I’m all ears,” said Michael.
* * *
Of all the areas of law, none interested Michael less than divorce law, but that didn’t stop him from doing his best to advise Mia Jacobson. He was familiar enough with family law to be able to answer most of her inquiries, although he did stress that his area of expertise was real estate law. In truth, he was about as interested in real estate law as he was in family law. However, the more helpful Michael was in answering Mia’s questions, the longer the tour extended. Both held umbrellas over their heads and tried to ignore the relentless pelting of the rain.
“The weather, as you know, is usually picture perfect,” she said.
As they approached the first-floor guest room wing, Michael observed a housekeeper getting linen from one of the maid’s carts. While pretending interest in a towering bird of paradise, Michael studied the housekeeper, a young woman who appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties. Her name tag identified her as Yana.
“Here we are,” Mia said, coming to a stop in front of a hotel room. “All of our accommodations are suites, and while we don’t have a honeymoon suite per se, as you’ll see all of our rooms are quite spectacular.”
Michael followed her into the room and gave an appreciative whistle. “Almost makes me want to get married.”
It was a good thing he’d remembered to put his wedding ring in his front right pocket.
The room, with its long, panoramic balcony, offered a view of the water that should have adorned a postcard. Even on a stormy day it looked beautiful. Mia pulled back the sheer drapes, then cracked open the sliding glass doors. Between the room and the sand stood a high wrought iron fence capped with spikes. It was a visible deterrent to anyone thinking of entering—or exiting—the property.
“Look, a rainbow.”
As Michael followed the direction of her hand, his attention was diverted by the nearby sound of a sliding glass door opening. A maid wearing a shower cap came out to the balcony with a brush and began scrubbing the railing, cleaning away the calling cards of seagulls that hadn’t been washed away by the rain.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Mia, transfixed by the rainbow Michael had yet to look at.
The sound of her voice caused the maid to turn. She looked uncertain as to whether to keep cleaning or to retreat back into the room. After deliberating for only a moment, she withdrew, but her momentary indecision allowed Michael to see her name tag. For a moment, he thought that luck was with him, but on closer inspection saw the name tag said Katrya. It was another Eastern European name, but not the one he wanted to see.
Michael returned inside the room, and feigned interest in its accommodations. He paused to look at a guest phone. It wasn’t like a typical hotel phone that offered extensions within the hotel, or information about getting an outside line.
“How would I make a local call?” he asked.
“Most guests just use their cell phones, but I suppose you could ask the hotel operator for an outside line.”
“And what if my brother wants extra towels, or room service?”
“The hotel operator or front desk facilitate all guest requests. We’ve found it easier to have them deal with any issues ou
r guests might have.”
It was also a great way of limiting contact with service staff, he thought.
* * *
When Michael returned to work, he stopped by Diana’s desk and offered a regretful shake of his head. “No luck spotting her, I’m afraid.”
Diana didn’t look surprised by the news, but Michael could still read her disappointment. “I keep staring at my phone waiting for her call.”
“Maybe the next one will be her.”
Diana motioned with her head to Deke’s office. “Better catch him while he’s free. Carol and Jake are due to see him in five minutes.”
Michael thanked her and stepped over to Deke’s office. He stuck his head inside, and Deke waved him in.
“I was eavesdropping,” Deke said. “No luck finding your client?”
“I saw a few other maids. Judging by their names, I suspect they’re Ukrainian nationals as well.”
“If that’s true, they’re probably H2B visa workers. That’s the status of one of the Jane Does we’re representing in the Welcome Mat case.”
“Excuse my ignorance, but what’s an H2B worker?”
“It’s a designation for a visa given to a nonimmigrant. Basically, it allows foreign workers to temporarily reside and be employed in the US. We’ll need to determine if that’s the status of Karina and the others.”
“Will that have a bearing on my case?”
“If Karina represented her working conditions accurately, and she and the others are in enforced servitude, her nonimmigrant status won’t matter. Slavery is against the law.”
“I would hope so.”
“Your case could have important legal consequences, and potentially establish case law defining the government’s responsibilities when it comes to overseeing H2B workers.”
“I’m glad you entrusted me with the mission.”
Hearing the case described in military terms seemed to amuse Deke. “So, what was it you said that you did in the Air Force? PJ, was it?”
“Yes,” Michael said, managing to bite off the “sir.”
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