Revenge (Bone Frog Bachelor Book 3), page 5
It was going to be redundant, but I said it again. “So sorry. I can see that your work at the UN then is a hard-fought war you’re waging against such atrocities.”
He nodded. “Precisely.”
“So you left when you were ten? After the death of your parents?”
“Not exactly. That happened about five years later. That day, when I was ten, this group came through and killed everybody they could grab. A bunch of us children ran off into the brush. Lucky for us, our parents had been in town selling chickens at the market during the raid, so the only casualties were the elderly, some children who could not run, teachers, and the priest who taught music.”
I chose silence. Nothing I could have said would have been appropriate.
“You see, it was what my childhood was all about. I grew up with these things happening every few years, sometimes months. My father didn’t come home one evening. We never did find out what happened to him. My mother stayed home more, to watch over me and my three sisters. Unfortunately for them, they were all pretty. Even my mother. And about five years later, a band of militants came through and took them all. I escaped and wondered about their fate for several years, even after I was smuggled out of the country and sent to England to finish my schooling.”
I didn’t want to push for an answer, but I could see he had one. I was going to wait for him to offer it up.
“So I am very familiar with this area, if familiar is the proper term. I’d like to ask you one question, Marco. Why the hell are you building in this particular province?”
“Well, I’m not sure if you are aware, but I am doing this for the Sultan of Bonin, a close personal friend and business associate of mine.”
“Yes, yes. I understand. But why there? There are so many other countries that could really use the projects. I just don’t understand why Nigeria. Why the central west coast?”
“He has some connection there. I don’t know, maybe it’s just a piece of land that he bought. He’s a rather stubborn man, sometimes unrealistic.”
“But my understanding is you are going to be protecting his two sons and your company is going to run security for the operation, as well as help build it?” he asked me.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Then I think it would be wise on your part, after we rescue your staff, to tell the sultan he has to make another choice. This is not a tenable situation. And if someone had asked me before you started this whole caper what I thought of it, I would’ve said they were absolutely crazy. You cannot force animals who are used to living in cages to live in buildings and do the laundry and clean the dishes. You understand what I mean?”
“I do understand, and I think the sultan’s position is that he would like to construct buildings that common people could live in. He wants to do something for the people, not for the government. He wants to give them a chance to have shelter, roof over their heads, something safe they can defend.”
“With broomsticks and pieces of scrap metal?” Carson stared at me and then shook his head slowly from side to side. “You people who are so altruistic, rich people with everything in the world to live for, why would you want to risk your lives for this?”
I had an answer for this. It probably wasn’t what he was expecting, but at least it was an answer. “I’ve heard him talk about it before. And he’s told me, ‘We build this, and somebody will come in and burn it.’ He knows this.”
“But why?”
“I’m getting there. He says then someone else will come in and rebuild it. And perhaps then someone will tear it down again. And he said one time, eventually, somebody will build something there and it will stay. He said he wants to make a statement. He’s not worried about the money. He wants to make a statement, a stand against evil. Now I’m just thinking out loud here, but it’s far enough away from his island kingdom that I suppose he doesn’t think it’ll come back to haunt him.”
“Except if he loses one or both his sons or perhaps his friendship. I understand losing money, even though I’ve never had much, but I don’t understand if someone has the chance to live free from the violence why they would run in and have to try to intervene. It’s more than any one construction project or any wealthy sultan can do. There are a dozen countries trying to stop these militant groups in North Africa and all over the whole continent. The UN has tried everything they can, and it’s almost hopeless. We hope it will be solved, but there is so much greed and corruption and just pure evil, I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
I was surprised to hear how pessimistic Carson was. I didn’t expect this. I expected some kind of inspiring speech about what a good thing we were trying to do, even against all the odds I knew were there. Some sort of thanks, not someone who would request we quit.
“Do I surprise you then?” Carson Odingo asked me.
“I guess I didn’t mask my feelings very well, did I? Yes, you have. And I’m wondering why.”
“There are wars that you can win, things you can change, and things you cannot change. Isn’t it like that twelve-step prayer they do? The courage to understand the truth of it and the wisdom to know the difference between what can be saved and what cannot be saved? I’ll grant you, the intended outcome is to have peace, and I would love nothing more than to have peace especially in my homeland. But I’m not chasing windmills, Marco. I’m going to try to keep some expats and Americans from getting murdered at the behest of Senator Campbell and with the blessing of the organization I work for. It is what I do. I negotiate. I want to have peace, but we have to pick our battles, don’t we? We really do need to be smart about our resources. And even if we win, and this place gets built, and everyone cheers and has a big celebration, how long do you think it’ll be before it’ll all be pulled down again?”
“That’s not for me to say, Carson. It’s really not what I’m sent to do. I understand your concern. I’ve been there too. When I was a SEAL, I did ops all throughout north and central Africa, you know this.”
He nodded.
“We weren’t in the business, at that time, of making a permanent change. We were in the business of identifying and extracting the bad actors. It’s what we were told to do. Our job wasn’t to build; it was to eliminate some of the threats.”
“That I understand, Marco. It takes a smart and a brave man to confront pure evil, run in and try to put the fire out while the building is collapsing around you. It’s admirable, and I wish the world were made up of millions and millions of people who would willingly do that every day. It’s just that there’s so many innocent people that get hurt in the meantime.”
He was completely right, of course. It was the stuff of nightmares and sessions on a couch in a lonely office, the reason sometimes meds were overprescribed because no one really knew how to get rid of those nightmares, especially the unintended ones we all caused.
Those were the worst.
The only thing I’d learned was not to ever give up. So I wasn’t going to today.
“Well, we have agreement then, Carson. Because I think it can eventually be wiped out. I think good is stronger than evil. I think if we’re prepared and trained and have good intel, there’s practically no limit to what a small force can do, even up against much larger odds. I’ve seen it happen in my time on the Teams. I’ve trained people to do it in countries that needed their own support system. I do believe in eradicating evil. And if we get to do that while we build some housing for some people, I think that’s a worthwhile cause. It may not be the kind of thing my fiancée wants me to do, but it is a worthwhile cause.”
He watched me just to see if I blinked or showed some sign I was blowing smoke up his ass. I knew he was an extremely good judge of character. He changed his stance, clapped his hands together, and then rubbed his palms.
“Okay, then. I think we better get started.”
We discussed some of the logistics. He understood we were taking a charter flight to Cape Verde, where I had some equipment and some friends I wanted to pick up. He told me that he had three key men who had spent many years working for the UN forces and Afrika Korps and were well-versed in the terrain, as well as the language and the population in general. We could pick them up in Benin near the airport. We would travel to the Nigerian border, get as far inland as we could, and then do the rest on foot.
“At least that’s the plan, Marco. If you agree. I’m also in favor of just swooping in, landing, and not doing the land excursion. And you would probably save a day or a day and a half if we did it that way. But it’s a lot more problematic. I’m not sure I can get my three guys to meet us in Nigeria. But I could try.”
“Is it possible to do? My concern is these are not people who are used to being captive in the jungle somewhere, with God knows who doing what to them. We’ve not received any ransom demands. Other than the money they confiscated from the plane, we don’t believe they’re in it for that. At least whoever is running the show isn’t. They already blew up my plane, so they don’t care about the resource. Only thing I’ve been told is that someone wants to have a meet and greet. But where and when, I haven’t a clue.”
Mr. Odinga let out a huge sigh, drowning out my mumbling narrative as he spewed out, “His name is John Okubo. He was in prison in Portugal for several years, after being caught doing some smuggling in Benin. He and a band of several others escaped and made their way back to Nigeria, which is their homeland too. He has a special hatred for Westerners, for people who like to come in and do good, like aid workers and UN peacekeepers. He likes to sacrifice villagers. His favorite method is beheading. He leaves examples everywhere he goes.” He shook his head before continuing.
“I have heard enough from the reports we’ve received to be able to positively identify him as the culprit. Johnny cannot be stopped. He has to be killed. But I didn’t tell you that. I think the number of people he has murdered with his own hands is approaching a thousand by now. And there would be a very loud round of applause in the whole African community here if he were put down like the dog he is. I don’t know if we can do that. But we should consider that as part of our plan. Because trust me, he probably already knows you’re coming even though you’ve had no contact. And he’s looking for someone high profile he can make an example of. So, Marco, on top of everything else, you have to try not to get captured. You want to run and get shot. But you don’t want to get captured. Unless you want your entrails splashed all over the Internet. Am I making myself clear?”
I saw what he was describing, and it wasn’t my body with my guts coming out. It was somebody else’s. I knew in my heart I could do this. If I had the right people and the right tools.
I swallowed hard and set those images aside for a minute.
“I say we fly in, pick up your guys in Cape Verde, hop over to Nigeria, we get the job done, we rescue them, and we get out. I don’t want to be marching through jungle for a day and a half hoping that we’ll find them alive when we get there. So let’s get our butts in gear, and go get them.”
“Easy day, right?” he said, fist bumping my left hand with his.
“No, that’s what the JV team says. The varsity team says ‘let’s go spill some blood.’”
Chapter 6
Shannon
After the filming, I headed to the ladies’ room, right behind Rebecca. I pulled out my face wash, dabbed a little in my palm, and handed my bottle to her.
“Thanks. I should have thought to bring something, but—” she started.
“I have everything you might need here. I’ve done this so many times, and I hate going home all painted up, if you know what I mean.”
“You’re the natural type, Shannon. Beautiful without makeup. I, on the other hand, well, I’m a little older, and I like the dragon lady look a bit, probably too much.” She rocked her head from side to side and pouted her lower lip as if she was accepting something about herself or admitting she had a flaw.
“I just think you like wearing makeup. Some women do. I never learned to.”
“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked as she brushed water on her face and began to scrub with the cleanser.
“I thought you did a wonderful job of explaining the history of the Towers and especially the part about how it was so important to the community. We’re having a little bit of trouble with the Pinellas County Planning Director, who was once in favor of the project but now seems to be a little hesitant. Have you ever run across him before?”
I watched for signs she was somehow complicit in the planning director’s change of heart. But as she looked at me, her face dripping with fresh water, I didn’t see a thing to indicate that. I was struck by how beautiful she was without makeup and wondered why she felt she had to wear so much. I had lost myself examining the lines and the graceful contours of her face when, all of a sudden, I remembered she needed a towel, which I promptly found for her in the cupboard.
“I’m sorry about this.”
“No worries,” she mumbled into the towel. “You are welcome to use that clip as much as you like, for advertising or promotional purposes. If that’s what you were going to ask me, I give you permission.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. But I wanted to talk to you about something else. I just wondered if you would agree to help me with the planning director. You spoke so eloquently about the project, and you were involved in it early on, unlike I’ve been. I admit that. It’s not a problem for me. But I just think it would be good for the project if you could come with me and speak to him.”
“All right. I suppose I can do that. When?”
“In about—” I checked my watch and then looked up at her. “About forty-five minutes from now, if you’re free.”
“Is he in Tampa?” she asked.
“No, Clearwater. The county offices are in Clearwater. I was to meet him at a local restaurant, but now he wants to meet in his office. I’m taking that as a sign the relationship is going south.”
“Well, I don’t think we’re going to be there on time, unless we leave right now.”
“Then you’re saying yes?” I couldn’t believe she was that easy to convince.
“Yes, absolutely. Whatever will help this project go forward, I’m all in.”
It was the second time today I could have leaned over, grabbed her, and hugged her. But, of course, I didn’t. There was still a little bit of hesitation on my part, that little piece of me that still didn’t completely trust her, but I was going to take her at her word and give her the chance I thought she deserved. She had not been playing games with me after all. She probably had some misgivings about working with me as well. I thought perhaps we might be a good team, coming at this particular problem from two different positions.
We quickly gathered our things, and I offered to drive, but Rebecca insisted on following me in her car. “I have an old friend coming to town who’s taken a house out at the beach, so I just think it’ll be better if I follow you.”
We arrived approximately five minutes before our allotted time and found parking in the city lot next to each other. We hurried up the steps into the large foyer of the planning department annex, announced ourselves, and were shown to the hallway that led to the planning director’s office at the end. As we click clacked down the concrete floor to the glass office door with his name painted on the front, there wasn’t anything about the office, the hallway, or the building that was warm and friendly. In fact, it reminded me of a prison or a tomb.
“Boy, a little paint, some color, some—”
“Plants?” she interrupted me.
“Exactly!”
“I could never work in a place like this. That’s why I love Manhattan, with all the beautiful art deco exteriors and Rococo. I love the wood paneling and the tall ceilings, how ornate things are, or how simple and streamlined. I love architecture. This is just a box. It’s just an ugly box, and it’s even painted an ugly… what is that color?”
“I think they call it puce.”
We both giggled, reached the door, and pushed it open.
Inside, the office wasn’t as bad as the hallway, but it was plain, containing six gray desks that were probably vintage by now, at least forty years old. Every single desk was covered in stacks of legal-sized manilla files. In the back left-hand corner was another frosted glass door, and this door also had the planning director’s name stenciled on the outside. We were greeted by a secretary who promptly took us through that door and introduced us to the planning director, William Warren.
“Mr. Warren, this is Shannon Marr and her companion—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“I’m Rebecca Gambini.”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Warren dismissed his secretary with a bark.
He was rotund, at least wider than he should have been at his small five-foot-four-inch stature. He was standing, pulling his trousers up around his rather large waist and repositioning his belt buckle. He peered around both of us and addressed his secretary again, who had not left the office.
“I said we’re fine here, Cora. If you would please hold my calls, and I’ve got an appointment in about a half an hour, so if we’re not quite finished just have Mr. Woodward wait a few minutes if he doesn’t mind. Okay?”
“You got it, sir.”
Cora left the room and closed the door behind her.
We had not been invited to sit, so Rebecca and I glanced at each other and remained standing in front of his desk. Mr. Warren sat, first looking up at us and then ordering us to take a seat. I pulled a folding chair from around the side of his desk, and Rebecca took the one chair that was directly in front of Mr. Warren.
“I understand we’re to be discussing the Trident Towers today, is that correct?” he asked, fluttering his eyelids as if he was thinking of what to say. I found it terribly distracting that he didn’t look me in the eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Warren. It seems there has been some kind of a delay in the processing of our permits. I have submitted everything that’s been requested of us, and now we understand there’s some additional engineering that’s required. I think we’re getting a letter in the mail, so maybe you could help me there.”
