Second Chance SEAL: The Girl He Left Behind (Sunset SEALs Book 2)

by Sharon Hamilton

  Comments from the team were muttered and frequent.

  “Right now, this little square of real estate is costing Uncle Sam close to one billion a year. It’s not for rent. It’s for a payoff. We are given this place and access to and from this place for thirty days and thirty days only. After that, it’s business as usual, unfortunately. It’s a real Quid Pro Quo, and yes they do exist. Someone got their finance minister and his family out, and in exchange, we get to rent this. You know how it goes, we clean it up, take the bad guys out, and their competition comes in and fills in the gaps, right?”

  Most of the Team shook their heads. A couple of the men said “right.”

  “We’ll be talking to the US Carson City out of here when we’re done. They’ll take us to another airstrip, undetermined at this point, so we can fly home. If we get everything done in a week, then you get to be back before Thanksgiving. If it takes thirty days, then we probably fucked it up pretty good.”

  “I want you all to divide up in the rooms upstairs, and yes, there is an elevator. There is even a swimming pool on the roof level. Bear in mind, if you were swimming in that pool or laying out next to it, satellites, birds and drones will take pictures of your sorry asses. So, I suggest you swim at night, if we’re not working. No, I don’t wanna have to remind anybody about the rules. This is a big one.”

  He surveyed the circle of men. “We meet back down here in about four hours, okay?”

  Renny and Damon ran up the flight of stairs to the third floor, having spotted a large conference room with double glass doors overlooking the largest balcony and catwalk. If a room was a room, then a large conference room like this would be perfect for the two of them.

  What they found was an executive club level meeting room, complete with another stocked bar, and a see-through mirror between the bathroom and the large king size bed in the bedroom. They searched for a second bed, and Renny informed Damon that they’d have to be sharing the bed.

  “Sorry, kid.”

  “Let’s put something over that mirror, because I sure don’t wanna watch you take a shit or even a shower,” Damon told him.

  Renny found a box of tarps left over from a painting crew. “You bring the duct tape?” he asked.

  “I sure did. Always, man.” As Renny started to hang the tarp, Damon jumped up to help by positioning it. Their divider was complete in less than two minutes.

  “I’m gonna give Martel a call, okay?”

  “Go for it. I’m taking a shower.”

  Damon sat on the enormous chocolate-colored leather couch located underneath the largest picture of a woman’s boobs he’d ever seen. He outstretched himself, glancing up at the erotic shapes, looking like they were floating all around him, and dialed.

  His call went right to voicemail.

  “Hey, sweetheart, I’m thinking hard about you right now, and I sure do miss you. We got here, and we’re safe. And it looks like it’s not going to be a long one. Other than that, I don’t know anything. But I can’t wait to be back home.”

  He continued letting his eyes lazily wander over the long circular strokes in the picture and figured out that some of them had been made by a woman’s breasts.

  “I’ve been thinking when I get back it might be a good idea to plan that trip. Or maybe I can fly out there, pick you up and accompany you to my humble abode.”

  He hit the pound sign. It wasn’t how he wanted to sound, so he erased the message and started over.

  “Hey, sweetheart, we made it over here safe. Renny is fine and says hi too. I’m thinking of you a lot. I can’t believe just twenty-four hours ago we were doing some pretty nice things. I hope you found the whipped cream. I hope you think of some good uses for it when I get home. I can’t wait to see what you come up with, if you know what I mean. Call me when you can.”

  He hesitated then added, “I can’t stop thinking about you, miss you, and, well, wanted to say… I love you, Martel. I can’t believe I was so stupid not to tell you that before I left. But I do.”

  He signed off. “Talk soon, bye.”

  He made the sound of two kisses and then sent the message.

  Chapter 12

  Somewhere, her mother had the adoption papers. She had reduced all of her mother’s things to one bank box, much of it mementos she couldn’t bear to read, like her parents’ marriage certificate, her birth record, and pictures of a family long gone.

  Shortly after Phyllis had grabbed her and given her the command, the machinery above her head started sounding alarms, and Martel was quickly whisked from the room. She waited for over two hours and then was told Phyllis was still alive, but sleeping.

  And she might not wake up.

  Had Kaitlyn’s mom expended the last bit of her life to deliver that message? Martel wondered how she would be able to tell her best friend.

  A light mist hit the windshield as she drove home.

  Heaven is crying.

  She didn’t want to think about all the decisions she made so many years ago. She was grateful she had her mother’s wise counsel to fall back on. But there was one day when she actually came close to contacting Damon’s parents, in an effort to find him.

  “What’s got you so blue, Martel?” her mom asked.

  “What if something’s wrong? What if he’s sick somewhere or had an accident or something?”

  “Okay. Then call them.”

  Her mom was good at not pushing. She stood in front of her with her arms crossed until the weakness in her legs forced her to sit down.

  “You have to make a decision, one way or the other, Martel. You lay out all possibilities, the reasons for and against, and then you decide. I know there’s part of you that doesn’t want to do this. But you know how this story goes. I mean, it’s been sixty days, and you’ve not heard one word, you’ve not read anything in the paper, and none of your friends have said anything, except that he joined the Navy. What does that sound like?”

  She’d been right. And while the relationship with Damon may have been a mistake, her baby wasn’t. That little life deserved to grow up and be a shining light for any of the childless couples she’d been reading about. She held the decision to bestow on one of them a miracle.

  So she never called. After she made her choice, and the introductions were over, they chose the home up in Oregon, because it was closer to the new parents. Her sole job was to bide her time, get ready to attend college in the fall, and stay healthy.

  The day they called her to let her know her mother was struggling and at the edge of her own life, the kind hospice nurse told her that her mother took great pleasure looking at the pictures Martel was sending. She kept them in a leather folder in her purse.

  “She wants you to do nothing but focus on the rest of your life, Martel. She doesn’t want any shame to fall on you.”

  “Tell her I want to be there.”

  “I will, but she wants you to stay in Oregon. She understands and told me expressly to let you know this. I’m afraid there won’t be any other messages, Martel.”

  The private shelter on the Oregon coast was a refuge. The small staff was experienced working with unmarried mothers coming from all sorts of situations. After her mother’s passing, they helped her plan the service and supported her decision not to attend.

  Martel continued sorting through the papers in the banker’s box until she found the leather envelope containing her pictures. They’d been placed in plastic sleeves, organized by date. One by one, they chronicled her development, some ultrasounds, and the view of her body from the side. On the back of the last picture, when she was nearly seven months along, her own handwriting displayed a message for her mother. She’d just gotten the news she was having a girl. Years later, it was now a message to herself.

  Very soon now, you’ll get to see her.

  She was sure her mother was delighted.

  Behind the last picture in the box was a folded sheaf of papers. When she unfolded it, she found a copy of the adoption contract, fi
rst signed by her and then countersigned by the baby’s future parents below.

  Martel had never seen the paper after she’d signed it. But her mother somehow had. The couple had only been known to her as Mark and Lori, and she wasn’t told exactly where they were from, but she guessed it was some place in Oregon. Lori was a teacher like Martel wanted to be some day. And Mark was the principal of the school Lori worked at.

  They really had turned out to be the best choice, the perfect parents. The contract spelled it all out: Arrangements for the Oregon stay, her doctor visits and hospital paid for up front, and her own clause. Everything was there, including that it was her wish not to be part of the baby’s life after the birth. The records had been sealed forever, she was told.

  Except now Martel had their last name. Newberg. Mark and Lori Newberg.

  Should she try to call them? Her mother had thought it best if she didn’t. But Kaitlyn’s mom clearly was in the other camp. Now, ten years later, her perspective had totally changed. She was warned that this might happen, but she signed the paperwork anyway.

  How hard would it be to trace them down? Would she be in some legal jeopardy if she tried to reach out? She just wasn’t sure.

  A red dot blinked on her cell. She saw that Damon had left her a message.

  ‘Hey sweetheart…’

  Before she returned his call, she searched her heart. She was actually contemplating doing the unthinkable. But she wasn’t doing it for him. This wasn’t even something she was doing for herself. She wanted her daughter to know that she loved her, would always love her even though they’d barely met. The gift of her life was for her.

  There was more research to do, making sure she wasn’t doing anything illegal for one. She didn’t want to interfere with her daughter’s adoptive parents, insert herself where she didn’t belong. When she sorted all that out, she’d consider telling Damon. If they continued their relationship the way it was planned, it wouldn’t be right if she kept him from the truth.

  But how and when? That was the real mystery that could threaten the balance of everything.

  She dialed Damon’s cell. Her heart was on high alert.

  “There you are!”

  “Here I am. Wish you were here too.”

  “I’d Roger that. Tell me you’re looking out at the beach. Probably sunset now, right?”

  “It’s been a bit rainy, so it’s a little on the gray side. But the clouds are beautiful. Lots of purple tonight.”

  “Nice.”

  “How about there?”

  “Not so glamorous. It’s been overrun with people who were just trying to survive and left in a hurry. The other side doesn’t look like such a wasteland, I’m told.”

  “So, no beach time, I guess.”

  “Probably not. We’re a few miles away. Hey, I found out we can do Facetime calls. We’ll have to set that up. Can’t do it tonight, but maybe tomorrow or the next day.”

  “That would be nice, Damon. Just let me know.”

  He must have detected something because he asked her if anything was wrong.

  “Kaitlyn’s mother I think is passing. I’ve tried to get hold of her. Renny doesn’t have Greg’s cell number, does he?”

  “He’s not here right now, but I’ll ask him.” He hesitated. “You knew she was sick, right?”

  “Oh yes. It just surprised me. I’ll feel better when I reach Kaitlyn.”

  “You sound tired. You should flip off your phone and turn in early. Doctor’s orders.”

  “I think I’ll have a bath and do just that. How about you?”

  “Getting ready for a meeting downstairs. I rested on the plane, so I’m good to go. Sorry that this will have to be a short one, Martel. But I appreciate the update and the chance to hear your voice. I’ll text you if I have Greg’s number anywhere.”

  “Thank you. Please be safe.”

  “I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

  “I believe you. I’m still figuring out what I want to do with that whipped cream when you get home.”

  “There you go. And we’re on for the visit to San Diego?”

  She heard some voices in the background before she could answer.

  “That’s my cue. Gotta go. Are we still on?” Damon rushed.

  “Yes. Let me give you the dates I can be there. Are you sure you’ll be home?”

  “Better be. Okay, they’re screaming for me now. I’ll try to call next chance I get. Love you, Martel.”

  “Coming back at you ten times over. Be safe.”

  But he had already disconnected the call.

  Chapter 13

  “We have a wrinkle in the plans,” Kyle Lansdowne started. “Turns out we have a possible hostage situation going on. Senator Raymond’s daughter, Samantha Raymond is possibly being held against her will. She was part of a missionary group and aid outreach in Nigeria, passing out Bibles and doing things State didn’t realize was going on.”

  Damon knew this was bad news.

  “She’s gotten romantically entangled with one of the sons of a very powerful Nigerian businessman, Kwanda Freescott. He’s a bad dude, responsible for running arms, embezzling funds meant for domestic help, and we think he’s partly involved in the trafficking. We don’t know about the boy.”

  Kyle went on to further elaborate how assessment was that the boy was somewhat naive, perhaps dazzled with the friendship with the Senator’s daughter, and had experienced a recent evangelical conversion. But they had credible intel that found the group was going to use Samantha as leverage to get the U.S. to back off their enforcement efforts to shut the cartel down.

  “Does she know about the trafficking?” Coop asked.

  “We aren’t sure, and we think not. The Senator certainly has no knowledge of it, or so he says. Seems that Samantha lives with his ex, who has had some major involvement with a group doing these things all over Northern and Central Africa. Part of their ilk was rescued in Afghanistan, many of you might know, about five years ago.”

  Damon knew it was sometimes difficult for State to control these groups, especially since the government relied on them occasionally for on the ground intel. The delicate balance was where people were killed and unpredicted outcomes happened.

  It would be right where they were going.

  “We were prepared to do an amphibious landing in Benin. Now that we understand she’s here on Cape Verde, we’ll be staying here. And our timeline has moved up a bit. We can’t be here very long before we start attracting attention. We are not being hosted by any official government entity. We have a promise of some cooperation, but when the shit hits the fan, you know how much weight that means.”

  “Any friendlies on the island?” Fredo asked.

  “Lots of Europeans live here. Historically, people here actually fought in our wars, including the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, even Vietnam and World War II. So we have some friends, especially amongst the older population. With the reduction in the slave trade during the 18th and 19th centuries, the country, as part of Portugal, fell on hard times. It’s had to claw itself back and is still struggling with their new independence in 1975. Eradicating the drug trade necessitates an all-out purge about every ten years. But this human trafficking explosion caught everyone off guard. They walk a line between being friend to the U.S. and depending on support from Uncle Sam, as well as Portugal and Europe. They also have a sizable Chinese population, which is becoming interesting.” Kyle paused. “We also think they wish the Senator’s daughter wasn’t involved, so maybe we’ll have some help. We just don’t know. What they do understand is that if anything happens to her, all Hell will break loose.”

  He gave instructions for everyone to get some rest, go for a swim, if necessary, and be ready in the morning for another updated briefing.

  “Remember what I always say, don’t trust anybody until you see they’ve taken up arms by your side to defend you. Until then, don’t assume anything. If we can negotiate our way out of something heavier, t
rust me, we’re working on it. And no mention of the Senator’s daughter, either, got it?”

  The cold fish sandwiches provided by their contractor provider were delicious, but Damon didn’t appreciate the hot and spicy pickle relish that burned the roof of his mouth.

  Someone finally asked about the bar.

  “It’s right there. It’s open, but make sure you’re ready to go with all your faculties at a moment’s notice. That’s a warning I don’t want to have to repeat.”

  Two small tour busses arrived with their breakfast the next morning. They were issued local currency and shown maps of the town of Mindelo, marking the coast guard and police stations, as well as the one hospital on the island, in case of an emergency. Renny and Damon were grouped with Coop, Fredo, T.J. Talbot, and Tyler Gray. Kyle and the rest of the team were in the other van.

  Their goal was to scope out each of the five sites suspected of housing what remained of the large operation that had been located at the Blue Marlin. To that end, their drivers posed as real tour operators, taking them to local bars and a couple of cathedrals for pictures. Each of the vans took a different route, and they agreed to meet up at a local tourist restaurant for lunch.

  Damon’s driver was from Ukraine, but he was a member of the U.S. Embassy staff. He had married a local girl he met on vacation and never left the island, except to travel to Washington for his citizenship and training. Overweight, in his fifties, and probably a heavy drinker, he showed them pictures of his young children, his “second life,” as he called it.

  Alexi had lots of stories, and he spoke a wicked Ukrainian-Cape Verde pigeon, or Kreole, as it was called.

  Fredo, raised Catholic, asked about church attendance on the island. They had stopped at a quaint chapel with a stone-inlay parking lot overlooking the blue harbor. It was a favorite place to get married, he’d told them.