Champagne Romance (Romance Novel) (7 page)

CHAPTER 18

Swan’s home was a modern condo at the top of
a small private building. It had high ceilings and lots of space
that had originally appealed to her. The furniture was unique and
expensive. Fireplaces were in every room of her home, including the
three bedrooms and balcony that took the chill off of the
California evenings. Ironically, considering her present
predicament, she bought it for the occasional picturesque view on a
clear day of Catalina and because it overlooked the tiny island of
Balboa that sported a colorful rainbow Ferris wheel. A hot tub
surrounded by lots of blooming colorful plants faced the fireplace
on the balcony. All the rooms had a touch of antiques and
interesting personal mementos that she had collected from all over
the world. There were no pictures or reminders of the past.

Swan and Kat had gone to bed hours ago, but
Swan couldn’t sleep. She walked out onto the dark balcony in her
flimsy pale blue silk nightgown. She knew no one could see her as
her house was isolated and strategically placed to shield the
privacy that she held so dear. As she became rich and famous, it
was important to protect herself and her surroundings. If other
women had been a little more vigilant and less naïve, they might
still be alive today. Swan had no intention of joining the
statistics of becoming a victim of anyone as she had in her
growing-up years. She had taken some karate defense classes. She
had continued to take additional classes to keep herself alert and
ready. For the first time, she had control of her life or so she
thought.

Swan could feel the cool salt sea breeze on
her face. She could hear the break of the tide that was in the
close distance. It was soothing as it always had been, but tears
still gathered in her sightless eyes and began falling down her
soft cheeks. She couldn’t help it, the tears soon turned into
uncontrollable flood of weeping. She wrapped her arms around
herself and was reminded of the arms of her lover and fellow wreck
mate, Ace. She never knew his last name, she never asked. It seemed
better that way. The possibility of being permanently blind was
devastating and she had no intentions of asking anyone to share
such a life, nor could she have ever stood his piety. It was just
best that she cut all ties and begin to sort her life out by
herself. The sun was peaking over the horizon by the time she
finally pulled herself together and climbed between the soft silk
sheets that smelled of roses. Swan, however, was unaware of the new
morning. It mattered not to this young woman as night and day began
to blend together.

It was nearly noon when Kat knocked softly at
Swan’s door. The smell of coffee that she held in her hand, finally
caused Swan to arouse herself from a deep sleep and sit up in bed
to enjoy the fresh brew. Kat’s bouncy personality was the only
thing that kept Swan from sliding back into a deep dark funk of
oblivion.

Kat told Swan that she had contacted one of
her ex-husbands that was a physician at the UCLA medical facility.
When he heard what had happened to Swan, he was only too happy to
see if he could make appointments happen through connections with
personal friends and co-workers. Setting up an appointment with the
world-renowned ophthalmologist would probably take a while. He
would get back with her at the end of the day.

It was a sunny December day in Newport Beach.
So, Kat insisted that Swan roll out of bed, slip into a bathing
suit, and they walk down to the ocean. Perhaps laying on the warm
beach would bring some healing to both the body and soul.

It was winter break and the beach was not
deserted. Swan could hear seagulls, excited squeals of small
children, and an occasional sand patrol that checked out the sandy
beach and kept it safe. Everything appeared normal, even Swan with
her sunglasses perched on the tip of her nose. It wasn’t long
before she and Kat had dozed off and the afternoon was gone.

The next day was spent at the Research to
Prevent Blindness Foundation Center in Los Angeles. It was a
grueling and exhausting experience. Swan had several tests and saw
six different doctors. Their combined conclusion was that scarring
from the lasik surgery that had corrected her farsightedness may be
interfering with the healing process. The final consultation with
the panel of doctors only told her that someday she may regain her
sight and some day she may not. Her concussion and trauma had
caused the blindness. It could be that something equally as
traumatic would cause her to regain her sight.

It sounded a bit like the snake pits of the
1800’s when they would lower insane people into a pit full of
snakes. Their thinking during that period was that something that
would drive a sane person insane would make an insane person sane.
At least snake pits were not available today, which Swan could be
grateful.

The present day had advanced only to give
Swan the hope that future programs in vision genetics may someday
give her back her sight. She was told that a new experimental drug,
Ranexa, ironically made at Global Genetic Research Inc., was on the
horizon of restoring eyesight for some people who had lost it for
various reasons. It wasn’t much, but it gave Swan a glimmer of
hope. The doctors looked at this beautiful woman with her head
bowed and tears streaming down her cheeks from her sightless
aquamarine eyes and all prayed for a miracle.

CHAPTER 19

Slater stood in his navy silk Armani suit and
Italian soft leather shoes watching the ocean tide from his
four-story office building, Global Genetic Research Incorporation.
He liked the feel of nice fabric, but was always most comfortable
in soft cotton, linen, or khaki. However, a man in his position was
expected to dress the part of a successful and powerful
businessman, which sometimes gave him a slight advantage when
negotiating contracts.

Since the downing of the unfortunate airliner
and the brief affair with Swan, Slater threw himself into several
new projects for his company. Drowning himself in work, he managed
to get through the holidays. He was finally able to ignore the
nagging feelings for the one woman, which he might have had a
relationship.

Slater rubbed the back of his stiff neck. He
was restless. He was ready for some action. By the middle of
January, he got his wish.

Slater, Bear, and Dog were no longer part of
the United States SEALS. They had not been for over ten years, but
because of their expertise in delicate international matters that
involved kidnapping and extortion, wealthy companies and private
individuals often hired them. It wasn’t long before they were in
the top 25% of the world wealth themselves. They would, however,
continue to take risk-taking jobs from time to time because they
enjoyed the thrill and success of the hunt.

Slater and his private commando unit were
contacted for a delicate and dangerous kidnapping assignment. He
soon found himself on a chopper for jungles in an unknown
destination somewhere in Bogotá. Bear and Dog sat across from him.
They had both felt that Slater wasn’t nearly as focused as usual.
This was crucial as in dangerous situations death could be only one
second away for any of them. Neither soldier, however, wanted to
have their head bitten off, so neither pointed this out to Slater.
There had always been tough scenarios with distractions and he
always come through. There was no reason to doubt that this time
would be any different.

They each backpacked grenades, guns, and any
arsenal they felt would be needed to free an American hostage from
renegade drug dealers and terrorists. Their mission was to get in
and get out of the Bogotá jungle with the American oil executive in
tow.

Today, they had flown out of the Dallas/Fort
Worth airport. It was an International airport that flew soldiers
all over the world. The port was full of troops getting ready to
evacuate to Iraq or a desert area, which was obvious from their
camouflage uniforms that were the color of cream and tan. Many had
on the new uniforms whose fabric was made on the computer with a
digital look. Those that were flying to a green belt wore the
multi-colored green and brown. Slater and his unit of two wore the
traditional green.

All the soldiers were roaming the airport
shops, restaurants, and bars hoping to get their last glimpse of
America before they departed to unknown foreign lands to try to
keep world peace and democracy. About half of them had never been
out of America. Some would never see it again. Others would be
seeing combat for the very first time. It was just as well that
they had never been to war, as all too often it is not what they
could have ever imagined.

Desert areas were hot and dusty, 115 degrees
was not unusual. When the wind blew, dirt would fly into your
mouth, eyes, and ears. Handy wipes from home along with DVDs,
magazines, TP, cookies, jerky, and other personal items that
arrived in containers the size of shoe boxes from loved ones and
special organizations were sometimes the only items that made this
foreign land tolerable.

The first time a platoon saw combat was the
most difficult. In a war zone, a buddy was always dying. Troops’
puking up their breakfast was not an uncommon sight. Charlie Med
always had the worst job of sweeping areas and looking for injured
soldiers after the combatants left the war zone. The medics would
then load them on Chinook helicopters to get them back to medical
facilities before death. Many didn’t make it. Some wished they had
not.

Slater was no novice to war and neither were
his buddies. Their experienced team was what made them the best in
the world. That was why they were often contacted when diplomats
and heads of state disappeared into the unknown. That is why their
little unit had just departed to Columbia.

Before they left the States, they had
received classified information from the US State Department that
contained certain information in a special document about the drug
warriors of Columbia. It was much easier to have a successful
mission when you knew your enemy and had an outline of what to
expect. However, they were a savvy group and knew how to deal with
the unexpected. They would have the American out of camp and on the
Apache chopper by nightfall.

Columbia is the fourth largest country in
South America. It is also one of the toughest hotspots in the world
making it a perfect breeding place for the lowlifes of the
universe. Three Andean mountain chains, grasslands, and extensive
jungle coastlines on the Caribbean Sea and Pacific Ocean make it
easy to smuggle drugs and human trafficking in and out of the
country. Kidnapping for ransom is also part of their illegal
activities. All of the above is an extremely lucrative business for
the scum that choose this way of life.

The natives of Columbia eke out an existence
farming as did the nomadic farmers during the pre-Columbian period.
It has the largest reserves of coal in Latin America. In the next
decade, natural gas will be available to millions of Columbians.
With luck, their wealth will help Latin cities eliminate the hordes
of homeless children that live in the sewers with the rats.
Hopefully, their plan will include deleting the sophisticated
organized drug lords and the government that gives them immunity by
looking the other way.

Today, there is a wide range of ethnic
diversity in Columbia due to the intermingling of the native
Indian, Spaniards, and black slaves. Only about 1% can claim 100
percent Chibchas Indian. They originally lived off the land that
Slater was observing from above in the helicopter as it zigzagged
over the lowlands and highlands to reach the kidnapped victim
before he was assassinated.

Slater looked at the swirling green
grasslands below as the helicopter hovered above and they repelled
to the jungle floor. The object was to evacuate quickly, melt into
the lush vegetation, and leave no evidence of any kind of human
disturbance. Rendezvous was established early evening after the sun
went down around 1700. Faces painted and ready for action, the
three men moved in swift silence toward their intended target three
miles away.

It was misty and muggy when the chopper
dropped them off. That was not a surprise as rain was usually
expected daily during the rainy season. The forest was alive with
the wild animals of the region. A brightly colored macaw’s scream
blended in with the spider monkeys as they swung from branch to
branch on the overhanging trees. An occasional jaguar or ocelot
lurked lazily on high branches or blended among the vegetation. It
was alive as well with the smaller creatures that slithered and
scampered throughout the jungle floor. They seemed very aware that
man had invaded their territory and they wanted to make sure that
they knew that they had not gone unnoticed. The only native
wildlife that seemed happy to see them were the mosquitoes.

The three men neither had the time to notice
the nature around them nor could they afford to be distracted from
their mission. They were only aware of anything that seemed out of
the ordinary or moved like a human. Faces covered in jungle green
camouflage they moved quietly towards their destination silently
signaling as they went. It was about forty-five minutes before they
spied the guerrilla camp.

This group of narco-terrorists that they were
observing was the largest group in Columbia. They are well
organized. They are known as FARC, the Revolution Armed Forces of
Columbia. In addition to their trafficking activities, they are
reputed for their frequent vicious attacks on the oil pipelines.
Their bombing campaigns occurred weekly as a recreational activity.
They also enjoy the status of extortion, kidnapping, and are the
instrumental lead suppliers to the world with heroin and refined
cocaine. They are as tough, rough, and experienced as any trained
army and were not to be underestimated.