Broken Justice

Chapter 3

Two days later, Mark, Danni and I were winging our way back to Las Vegas aboard the Foundation’s luxuriously appointed Gulfstream G-650 ER. We had left the camp in the capable hands of Captain Smith and Sergeant Wright. My brother Mark would return after a week to once again take charge of the refugee camp, so I was not overly concerned. Mark hadn’t seen his wife Angela in months, and besides, the Foundation had serious business to discuss.

There were seven members of the Peterson Foundation’s board of trustees. Besides Mark and myself and our parents, Danni and Angela were also on the board. The seventh member was Tanya Buckman, wife of my best friend Fred who had died tragically in Afghanistan two years earlier.

Ted and I had both been Army Rangers; I was a Major while he was a Master-Sergeant. Our squad had been ambushed while attempting to extract a captured journalist from the Taliban. I had been injured and he lost his life while trying to save me. It had taken me a while to get over his death, especially the guilt and nightmares that had plagued me for a long time after.

I was brought back to the present as the captain announced our descent into Las Vegas. The Peterson Foundation Compound was a three-hundred-acre parcel of land up against the foothills just southwest of the city.

It had originally started off as my private residence when I was still in my selfish mode. It consisted of a massive main house, huge lake complete with wave-maker, combination runway and large auto racing track, as well as a beautifully designed eighteen-hole golf course. There was also a daunting obstacle course and shooting range where our private army could hone their skills and stay fit.

The employee accommodations on the east side of the lake had recently been completed. They consisted of a large condominium-style complex for the ex-army guys as well as a more upscale townhouse complex for the professional employees, such as the pilots and doctors. After a smooth landing, the pilot taxied towards a large complex of hangers that housed a few smaller aircraft, including a couple of helicopters.

Angela, Tanya and my parents were on hand to greet us as we exited the sleek aircraft. “How was the flight?” my father asked.

“Could have been better,” I replied. “The champagne wasn’t chilled to the correct temperature.”

He punched me playfully on the arm. “Very funny.” My father was a retired Army General who had spent the last ten years of his career at the Pentagon. He was still very connected in Washington, D.C., and was a personal friend of the Secretary of State.

As we drove the short distance to the main house, Mark and I filled him in on the events that had transpired at the refugee camp in Lebanon.

He turned to my brother. “I’m very impressed that you had the foresight to have a contingency plan for such an eventuality.”

Mark’s expression turned serious. “It was only a matter of time before ISIS or one of the other terrorist organizations tried something. Any of the refugees that have shady backgrounds are immediately evicted from the camp. That must have really pissed them off.”

My father nodded. “You know that they’ll probably try again.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Mark agreed. “That’s why I’ll be returning there in a week’s time.”

“Glad to hear it. Not that I don’t have the fullest confidence in Captain Smith and Sergeant Wright. It’s just good to have one of us on sight, just in case.”

“And I just happened to draw the short straw.”

My father patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. At the meeting tomorrow I’m sure we’ll come up with something to keep the rest of us busy.”

* * *

After a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, the seven board members assembled in the opulent boardroom for our ten o’clock meeting. Now that the refugee camp in Lebanon was up and running, our main agenda was to find the next project for the Foundation.

Everyone put forward their suggestions, but it wasn’t until Tanya spoke that we found a winner. “I was recently contacted by the head of social services from Sao Paulo, Brazil,” she said. “Apparently there are thousands of street children down there that are in desperate need of help. Promiscuity, AIDS and drug use are rampant amongst them and they receive little or no help from the government. They survive by committing petty crimes such as shoplifting and pick-pocketing tourists. The Juvenile Justice Code in Brazil is very lenient, and unless they commit a major crime, they’re back on the street within twenty-four hours of being arrested.”

I leaned forward eagerly. “That definitely sounds like something we should look into. Nine of our armed teams are tied up in Lebanon protecting the camp, which leaves us only three teams of six for this mission. That should be more than enough by the sound of things.”

“I agree.” My father nodded. “Let’s put it to a vote.”

Everyone raised their hands and I congratulated Tanya. “Well done, I’ll leave it to you to do the necessary research. My mother, Angela and Danni will assist you in making the necessary arrangements and contacts, while the men organize the logistics for the mission.”

The meeting was adjourned and everyone began working on the tasks that they’d been allocated.