CHAPTER 1

 

RESURGENCE

 

May 20, 2004

Beach Haven, Long Beach Island, N.J.

 

Another warm spring day offered the promise of summer on the Jersey Shore. Michael awoke to seagulls arguing over the slim pickings available until the renters arrived.

Karen lay next to him in the fetal position, her back turned to him. Michael put his hand under her nightgown and pulled her closer. He nuzzled against her neck and kissed her lightly.

“Now that’s what I call a friendly alarm. Does this mean you’re ready to get frisky?” Karen whispered, rolling onto her back.

Michael gazed at this woman he loved for so long. The lines were softer and her blond hair a little less thick but she was still an attractive lady. An ocean breeze ruffled their white linen curtains and filled the room with cool salt air. Karen kissed Michael’s neck, an instant turn-on in days past.

Losing his thoughts in her passion, he moved into position and looked into her light blue eyes. Not knowing his own capabilities, he proceeded, delighting both of them with a new dawn.

An hour later, with Karen back asleep, Michael rose, showered and dressed. He would make them a good breakfast and propose they walk on the beach. Then, he would tell her what he was going to do.

***

It had been three years since Michael left for Tucson and the American Economic Association meeting where he fell ill. Two weeks before those sessions, he was in American Samoa, assigned by the U.S. Department of Labor to coordinate minimum wage hearings and ensure that a designated Committee follow the law and Regulations in determining a minimum wage update.

Had he survived the Tucson trip unscathed and seen the new Samoan minimum wage published, he would have released information that documented the fraud and abuse that maintained poverty wages there. As the U.S. Labor Department’s officer responsible, he wasn’t going to let politics as usual continue to devastate workers in the small American Territory.

Now, the shock of seeing Stephanie again got Michael thinking in a sinister way. He remembered her in his hotel room in Tucson. He recalled how they embraced, how she cried, and how he tried to comfort her.

Michael could see the hotel suite in his mind. They had walked out to the patio and sat at a small table. They looked at the sun setting behind the desert’s Ventana Trail. He popped the cork from a bottle of champagne she brought and toasted to a better life. Michael remembered asking Stephanie why she wasn’t drinking, but he never heard a response. A black curtain fell over his life; the Michael of old was gone.

 

***

For the first time this Ph. D. economist was putting two and two together. In Samoa, he fell faint after drinking Ava and Stephanie was there, leading him into her bed. In Tucson, he drank Champagne from a bottle she provided. Then, he passed out and suffered possible brain damage. Perhaps, there was more to this woman than he could have imagined.

What was the motive and who was in it with her?

The Territory’s largest employer, a tuna cannery, openly opposed increases in the minimum wage to minimize their labor costs, but such firms wouldn’t drug or murder a government official over his efforts to raise wages. Shortcuts with the books, not paying time and a half for overtime, sneaking work off the clock, using political threats to coerce committees — those were the games played by money-grubbing corporate executives and their attorneys.

Sure, the Samoan Government opposed his efforts, but, why would they use such extreme measures? Admin-istrations in American Samoa hardly lived or died by minimum wage battles. No, there had to be more to it.

Then, Michael remembered the words of Sammy Finn, Samoa’s most admired bone carver and jewelry designer.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but from what I’ve been told, you’ve done an amazing amount of work to get the people down here a decent wage. If you fail, don’t blame yourself. There are forces at play which have nothing to do with you or the economy of American Samoa. There’s no way you can fight that kind of power.

“Know too what most Samoans know. Samoa is kind to those who have learned the lesson of not caring, and hard on those who have failed to learn it.”

Michael had written off the jeweler’s comments to a kind man giving him an out, he shouldn’t take the blame for failing to raise Samoa’s wages. Rather, he should blame it on Samoa, on a world beyond his control.

Now Michael reconsidered his conclusion. What if Sammy’s words had real meaning? What if there were powerful forces at play, forces that had nothing to do with minimum wages, but everything to do with unknown men and schemes beyond his knowledge and influence?

Was warm, sexy, athletic Stephanie their agent? Was Michael the perfect patsy, a middle-aged man having trouble with his marriage, thousands of miles from home, facing the rabid opposition of a billion-dollar global corporation and its million-dollar attorneys? The answers were obvious.

***

Soon after they arrived at Long Beach Island Karen set up their aging computer in the corner of the beach house dining room. Michael had ignored it. He hoped he would never again touch the instrument he depended on for his work, but now he would wait until Karen went out so he could use the Internet to put meat on the bones of his suspicions.

With Karen shopping, Michael walked into the dining room, sat down at his computer, and turned it on, like a kid sneaking a cigarette with no one home.

The tower hummed. For the first time in years he gazed at his entryway to the Net. He typed “Stephanie Palaie Moelai” into the computer’s search engine. After clicking on her name, he stared in disbelief at the Portland Times article.

 

Attorney Marries Samoan Official

Paul Pecura, a prominent Portland attorney, has married Stephanie Palaie Moelai, former Director of the Visitors Information Bureau of American Samoa. The two were married by Rev. Gregory Gross at Saint Mark’s Church in Portland. In attendance were the bride’s three children from a previous marriage. The couple met while Mr. Pecura served the U.S. Government, chairing a Special Industry Committee in American Samoa. They will establish their residence in Nedonna Beach, Oregon.

The article was dated February the twenty-fourth, 2002, just eight months after Tucson. Michael concluded that Stephanie and Pecura had been working together all along. Her flirting, gentle touch, and desperation were just part of a game. As Michael suspected from the beginning, Pecura’s neutrality during the hearings was a cover to disguise his real purpose, to keep Samoa’s wages down.

Michael typed “Paul Pecura” into the search site. Clicking on his name, another newspaper article from the Portland Times appeared.

 

Pecura Elected in Close Vote

Paul Pecura, the long-time Portland attorney, won the race for our U.S. House seat in Tuesday’s vote. For Pecura, the third try proved to be the charm, winning as a Republican in traditionally strong Democratic precincts.

Pecura thanked his wife and children for their support and said he would do all he could to “vigorously represent the fine people of the Portland area.”

Experts credited what seemed to be unlimited personal wealth that propelled him to his first victory. In his concession speech, his opponent, John Fitzpatrick, made a backhanded statement regarding Pecura’s resources.

“I congratulate Mr. Pecura on his win and his ability to generate substantial funding from a legal practice no one knew was that prosperous.”

Pecura’s wife, Stephanie, said she and the children would stay in their Nedonna Beach home and see Pecura mostly on weekends and holidays. In the meantime, the Pecuras will be taking a two-week vacation on St. Barts.

Michael didn’t know how the dollars were generated but he knew the payoff must have been huge. A successful Congressional race and a vacation on an Island reserved for billionaires and movie stars required big bucks.

Pecura’s exceptional payday must have been related to the hearings in Samoa. Once Michael figured out the linkage, he would get even. They put him out of the game for three years. Now, it was time to let them know he was still kicking and they were not safe.

***

Karen woke again, this time to the sizzle of bacon, the smell of freshly ground coffee, and the clank of Michael rummaging around the kitchen. She showered quickly and put on shorts and a Jersey Shore sweatshirt.

Hungry from their early-morning lovemaking and the ocean air, they ate with gusto and headed down to the shoreline where the firm sand posed little problem for Michael and his walking stick. Feeling almost whole again, Michael let Karen know what was on his mind.

“Honey, I need to get into the office files we brought with us. Before Tucson I prepared packages for the Inspector General, the GAO, and the Senate Labor Committee documenting the underhanded methods used to keep Samoans in poverty. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t send the material now. I can explain the delay and let them know that the rates continue to be the result of a grievous inequity.”

They walked along the shore, waves breaking onto the beach the only sound intruding on their thoughts. Finally, Karen stopped, held Michael’s arm, and looked into his dark blue eyes. They shined with the initiative she hadn’t seen for a long time.

“You know, Michael, you spent more than thirty years fighting those kinds of battles, and I love you for that. It’s not all that common that a Georgetown Ph. D. dedicates his entire career to government service and working men and women, but this is a new phase of our life. The kids are grown and we need to focus on getting you completely well. Then, I want us to travel and have some fun.

“I loved our life before, but we always put things off, squeezing the budget for the kids’ music camp, college, and a wedding. There was always something. Now, it’s our turn to relax and enjoy ourselves. After a few years of that life, if you want to do some volunteer work, fine, but honey, let’s leave the past in the past.”

Karen let go of Michael’s arm and they resumed their walk. She was amazed at how his dark brown hair turned pure white and how his need for the walking stick made him look older than his fifty-nine years.

A few minutes later, as they continued to walk, Michael responded.

“I understand what you’re saying and I agree with you. This will not be the beginning of a commitment. I just don’t want to let it ride because of my health. According to the Wage-Hour web site, the wage rates in Samoa have continued to fall relative to prices and, given the current administration, I’m sure no one is on the case. All I want to do is fulfill my promise from 2001 and let the chips fall where they may. If they want to question me, okay, but that will be the extent of it.”

Not wanting to pressure Michael in the midst of his promising recovery, Karen conceded, but her instincts told her this would be trouble.

Far down the beach, the couple saw an injured seagull trying to make its way back into the water. As the waves came to shore and pushed it toward dry sand, the bird fought again and again to enter the safety of the sea.

Not able to witness the bird’s distress any longer, they turned and retreated back to the beach house.