Search and Destroy by JT Sawyer (top non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

“Maria, you are as gracious as you are lovely.” Rimaldi paused to pat her on the hand and give it a gentle squeeze as the older woman let out a grin.

Rimaldi noticed the stares of the other patrons in the small café. Some of them were familiar faces from the oil industry that once reigned supreme in this part of Venezuela. His father and older brothers had all been a part of the tail end of that industry during the booming years when the streets were lined with Land Rovers and Hummers, and the restaurants and bars were filled with wealthy patrons who regularly flew to Miami for a short getaway to shop.

When the nationalized oil industry collapsed and hyperinflation became the norm, tens of thousands of Venezuelans fled the country, while the poverty level soared to astronomical levels in one of the worst humanitarian crises to sweep through South America.

Four years previously, Rimaldi had just returned from life abroad in the U.S. and was determined to fight for change—for the prosperous country he’d once known before El Presidente took everything for himself and the oligarchy who propped him up.

Drawing on his law degree from Stanford, Rimaldi knew the socialist agenda of the current administration had been a disaster that led to his nation teetering on the brink of becoming a failed state. Returning to his family ties in Maracaibo, once the heart of the nation’s oil industry, he used his international connections with religious groups in the U.S. to draw attention to the plight of the young and impoverished in Maracaibo. His good looks and charisma coupled with his working-class roots made him an overnight champion of the oppressed, though he knew that navigating the upper echelons of politics would require wading through deeper quicksand that brought with it its own moral dilemmas.

But he knew that his personal efforts with fundraising would only go so far, and he was more than excited to have another meeting with a benefactor whom he’d met last spring on a fundraising trip to speak with the Venezuelan elite in Miami.

This could be the day that changes everything for my people and could lead our nation out of the darkness.

He eagerly moved past the other tables, double-stepping up the wooden stairs to the second floor then heading out the roof exit. Rimaldi walked under a decorative shade tarp strung up over the small porch area, which consisted of little more than an antique oak table placed on some neatly arranged patio blocks. The tan sixty-something man with wavy silver hair was sitting with his back to the street, facing Rimaldi.

“Good to see you again,” said Adam Hunley, who stood and extended a hearty handshake.

“To you as well, my friend.” He uttered the last word as if it took some initial effort. Both men sat down, the cool breeze carrying the aroma of the flowers in the planters lining the rooftop.

Rimaldi removed his sunglasses. “I would ask how you are enjoying my country, but I already know the drive from the airport was probably a sobering experience highlighting just how bad things have become.” He waved a hand towards the shanty town of tin-roofed huts in the distance along the tarry coast, which had recently been deluged by another damaged pipeline from the dilapidated oil facility along the shores of Lake Maracaibo.

Hunley sat back down, crossing his legs. “I’ve mentioned this before, but my work as a former ambassador to Colombia provided me with a sizeable perch, overlooking your country’s politics and economy. It’s sometimes hard to believe that this nation experienced close to four decades of democracy before the current regime. There were so many times when I wanted to fly to Caracas and, well, to be frank, smack the shit out of the Presidente during the early days of his disastrous attempt at socialism.”

“I would have paid to see that, but then the line would have stretched across the countryside.”

The older man nodded. “But we must look to the future and focus all of our efforts on the courage of our distant forbearers in securing our destiny, to quote your words from your impassioned speech at the orphanage yesterday.”

Rimaldi smiled. “It’s not hard to be motivated when so many young eyes are upon you, searching for hope. They shouldn’t have to grow up in the shadow of our politicians’ sins. But with the right leadership, they can have a future much different than this one.”

Hunley leaned back in his chair, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening as he squinted down at the two-lane street to his right, eyeing Rimaldi’s weathered Hyundai.

“You know, most candidates with your ambition would have used the funds my firm sent to your campaign to acquire a Mercedes or a Lincoln, but I admire the fact that you are a man of the people. It’s what drew that standing ovation from the crowd in Miami, and it’s why I believe this country may have someone new holding the reins at the capitol after this upcoming election. Your numbers and support with the voters are only swelling with each passing week.”

“Thank you. Change is long overdue, but the woes and debts created during these past ten years of rule will not be corrected during one term, or even several, of me being in office. We have a long road ahead. And if I am elected president, there will be greater freedom, not oppression. I have no plans to rewrite the constitution, clamp down on the media, or intimidate nongovernmental organizations opposed to my presidency. This country was founded on greatness and shall be restored to such glory once more.”

“That’s why I wanted to meet with you again in person. Since retiring from the Foreign Affairs Office several years ago, my consulting firm has sought out men of vision like yourself to work with and support. My board of directors recently met, and we all agreed that we would like to provide another substantial donation to