Page 54 of The Session

Mark had no idea what it cost or what kind of arrangements Summit Strategies had with the exotic car rental services in Miami that made it capable of getting the Lamborghini delivered faster than a pizza. But it was worth it to see the expression on Blaise’s face.

Mark might not have spent much time in the corporate world, but he was born on the playing field and understood when somebody was trying to intimidate him—and how to slap back.

Special Projects

When Mark arrived that morning, an assistant waited outside to greet him and escort him to the meeting. Although there was no standing ovation, plenty of waves and friendly smiles welcomed him as he crossed the lobby. The video walls displayed promos for Summit Strategies’ various endeavors, interspersed with footage of Mark’s rescue effort, along with poll quotes noting that inbound requests about EMT and paramedic training were up two thousand percent.

The assistant led Mark to the elevator and delivered him to the twentieth floor, where a barista stood behind a counter operating a coffee machine that looked like something out of a modern art museum. Tru and a gentleman Mark hadn’t met sat by the window, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

“I’m glad you found us,” Tru said.

Mark thanked the assistant and took a chair, nodding politely to the gentleman opposite Tru.

“I’d like you to meet Donald Fonseca. He works with International Strategies.”

Mark shook Fonseca’s hand, then asked Tru, “Is that accurate about the paramedic training requests?”

“I can’t tell you if the number is correct, but I can tell you we’re seriously considering getting into EMT and paramedic training. That’s something I wanted to talk to you about later. In the meantime, Donald has a favor to ask.”

“Mark, it’s a real pleasure to meet you, and I’m excited you’re spending some time with us. I wanted to ask a favor—and it is a favor. If you don’t have the bandwidth for it, I’ll understand. It would take a day out of your schedule,” Fonseca said.

“How can I help you?”

“I guess the important question is how much do you know about football—not American football, but what the rest of the world considers football?”

Mark laughed. “You mean the one where guys run around in shorts kicking a ball? A little bit. I’ve coached a couple of kids who went on to play at the college level. Why do you ask?”

“I have a friend whose son has an important tryout coming up. The kid’s a great player, played in college, has really solid fundamentals. But I think he needs some motivation,” Fonseca said.

“Like a pep talk?” Mark asked, looking to Tru for help.

“Right now, Ousmane is at our Caribbean resort training with an Italian Olympic coach. The physical side’s covered. At this stage, it’s more of a head game, and we thought it might be great to have you give it a shot,” Fonseca explained.

“I’m not sure what difference I can make in a day . . .”

“I understand, but Ousmane was pretty excited when we mentioned you—you are a celebrity of sorts, don’t forget.” Fonseca shrugged. “Anything we can do to help would mean a lot. His father is a pretty important contact for us.”

“I’m not exactly a sports psychologist,” Mark said.

“I don’t think that’s what we need here,” Tru cut in. “Just a little Mark Greenley coaching. Best part is it’s only an hour-long flight, and you’ll get a chance to see the resort.”

“Okay, sounds fun. I’m in,” Mark said.

“Wonderful, thank you. I’ll let them know,” Fonseca said as he stood.

Tru waited until he was out of earshot, then turned to Mark. “Any questions?”

“Just one: What did he not tell me?”

“Good question. Fonseca’s former CIA. Or I assume former . . . Ousmane’s father is the president of Senegal, and Ousmane is trying out for the national team. Given who his father is, there’s a lot of concern about perceptions of nepotism, so he has to try out under another name—whether that’s really going to work or they’re just going to pretend they don’t know who he is, that’s the story they’re going with. Either way, he has to make a good showing and really demonstrate some skills. You’re the coach; I’m not. But from what I understand, there’s no reason he can’t make the team, other than previous attempts haven’t been so successful when it came to professional teams where his family name didn’t carry as much weight.”

“Is the kid good enough?” Mark asked.

“The coaches tell me he is. It just comes down to whether he chokes or not. He’s a sharp kid, very bright—probably in his head a bit,” Tru guessed.

Mark thought it over as he stared out at the blue clouds drifting across the sea. “Just a pep talk . . .”

“Are you the kind of guy that needs to know everything? Or do you want us to hold things back so they don’t distract you?”