The American Beach - La Spiaggia Americana

By Jon C. Watt

The American Beach—La Spiaggia Americana—puts a human face to the pain and fears of victims of human trafficking and their loved ones. It looks at issues in identifying, investigating, and rescuing victims. The fact-based fictional background provides readers the ability to grasp and understand the reality of human trafficking, particularly sex trafficking, in a frank and simplified way.

The story traces the development of Jerry, a United States Army detective, beginning with two quick stories set in southern Arizona before moving to Italy. Through great difficulty, Jerry comes to faith in Christ and deals with his own sins of the flesh as his Christian walk matures.

Much research and many interviews with law enforcement and others involved in anti-human trafficking went into writing this book. Readers will have their hearts pricked and their eyes opened to the human suffering that is often hidden in plain sight, while being brushed over by modern media.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Dec 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781664284586

Jon C. Watt

Jon C. Watt has over thirty years of Christian ministerial experience, much of it in the United States Army. He has lived in Italy, South Korea, Iraq, and Afghanistan. His M.Div. in Cross Cultural Studies is from Fuller Theological Seminary. His MA in United States history, with a focus on immigration and labor, is from UNLV. He is a certified anti-human trafficking advocate and currently lives in Pahrump, Nevada, with his wife and their two pets.

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Copyright © 2022 Jon C. Watt.

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WestBow Press

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views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

The model on the cover is Margaret Maggie May (Clouser) Glaubke. Photographer

is Lori J. Fleetwood-Watt. Used with permission from both individuals.

Holman Christian Standard Version 19 scripture passages. HCSB

was used due to their generous copywrite usage policy.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-8459-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-8460-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-8458-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022921796

WestBow Press rev. date: 12/12/2022

Contents

Chapter 1   27 June 2013—Who? Me?

Chapter 2   16 November 2012—Finally!

Chapter 3   August 2010—MPI

Chapter 4   16 November 2012—CID Graduation Day

Chapter 5   14 December 2012—Ciao Italia

Chapter 6   15 June 2013—It Begins

Chapter 7   April 2011—The Meeting of Two Families

Chapter 8   Week of 16 June 2013—Digging In

Chapter 9   26 June 2013—Hello, Can We Be Friends?

Chapter 10   27 June 2013—Ciao, Bella

Chapter 11   27 June 2013—The Story of Two Families

Chapter 12   27 June 2013—American Beach After-Hours

Chapter 13   29 June 2013—Why?

Chapter 14   29 June 2013—How It Happened

Chapter 15   30 June 2013—Sunday, the Next Day

Chapter 16   3 July 2013—Wednesday

Chapter 17   3 July 2013—The Auction

Chapter 18   5 July 2013—How’d We Do?

Chapter 19   5 July 2013—Rescues and Legalities

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

Endnotes

To my godparents, Angelo and Francesca Migliaccio, for teaching me about all things Italian.

To my father-in-law, John Wesley Fleetwood, my brother-in-law, Timothy Robarge, my surrogate stepfather, Gerard Sica, and my former pastor, Rev. Ronald J. Trummell, and to all others who have dedicated their lives to law enforcement.

To Beatrice DeBie, who took a seventh grader under her wing to teach him the art of writing and to nurture him in his newfound faith in the Lord Jesus.

US Army (and one Air Force) Ranks and Pay Grades

Other Acronyms Used in The American

Beach, La Spiaggia Americana

Chapter 1

27 JUNE 2013—WHO? ME?

I want to know you.

Gerald Jerry Graystone glanced in the direction the Italian-accented sultry voice had come from. An avid swimmer, he had just completed a half-mile swim in the Tyrrhenian Sea. Wading the final ten yards through water too shallow to swim, he had visually scanned the beach, ensuring all was in order. He took his responsibilities as the senior lifeguard seriously. Before she spoke, his eyes had barely noted her. Lying alone, she was just one of many sunbathers on the beach, his beach. Her words drew his attention. They puzzled him. Was she talking to me? Why me? What did she mean, I want to know you?

His eyes drank in her well-toned body, her burnt copper tan, and her chocolatey brown hair spilling across her back. He estimated her to be a short five feet tall. Lying facedown on her towel, she had propped herself just enough and was staring straight at him, her lips forming a shy smile. Her white and yellow striped bikini accented both her tan and her form. Subconsciously, he checked to see that she was properly attired for the American Beach the Italians called La Spiaggia Americana. Invariably, he and his lifeguards needed to remind Italian girls of all ages, and those Americans who imitated the local Italians, that going topless on the American Beach was not allowed. Sulla Spiaggia Americana non è permesso andare in topless.

He acknowledged her with a smile and replied, Ciao, come stai? How are you? As he walked toward her, stepping gingerly across the hot sand, burning his bare feet, he thought, Who is this? She can’t be more than nineteen or twenty. Is she somehow connected to my case? His position as the NCOIC of the American Beach provided his cover story while investigating the kidnappings of seven female victims in just over four weeks. The victims included two soldiers, a military spouse, three teenage girls, and a translator who worked for the US military. The last victim had been taken only two days earlier. SSG Jerry Kilbrane, the name he was using during the assignment, was an agent with the US Army’s Criminal Investigations Division, better known as CID.

Scooting over on her towel, she invited him to sit. Deftly squatting beside her, he said, Mi chiamo, Jerry.

Rolling onto her side, her smile slightly widening, she offered her hand. Chiara Moreno, piacere.

Lightly squeezing her hand, he asked, Parli inglese?

Only a little. Her face flushed, and a rush of Italian came out, all in one breath. Before attending the CID course, Jerry had begun studying Italian, mostly on his own. He asked Chiara to repeat herself a little more slowly. While she did, his eyes swept over the beach again. The lifeguards watching the people in the water appeared to be attentive and alert. He thought, Chiara sounds so much prettier than its English equivalent—Clare. Noting her efforts to speak English and her sentence structure, he guessed that I want to know you meant I’d like to get to know you. He learned that Gilberto, a new acquaintance he knew as Gil, was her cousin from Chicago. Chiara had been watching Jerry for several days, and she had spoken with Gilberto about him.

Exhibiting a mild degree of shyness, she said, Gilberto say you no married. È vero?

Non sono sposato. Jerry chuckled. She’s too young for me, but at least she isn’t being as overt as so many of the other women who have thrown themselves at me. If only I were younger or she was older. He continued, But I am twenty-six, and you’re—what, nineteen, maybe twenty?

Blushing, she replied, No, I have twenty-four years. At this, his eyes, as of their own volition, ran up and down Chiara’s body once more. He relished her tan, the obviousness of her well-toned muscles, the soft curves of her body, and the deep brown of her eyes. Up close now, he observed that her hair was very fine textured. Its color and texture reminded him of Anton Raphael Mengs’s painting St. Mary Magdalene in a Cave. He chided himself, Jerry, that last look was not what you should be doing. It was not Christlike. Before excusing himself to return to work, he invited her to get a pizza later that evening. She accepted the date and stated she would wait around until he finished work.

Jerry pondered the encounter as he strode across the beach. Standing a little over six feet tall with hazel-green eyes, sandy-brown hair and a marathon runner’s physique, he attracted many women to him. I’m glad I got Dad’s stature and coloring. Bobby, on the other hand, looks like Mom’s side of the family. But at least he doesn’t have this ugly scar. He rubbed the raised scar that ran from the corner of his left eye to the center of his cheek, a memento of an earlier undercover mission that ended when he prevented a biker from mauling a young child.

Twice in that fight, the biker had injured him severely, resulting in a two-week hospital stay followed by thirty days of convalescent leave. ¹ Doctors successfully fought to save the sight in his left eye. At the time, as a young Christian, he considered himself lucky to have survived and to have his eyesight whole. Now, he recognized it was only by God’s grace that the switchblade had missed his left eye.

Hopping across the hot sand reminded him of videos he had seen of people walking across red-hot coals. Within moments, he reached the straw mat walkway that led to the snack bar, equipment rentals, restrooms, and his office, which served double duty as a breakroom for the lifeguards. He often marveled at how hot the sand could get by early afternoon and yet how quickly the heat abated in the early evening. Walking into his office, he thanked Specialist Sasha Williams for covering the desk while he had taken a swim. She was a twenty-six-year-old African American soldier stationed at Camp Darby. She had enlisted at twenty-two to escape the south side of Chicago’s gangs. Checking the clock, it was about 1430. His workout and meeting Chiara had taken the better part of an hour.

Sergeant Robert Bobby Graystone, Jerry’s younger brother, entered the office after SPC Williams departed. He had black hair, stood five feet seven inches, wore glasses, and was built like a linebacker. Bobby’s Native American features contrasted with Jerry’s northern European appearance and caused many people to question if they were actually related. From his vantage point in the lifeguard chair, he had observed Jerry’s interaction with Chiara. Entering the office, Bobby remarked, Woohoo, big brother. It’s about time you finally stopped ignoring some of these girls. She was digging you, bro. Only Bobby and his wife, Fiorella, knew Jerry’s true identity.

Expecting Bobby’s comments, he rattled off, Her name’s Chiara. She doesn’t speak much English. You know I’m still trying to learn Italian. We’re going to a pizzeria later. Care to join us? She probably didn’t see this scar. When she does, she’ll want to get out of there. I really don’t want to eat alone when she does.

Bobby started and stopped. Jer, you’re too hung up on that scar. Fiorella’s talked to several of the girls who’ve tried to catch your eye. It’s your own focus on that stupid scar that drives them away. That scar doesn’t turn them off; it’s your attitude that does. You know, you really haven’t changed all that much from when you were in high school—where women are concerned. Only then it was because you let one girl’s comments about Mom walking out on us color all of your female relationships. I bet if you give this Chiara a chance, you’ll be surprised.

Holding his palms up, facing Bobby, Jerry said, Hold up, Bobby. You do realize there is more to life than having a girlfriend. She could be connected to the case, and I can’t overlook any possible leads. It’s only been two days since the Dutch girl was taken. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to work on my Italian.

Keep telling yourself that, old man. Just keep telling yourself that. I watched part of your interaction with her. It’s a good thing you don’t play poker; your face makes a lie out of your words. You’re only four years older than me. I know you. Don’t let your inner demons mess this up.

You’re right, Bobby. Part of me would like something to come from this. But would that be fair to her, if she is innocent? You gotta remember, after this case is through, it’s back to Vicenza for me or wherever they send me. I’m not boyfriend material.

I’ll let Fiorella know that we’re going with you tonight. Bobby had met her his first summer in Italy. As their relationship developed, he requested a twelve-month extension to his eighteen-month tour at Camp Darby. A year later, he had reenlisted again, extending his tour. In a few days, they would celebrate their first anniversary. Her mother had been an American soldier when she met Fiorella’s father, an Italian. Most of her life had been lived in Italy.

A couple of hours after the discussion between the two brothers, one of the lifeguards blew his whistle two shorts and one long, the signal for swimmer in trouble. All lifeguard personnel stopped what they were doing and sprinted to the shoreline. Two lifeguards were in the water, wasting no time to reach the struggling swimmer. Four others rapidly maneuvered a red Italian lifeguard rescue boat into the water. Once it was in the water, two lifeguards climbed aboard and started rowing toward the victim, while the other two pushed it, increasing its momentum. The lifeguards extended their area of concern to the two public beaches that buttressed the American Beach. In Italy, public beaches do not have lifeguards, while private beaches do. The swimmers reached the Italian teenager first and supported him until he could be hoisted onto the skiff. Anxious friends and family waited for the lifeguards and the boy to return safely. When the rescuers returned, everyone on the beach gave them a well-deserved round of applause. The boy’s older brother Paulo walked over from the other beach and headed straight to the four soldiers who were drying themselves off. Grazie, grazie, grazie mille. Pietro fu punto da una medusa. The Americans understood the thank you, but their command of Italian did not include he was stung by a jellyfish.

A couple of hours later, Jerry watched the last few patrons pack up and head toward the parking lot. It was only 1800 hours, six in the evening for civilians. A quick sweep of the beach area, cabanas, and latrines confirmed all guests had departed. The only people remaining were a couple of girls from Ireland who were dating two of his lifeguards, a couple of other lifeguard sweethearts, Bobby’s wife, Fiorella, and Chiara. Walking back inside, he keyed the intercom. Let’s get out of here, guys; the beach is closed. Let’s get it cleaned up, secured, and go home early for a change. Officially, the beach hours for patrons were from ten in the morning to seven at night. The lifeguards arrived no later than 0730.

After tidying up the office and the day’s paperwork, Jerry paused and gazed out the window. Usually, a few sailboats and perhaps two or three commercial ships could be seen in the distance. Some days, the hazy outlines of Corsica and Elba were visible. Today was one of those rare days when both islands could be seen clearly, along with numerous sailboats and commercial ships plying the sea. Confronted by the beautiful world he lived in, he quietly rejoiced. Thank you, Lord, for the beauty you created and for allowing me to see it. It amazes me, Lord, how at different times of the day, we humans can see different things looking out over the water. It’s also a wonder to me, Lord, that different patches of water are different shades of blue and even green. Amen.

As he started to lock up, the phone rang. Answering, he rattled off the spiel. American Beach, Staff Sergeant Kilbrane speaking. May I help you, Sir or Ma’am? … Yes, Sergeant Major. We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes. Hanging up the phone, he immediately keyed the mic. "Sergeant Graystone and Specialists Williams and MacRivers, meet me at my POV ASAP. ² Specialist Sanchez, when everything’s finished, send the guys home. See you all in the morning."

Exiting the office, he saw Chiara sitting at the picnic table with Fiorella and three other girls. Promising to return soon, he quick-timed it to his jet-black BMW 135i convertible. After waiting for him to unlock the doors, the soldiers climbed in. Ensuring the other soldiers would not hear him, Bobby whispered, Fiorella is telling your girl about the Army and how these things can pop up. They rode in relative silence, each wondering why they were being summoned to the Camp Darby Command Sergeant Major’s office this late in the evening.

Chapter 2

16 NOVEMBER 2012—FINALLY!

T he CID Special Agent course was the third time Gerald Graystone had spent time at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. His long-awaited dream was finally a reality. As he sat motionlessly among his fellow graduates, he thought, I’m excited as a six-year-old boy on Christmas morning; I’ve longed for this moment for fifteen long years. I think I saw Dad in his Class A uniform ³ sitting toward the back of the auditorium. I’m glad he’s kept himself in shape. That uniform still fits him like he was still on active duty. Waiting for the ceremony to start, he began daydreaming about how he had gotten there.

Life before the Army

His mother, Kathy, was just shy of twenty when he was born; Diana Rae came almost three years later, followed by his brother, Bobby, eighteen months later. Kathy walked out on her family when he was seven. I had come home with my report card. I had earned straight As except for a B+ in music. I remember she asked why I hadn’t gotten an A in music; I still can’t carry a tune in a bucket. She told me, Dad’ll be home in a few minutes. Watch your brother and sister until he gets here. Dad never told us why she left. I wonder if he knew. Counselors advised their father that this single event would have a greater impact on Jerry than on the other two children because of where he was developmentally.

Life for the three siblings went along fairly smooth for the next few years. James pulled an assignment to Wiesbaden, Germany. Like many other single parents in the military, he took the kids with him. During their three years there, James met and married Ingrid, a widow of a German Army soldier. The family had only been there about eighteen months when Jerry’s hormones seemed to come out of nowhere on his twelfth birthday.

His first puppy love was Brandy. They had been a middle school couple for close to month when she handed him an envelope. My mom’s having some of her friends over for a party and wants your mom to come. I’m supposed to give this to you to give to her.

I can’t give it to her. She doesn’t live with us. She left us when I was seven, and she’s never even called. We don’t know where she is. Even my grandma doesn’t know where she is.

At first, Brandy thought he was making a sick middle school boy joke and told him to stop, that it wasn’t funny. When she realized he wasn’t joking, she started asking questions. Being a typical seventh-grade student, some of the questions could have been phrased better. She asked, What kind of boy doesn’t have a mom? What kind of boy doesn’t know where his mother is and never sees her? Even Kevin sees his mom when he’s in the States. Don’t you love her? The next day, Brandy told him, I have to break up with you. My dad says I’m too young to have a boyfriend. Yet, a few days later, she and Andy became a schoolyard couple. Girl troubles followed Jerry from middle school to high school, from Germany to Fort Drum, New York. Like many boys his age, he was too self-absorbed to see that his guy friends were having trouble figuring out girls as well. Many girls were drawn to him, but invariably, within weeks of experiencing the initial joys of infatuation, he’d sabotage the relationship. Not recognizing his own culpability, he blamed the girls for dumping him. Over time, Jerry’s father tried to help him understand that his lack of trust in the fairer gender stemmed from his mother’s desertion. By the time he reached college, he had given up on dating and devoted himself to the top loves in his life: swimming, academic studies, and running, in that order.

As a high school sophomore, he solidified his dream of one day being a detective in the military. It was a goal he traced back to TV programs with his father. They routinely watched episodes of JAG and two other police dramas: Walker, Texas Ranger and Law & Order. The family returned to the US from Germany just as the television program NCIS debuted. Jerry was entering the tenth grade. CSM Graystone arranged for a CID recruiter to sit down with his son and help lay out a plan to best achieve the goal. As part of the career counseling, SFC Peters emphasized education, physical fitness, and avoiding youth hijinks. Jerry lettered varsity in swimming that year and added cross-country the following year. He and his siblings continued the tae kwon do lessons they had started in Germany; he earned a brown belt before he graduated high school. Academically, he maintained a near four point zero grade point average and was elected class treasurer. His only regret in high school was being unable to maintain a nonplatonic relationship with a girl.

Jerry was accepted into the forensic accounting program at Champlain College in Vermont, the only university in the US that offered the bachelor’s degree with his major. He graduated sigma cum laude with a bachelor of science degree in computer forensics and digital investigations. The CID recruiter had recommended this particular route. Prior to college graduation, he began the enlistment process. He politely rebuffed SFC Gallardo’s efforts to get him to apply for OCS, explaining that he wanted to be CID, and that was not an accession branch for commissioned officers. Gallardo stated, Whatever you want, we will do, but with your test scores and your college GPA, that’s a lot to give up. You’d make a lot more money as a Second Lieutenant. He enlisted Jerry for MOS 95B, Military Police. His father drove from New York to Champlain, Vermont, to witness Jerry’s induction ceremony. James, who had retired a couple of years earlier, drove up from New York for the enlistment ceremony. He double-checked the enlistment contract, explaining that he had seen contracts leave out the specific Army language required to ensure a college graduate was promoted to paygrade E-4, Specialist or Corporal, and for the continued fast promotion to sergeant that he was entitled to. ⁴

A month and a half after graduating from Champlain College, he entered basic training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, on 28 July 2008. He did well in basic training and excelled in the MP AIT. Three weeks before graduation from AIT, he received his first assignment: Fort Huachuca, Arizona. Reading his set of orders, he thought, Arizona? You’ve got to be kidding me! What’s there? Barren land, scrub brush, rattlesnakes, and scorpions? It’s desert. It’s gonna be hot! His enlistment contract included two weeks of Hometown Recruiter added to the leave he was authorized when he finished his training. SFC Gallardo had promised Jerry, You can spend three days a week with your family in New York. All I want you to do is talk to students from Champlain College and from local high schools, encouraging them to enlist.

Unlike Jerry, Bobby graduated high school with no plans for his future. His focus on girls, sports, and tinkering with old cars had had a definite negative impact on his grades. Jerry came home on leave to find Bobby failing all but his computer classes at a local community college. Bobby, you should enlist in the Army. If your scores are good enough, and I’m sure they will be, you can choose any job and receive training and experience without having to go to college. Basic Training was a lot of fun. Dad’ll be proud of you, and girls dig soldiers.

I don’t know, Jer. I know Dad enjoyed what he did being in charge and all that stuff, but I’m not into that. I don’t want to go crawling around in the mud. What other kinds of jobs are there?

Do you remember how you did on the ASVAB when all the other kids took it? That test helps determine what you have a natural aptitude for. It’s useful even for civilian careers.

Yeah, Jer, I can’t forget how I did. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing off the hook! Glad they don’t have my cell number. Supposedly with my scores, I can do anything I want. Dad’s been cool about it, hasn’t pressured me.

So you have a lot of jobs to choose from. I know you don’t really like school, but you want to work with computers. Let the Army teach you. Play your cards right, do three years, get some certifications, and you can get out and get a civilian job. If you like the Army, you can make it a career like Dad did. Besides computers, there’re other choices. You like working on cars; get certified as a diesel mechanic. Or be an MP like me! Ultimately, Bobby did the paperwork with SFC Gallardo.

Fort Huachuca

The next day, Jerry boarded a jet, destination Tucson, Arizona. Once there, he got on one of the Huachuca Shuttle minivans for the hour-plus trip to Fort Huachuca. The Huachuca Shuttle driver dropped Jerry and his bags in front of the Eighteenth Military Police Detachment headquarters; it was 1400 hours on the twenty-sixth of January 2009. Jerry carried his gear inside, identified himself, and was escorted to the First Sergeant’s office. First Sergeant Jean Barrington addressed him sternly. "Specialist Graystone, do you realize you have been AWOL for almost a month. Just how long have you been in the Army? You’re an E-4. There is no excuse! At best, the CO will give you an Article-15 ⁵ and two weeks of extra duty! Give me one good reason for going AWOL!"

Taken aback, Jerry responded, First Sergeant, I graduated from the MP course on 19 December. I took three weeks of leave and did two weeks of Hometown Recruiter. I was told I actually had two more days before I had to report, First Sergeant. He maintained proper military bearing despite the unexpected reprimand.

Get your orders and other paperwork and report back immediately.

Paperwork in hand, he knocked on her door. She looked up and said, Enter. Jerry handed her a packet of documents. It contained his orders to Fort Huachuca, his DA-31 leave form, a letter from SFC Gallardo commending his efforts as a hometown recruiter, and his graduation certificate from the MP course. The commendation letter was on top so she would see it first.

Seeing all the paperwork was in order, 1SG Barrington said, Specialist, congratulations on doing so well in your course. There can only be one Distinguished Honor Graduate from any class. Great job! We will correct the erroneous information we had. Welcome to Fort Huachuca. I run a tight ship here, but I try to be fair. Tell me about yourself.

Yes, First Sergeant. My father retired from the Army, so I wanted to check it out after I finished college. Sergeant First Class Gallardo tried to convince me to go to OCS, but Dad always said it would be better to get some enlisted experience first; get to know what it’s like to be enlisted before becoming an officer. First Sergeant.

After a brief discussion, Barrington punched the speakerphone button on her landline and then tapped out the five-digit extension. Let me get your platoon sergeant in here and have you two meet.

Yes, First Sergeant. He had not mentioned his desire to become a CID agent because of his father’s advice. Son, there’s no sense rocking the boat by sharing too much too soon. Some will support you in your desire, but others may look at your goal and at your education and think that you have a ‘better than others’ attitude. There would be time for that in the coming months. He needed to prove himself as a soldier first and as an MP second. The one application requirement he did not currently meet required applicants to have a minimum of two years’ time in service.

When the phone was answered, 1SG Barrington said, Sergeant Hernandez, your new soldier is in my office. He’s ready for you. ⁶ A short, stocky African American entered the office a few minutes later. Despite several years of hard work to eradicate his accent, SFC Hernandez’s Jamaican accent was still detectable. He assigned Jerry to SGT Leroy Johnson’s squad. As his squad leader, he would also be Jerry’s sponsor. This duty made it his responsibility to ease Jerry through a process every soldier goes through at each new duty station. It seemed like we went to a hundred places, a ton of hurry up and wait. We had to go to finance, medical, dental, transportation services, the chaplain, the education center, Whitside Hall to give them my personnel records, and CIF, where a bunch of equipment was issued to me.