| Subject: Chapter 2b |
Author:
Juli
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Date Posted: Tuesday, June 15, 04:45:24pm
In reply to:
Juli
's message, "Angelita" on Friday, May 21, 10:47:26pm
Three days later, Michael sat in a luxurious black leather armchair in the opulent lobby of Wirth Enterprises. He glanced at his watch and again at the dark-haired secretary who seemed not to notice that she was staring at him.
Fidgeting with the cuff of the black Armani suit he had picked up from the apartment he kept in Rio de Janeiro, Michael stood and walked to the window. He stared at the New York City skyline, noticing with remorse the missing twin towers of the World Trade Center. The tragedy on September 11th had occurred after he had left Paris for South America; it had indeed been a long time since he had been in New York.
After climbing into the Jeep with Manuel, Michael had returned to the small village. From there he had journeyed by boat and then plane to Rio, where he had opened the little used apartment and took in the dusty, sheet covered furniture. Climbing into his first hot shower in months, Michael pondered the summons from Nicholas Wirth, again wondering what the man could possibly want from him. After packing his long forgotten wardrobe, Michael had booked a flight to New York, and settled in for the long flight.
Now, standing in front of the large plate glass window, Michael still had no answers. The answers lay on the other side of the large mahogany doors behind him.
“Mr. Wirth will see you now,” Gail said, standing and moving to the door.
Michael turned and took a deep breath. The secretary gave him a flirtatious smile, but Michael ignored her, instead focusing his mind on what lay ahead.
Entering Nicholas Wirth’s private office suite, Michael glanced around, getting his bearings. It was a habit from the jungle that refused to die. He was somewhat impressed with the décor, although he had seen better.
“Mr. Samuelle, so good of you to come,” Nicholas Wirth said, rising from behind his desk. He moved forward to shake Michael’s hand.
“I was… intrigued by your offer, Mr. Wirth,” Michael replied, sizing up the tall man before him.
Wirth laughed heartily and slapped a hand to Michael’s shoulder. “I had hoped I could entice you out of that jungle, and call me Nick.”
Nick motioned for Michael to sit in one of a pair of designer chairs, and then he took the other.
“I suppose you are wondering why I would call you up here, so I won’t make you wait long. But first, I want you to see something,” Nick said, aiming a remote at the wall panel which opened to display a large screen television.
The news story about Dr. Johannson began to play. Michael watched with mild interest, not having seen the program before.
“So that is how he found me,” Michael thought, as the program wrapped up.
Nick touched a button on the remote and the TV turned off and the panel slid shut.
“Have you ever heard the story of how I lost my wife, Mr. Samuelle?” Nick asked, turning to face Michael.
“Rumors only,” Michael replied, wondering where the conversation was going.
Nick recounted the story of the attack and Rita’s disappearance, paying special attention to the details of where they had been on the river and the fact that her body was never recovered.
“I’ve had my computer whiz researching everything about Dr. Johannson and his expedition, and it turns out that several other scientific expeditions and locals have claimed to see the white woman – the “angel” – as well,” Nick explained.
“What does this have to do with me,” Michael asked, afraid that the millionaire was asking what Michael thought he was asking.
“Michael… may I call you Michael? I think that this white angel could very well be my wife,” Nick told him, his expression dead serious.
Even though he was expecting it, Michael still reeled from the man’s revelation. Was he mad? It was twenty years ago. An American socialite wouldn’t last two weeks in the jungle, let alone 20 years.
“Please forgive me sir, but I don’t think it could be possible that your wife has survived all this time. She would be over 40 now?” Michael said carefully, trying to keep the disbelief from coloring his voice.
“You don’t know Rita. If she had to, she would survive forever in the most dire circumstances. If there is even a shred of hope that this ‘angel’ is Rita, I’m willing to pay whatever it takes to find out,” Nick told him, a note of finality in his voice.
Michael was at a loss. He didn’t want to destroy the man’s obvious hope, but he didn’t want to be sent on a fool’s errand either.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Michael began, “but…”
Nick cut him off. “I won’t take no for an answer Michael,” he said stonily. “I didn’t make the offer of a million dollars for nothing.”
“I’m well of aware of your offer, but I simply cannot…” Michael began to decline, but Nick interrupted again.
“Your family still has business interests in France, do they not?” Nick asked casually, retrieving a cigar from a box on his desk.
Michael’s blood ran cold at the implication. He nodded, his expression blank.
“It would be a shame for the family to run into financial difficulties, wouldn’t it,” Nick said, lighting the cigar. The veiled threat was obvious.
Michael didn’t reply.
“My private jet will be fueled and on the runway at JFK as soon as you are ready,” Nick said, closing the subject.
“Of course,” Michael said, keeping the anger from his tone.
“Fantastic,” Nick said, the threat gone from his voice. “I’m going to send my computer whiz with you. Name’s Birkoff. The man works wonders with everything electronic. He’ll bring his laundry list of high tech gadgets to help you out down there.”
Michael didn’t want a “tag-along,” but had given up trying to protest.
Nick stood and held out his hand. “Good luck, Michael. The money will be waiting when you return. Notify me as soon as you have word – one way or another.”
Michael shook Nick’s hand and left the office. The dark haired secretary stood and handed Michael a stack of papers. Michael glanced through them. They included details about transportation, as well as travel documentation to get them into Bolivia. He thanked the woman and walked to the elevator.
His thoughts were racing. Now that he had agreed to this wild goose chase, his mind was ticking through the items they would need for a trek that far into the jungle.
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