In Flames (16 page)

“Mr. Shedrick, can you hear me?”

I opened my eyes and saw the outline of a man's face taking shape. Thin sandy hair, watery brown eyes probing, overly large ears that stuck out from his head like a small Volkswagen with the doors open. The absurd image stirred my attention.

“Mr. Shedrick, sir…” The voice was soft, persistent, confident in authority. My eyes focused on the U.S. ambassador.

“Good evening, Mr. Shedrick, and thank you.”

I blinked, and blinked again.
Now what do they want…

“May I call you Dan?”

I nodded.

“You really are a winner, you know, congratulations. My God, you're a genuine American hero.”

“Not now…”

“Accept it, you are. The president called me again only an hour ago, and asked me to convey his congratulations as soon as I saw you. There'll definitely be a White House dinner, and that's just for starters. The president has already spoken to your family.”

At the mention of family, my attention snapped into focus.

“You'll never have to worry about anything again, Dan. You're set for life. Just read this.” The ambassador unfolded a piece of paper. “Copy of an email, from the managing editor of
Vanity Fair
, addressed to you care of me. You're off and running, my friend. And more like this have been flooding in all day. Magazines, television…”

“I can't.” I felt as if the entire weight of the mountains I fled was falling on me in an avalanche. “I can't read, my eyes hurt.”

“I'll read it for you now, how's that.” More statement than question. And although I showed no sign of wanting to listen, that didn't stop the ambassador.

“ ‘Dear Dan Shedrick, We'd have preferred to call you personally about such a matter, instead of going through backdoor diplomatic channels like this, and I've tried to find your exact whereabouts and number, but without success. As you've no doubt heard by now, an explosive story is heating up about your kidnapping and escape, and your victorious counterattack against terrorist insurgents—' ”

“What counterattack?”

“Let me finish, Dan, you'll see. ‘You're America's top news item, and we're trying to package the most rounded, informative, fairest piece possible about your remarkably heroic achievements—perhaps even a paperback in a month, and an eBook and video biography this week. The public has a right to know, which we recognize, and we're looking forward to you sharing your thrilling memories with our top-tier national audience. Our photo editors are particularly keen for pictures of you, to help illustrate the article and the possible book and video, for which we're prepared to enter into further negotiations. We're seriously considering a preemptive high-six-figure fee in exchange for an exclusive piece. We trust you'll find these conditions acceptable, and you'll call us as soon as you're able. We've all been bowled over and inspired by the enormity of your heroism and suffering, and we appreciate the initial human impulse is to be defensive and protective of privacy. That's how I felt about it too, for you, when Xy Corp. first contacted me with the idea. Then I thought about it some more, and realized if the story about you is to be accurate, we absolutely must have your unique view of events, to present a fuller portrait of you as a hero in all your magnificent accomplishments. And since nothing exceeds the personal angle for impact, our discerning readers will want to know how your nightmare and triumph influence your dreams and new plans, etc. I trust you'll agree we need the special participation of the individual himself who's caught up in this vortex, the unique person who has all the fascinating facts and backstory. So please, think about this a little, Dan. We'd like very much to hear from you as soon as possible. Thank you…' ” The ambassador held the message out as if it were a check for millions. “And there's more, Dan, lots more, dozens of offers pouring in every hour. Don't let your suffering go to waste, capitalize all you can. I'm on the Exxon board, and I think we can get our new jumbo tanker named the
Dan Shedrick
. I'm serious, why not, don't look like that, really, I mean it. Chevron had the
Condoleezza Rice
, and it certainly didn't hurt her career. And now while we're on the subject of monetizing your horrific experiences…” The ambassador folded the
Vanity Fair
pitch and placed it on the bedside table. “You do have a philosophy about the serious money you'll be making, don't you?”

I looked at him as though he wanted to know if I had a philosophy for breathing. Here was a man whose acute sense of property rights seemed the closest he'd ever come to an emotion. “Mr. Ambassador, I'm not sure I understand all this.”

“Then a solid philosophy would help, considering your new circumstances.”

“Philosophy…”

“Not the scholastic kind, nothing abstract or academic. Nothing you studied in college. Money doesn't exist by itself, floating around out there in a vacuum, now does it?” I closed my eyes to dismiss the inanity of what he was saying. The ambassador remained oblivious. “You need a philosophical system to fit it all into, something that takes account of the whole struggle to survive. It's in this dense, overflowing crucible—the kind you'll be in, Dan, soon enough, maybe like the one you feel you've just been through—it's here your ideas about money get formed. For example, from what I can see shaping up for you, you can totally change your life from this point on. Correct?” I hesitated, caution and suspicion the restraint. “Would you say that before all this happened to you, you had a dramatically different philosophy of life? And of money?”

“Maybe. Money, survival, you can't have one without the other. But out there in the mountains, in that jungle, I guarantee you, Mr. Ambassador, money was the furthest thing from my mind. Their ransom demand was total hallucination, they were insane. And as for any philosophy—”

“I certainly don't mean theirs. And mine is quite simple, really.” The ambassador's watery brown eyes came alive as he warmed to his subject. “And at the same time complex. Poverty, I think we can all agree, is slavery. Money buys freedom.” He startled me with a message that sounded almost like an echo of
Comandante
Padre Cardenio Morena, his sincerity equally intense. “Provided,” he said, “and here's the complexity—you don't upset others. That can be costly. It's all a question of balance, what the Romans called
aurea mediocritas
, the golden mean. Maybe you studied that in college. I know I did, at Yale. The golden mean informs everything I do. In other words, don't go bananas. Don't rub it in, broadcasting yourself, like too many people do. Swaggering all over the place is hardly the best idea. Showing off can always blow back at you. Practice prudence, is what I'm saying. Upset no one. Simply live and let live. That's certainly my philosophy, which not enough people share, I'm afraid. And although even I had to learn some of these lessons the hard way, this doesn't mean I'm not still absorbed by my own satisfactions—I confess, I'm only human, it's not a puritan's life I'm recommending here, Dan. I've never been a candidate in the sainthood sweepstakes, but I do have the advantage of experience. Do you consider yourself a moral person, this is a very important question now.”

The ambassador bore his advisor's sense of duty with an almost penitential air, as if laboring under a vow of wealth. I reflected on his question, wondering how to answer more or less honestly, not an easy task, as I felt no compunction to confess anything to him. “I need time to think, so much is happening.”

“Good. Otherwise it can be a precarious position, not knowing.” Furrows of concern wrinkled the ambassadorial brow. “You have to be sure of who you are, Dan, if you're going to thrive, and enjoy what you've risked your life for. I'm convinced you're going to do extremely well. Provided you agree, of course.”

“Agree?”

“To accept some advice. There's something about you that I admire, how you've served your country is totally laudable. Reg Townsley told me how well you performed for him. And you're still young, attractive, intelligent, and suddenly you're thrown into a tragedy totally undeserved, a nightmare you did nothing to have inflicted on you, and then this immense personal success. Something about all this makes me feel protective—
fatherly
may be too strong a word, I don't mean to patronize here, and I hope you don't mind my giving advice. It's just that you're such an admirable young person, and my wife and I, we've never had children of our own. Money will buy you time for only so long, Dan. I've done quite well in private equity, I could advise you, professionally. We should stay in touch, together we can grow your capital.”

The sedative was wearing off, and I had the disquieting feeling His Excellency the Ambassador was spinning too comfortable a web, leaving little room for movement, nothing for me to think or say or do on my own without him by my side to guide me, ensuring I did only what they wanted. His thoughts were strangely displaced, almost disembodied reactions to appalling realities, his routines never questioned. But I'd grown discontent with routines, looking at where routines had landed me. We're dependent for too long on customs, inducted by parents and stepparents and teachers so it's all embedded in our nature, we get initiated into patterns and rituals and habits, and we grow up accepting the rule of fitting in, not questioning too much. It's all part of who we are, but I was no longer content with this. I'd been caught out by something I believed in for too long, and now I was learning the lesson, a sickening realization that the commitment was far too demanding, far more costly, far less rewarding than I once took it to be, no matter how big the numbers and promises the ambassador persisted in pushing.

“Everything, Dan, everything you've suffered, everything you've triumphed over, it should all lead somewhere significant. But on your own, where do you go?”

“Well, I can start off…” And here I ran out of words. The ambassador exhausted me. The difficulty of confronting flagrant habits of speculation with truth simply wiped me out all over again. I wanted to get rid of the man. I wanted sleep.

“How long will your sudden windfall last, Dan, that's what I mean. On the other hand, if you grow your new wealth, it's not inconceivable you'll reach serious money someday—nine figures, and I mean it—you could come in as a full partner in our equity fund. Common enough practice these days, when you're up in those numbers.” The web grew tighter, promising ever more comfort, and I remained silent, without the strength to demur any longer from the ambassador's breathless fantasies. “You see, Dan, I've more than a little experience in these matters. Over thirty years, dealing with extremely large sums.” The ambassador paused to let it all sink in. A calming smile, his godfatherly hand on my arm. “I wouldn't be at all surprised if you didn't end up with, say, something in the neighborhood of roughly thirty or forty million just in the next year or so, and I'm talking net-net here. Together, we could find profit, we can grow that, whereas on your own…” The soft, persuasive voice was acquiring an almost hypnotic effect, luxurious numbers intended to intoxicate, money insistently pushing its way in. When the ambassador wasn't out to bully, he tried to soothe. Impossible to tell whether he was an ally or an assailant.

“I don't understand, sir, I can't see exactly what you're driving at. I'm really tired.”

“What I mean is, run-ins with governments must be avoided.” The ambassador's tone shifted a notch from counsel to homily. “Governments carve away at our freedoms, little by little. Even in America. Nowhere is truly free any longer. Used to be they only asked how much money you had, now they go around nosing all over the world into your affairs. If there's one quality I truly detest in any person—and I must confess to this one prejudice—it's mistrust. Totally contemptible. I've got an idea now. My wife and I have a place on Martha's Vineyard, where we're spending the Fourth of July with some close friends. If you could join us, Dan, at least for the long weekend…” The ambassador's sermon, drawing to a close, seemed to offer salvation of a sort, though hardly redemption. “My wife and I would be honored.”

“I don't know, really I don't know what's happening yet.” And after all that had happened—the most horrible I could imagine—I was reminded of some words, a slippery rhythm, a fragment of lost phrasing heard somewhere else, long before this. For a moment, the words started to take shape in my mind, but nothing stirred on my lips other than an apprehensive breath of air. My mouth made no sounds, and what I almost remembered remained unspoken, the right words lost. I had nothing more to say to this self-controlled snake, certainly nothing that would ever matter to him.

“Sleep on it, Dan, get all the rest you need.”

Early the next morning before breakfast, a psychiatrist came to see me.

He had a reassuring air, a solid professional presence, exactly what I felt I needed, not someone with still more crazy ideas.

“You're in great shape, Dan, blood tests are negative, no infections, no parasites, and the scrapes are healing fine. Physically, you're tiptop.” His voice trailed off as if in doubt about this last assessment. “We should talk a little about what happened. Entirely in confidence, strictly doctor and patient.”

In broken phrases, I related my account of the forest and being kidnapped by mistake, described my captors, escape in the middle of the night, and the river…I never mentioned killing, I took no pride in that. And I avoided Elaine. Throughout my truncated account, the doctor stayed absorbed, giving no indication of credulity or any sign of doubt. “Quite honestly,” he said, “I don't see why you can't leave the clinic today if you wish, if you're up for it. I'll prescribe some meds, and that's it. Take them if you want. Shall I recommend you're ready to leave—”

“I want to go, I want to get out of here.” I was tempted to ask him about Elaine, and what did he, as a shrink, think about her, what made that woman behave the way she did. But I refrained from giving any details about her. By that point, I could see no margin in it. Elaine was what she was, I couldn't remake Elaine. “Just sign me out of here, Doctor, please. That's it.”

“Terrific. Now before you go, you ought to know there are a lot of stories circulating out there. Don't get alarmed. It's nothing negative. Quite the contrary, you're a hero, and maybe they're just carried away with details, gilding the lily and all. You shouldn't let any of that overpower you. It's merely talk, and with time it'll all fade away.”