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Back Jungle Up Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
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  63. Author’s Note

“So the quarterly earnings?” Bill said.

“How bad?”

“Down thirteen percent.”

“Shit,” Patrick said. “What time do the numbers come out?”

“Tomorrow morning, before the market opens.”

“We’re going to take a beating.”

“We’ll be fine. FDA approval for Jevixa is supposed to come through next Friday. We could have it out by fall if we fast-track it. Early projections have revenues at two billion the first year. Three point six by year two.”

≈

“Ambassador? Charge d’whatever? I don’t give a damn,” Patrick shouted into the receiver. “Just get him on the phone.”

“I told you that he’s in a meeting,” said the voice from the US Embassy in Bolivia. “I can leave him a message.”

“I’ve already left six messages. My son went missing in the Bolivian Amazon. I haven’t heard from him in forty days.”

“Like I said—”

Patrick hung up the phone.

For the past three days, Patrick had tried to go through the correct channels. He’d filled out the missing-persons paperwork on the embassy website, and he’d phoned the embassy fifteen times. But he wasn’t getting anywhere.

It was time to put his vast fortune to work.

≈

Patrick picked up the marker and drew a red X through July 18.

Daniel had been missing for seventy-five days.

Patrick was dropping to his knees, ready to once again beg God to send his son home, when his phone rang.

It was Rodrigo, the Bolivian investigator whom Patrick had hired. Patrick had just returned to the States after spending a month in Bolivia with Rodrigo and twenty Bolivian soldiers, combing the jungles in and around Las Piedras in search of his son. They hadn’t found a single clue as to Daniel’s whereabouts.

Patrick answered the call. “What have you got?”

“Nothing. I’m going to have to stop looking.”

“No. I’ll pay you as much as you want.” Patrick had already spent more than three million dollars on the search.

“I can’t take any more of your money,” Rodrigo said. “I’m sorry.” Rodrigo didn’t say the next four words, but he didn’t have to.

Your son is gone.

≈

The contract was dated from the previous day, July 28.

It was from ISRS, Israeli Search and Rescue Services.

Two million dollars up front. Another two million if they found Daniel.

Patrick clicked the box on the computer, accepting the terms, then typed his name, electronically signing the document.

He was getting ready to send the contract back when an alert for a new email appeared. Like each time he received an email, his heart began to pound.

Please be from Daniel, please be from Daniel, please be from Daniel.

It wasn’t.

His heart sank.

The sender was [email protected].

The subject read “Daniel.”