Drake had blown coffee out of his nose and down the front of his newly fitted tropical-weight shirt when Jorge had broken the news, and it had taken a full minute for him to stop coughing as he tried to catch his breath.
“Two billion dollars? That’s…that’s insane,” Drake managed, his voice hoarse.
Spencer cleared his throat. “I believe that will be only one billion for you, Mr. Ramsey.” They had discussed it earlier and decided that Spencer and Allie would both get twenty-five percent cuts. Drake had protested, but they’d insisted Drake would get half, and they’d split the rest.
“Only one? How am I going to get by on that?”
Jorge’s eyes widened as he studied Spencer’s smirk. “Wow. Spencer, you’re rich! I mean, New York-level rich!”
“Well, not like some Wall Street crooks, but that does sound like I’ll be able to get a good table at Nobu whenever I want.”
“I guess I won’t be going back to any administrative positions when I go home,” Allie said, smiling.
“I…I don’t know what to say. Congratulations. All of you. You deserve it. This is the achievement of a lifetime,” Jorge said, obviously impressed.
“Wait. Can we go back to the part about the crowd of thousands? I don’t really do well with public speaking…” Drake said, and Spencer and Allie exchanged a smile.
“Don’t worry. You don’t speak Spanish, so you won’t be expected to say anything. Just smile when they pin the medal on,” Spencer said.
“Sounds like you’ll be right there next to me,” Drake fired back.
Jorge nodded. “Yes, my friends, all of you are to be decorated. The president has already declared this Friday a national holiday. It’s a big deal. And there will be a state dinner afterward, where you will be the guests of honor. The American government is flying the Secretary of State in to represent your country. This is international news.”
Drake looked increasingly concerned as the morning wore on. When Jorge excused himself and Spencer went to get another refill of strong black coffee, Allie rose and approached Drake, one eyebrow cocked.
“Can I speak with you?” she asked, her tone revealing nothing.
“Sure.”
“Alone.”
Drake eyed Spencer, who was busying himself with the coffee pot. “Okay.”
Allie took Drake by the hand and led him away from the clearing down to the river. When they reached the bank, she turned to him, her blue eyes flashing in the sun. “Looks like our quest is over now.”
“Except for the dinner.”
“You have to stop freaking out about that. You’ll do fine.”
“I know. I just get…”
Allie moved closer and stood on her tiptoes. Her full lips met Drake’s and they shared a long kiss, electricity crackling between them. When she pulled away and sighed softly, Drake felt dizzy for a moment. She took his other hand and kissed him again, and then looked up at his strong jawline and deep tan.
“I’m glad you didn’t die going over the waterfall,” she said softly.
“Or any other time. For the record, I’m glad you didn’t die, either.” He kissed her again and then regarded the rushing water. “What about Spencer?”
Allie laughed. “Spencer? Nothing’s going on between us. What…you thought we were…?”
“No. I mean, you thought I was dead. I’d totally understand…”
“Spencer’s a fine specimen, but he’s not my type.”
“What’s your type?”
“I’m hoping we can find out after this is over.”
Drake swallowed hard. “I’d like that.”
“There’s no reason to be nervous about the dinner. Seriously. I’ll be right there with you.” She nuzzled against his chest, and then they both started when they heard the underbrush behind them rustle. Spencer stepped out, a sheepish grin on his face.
“Well, looks like it’s Drake’s lucky day in more ways than one,” he said. “Sorry. I wasn’t being nosy. I just wanted to make sure you two were okay.”
Drake locked eyes with Allie, and they smiled together before turning to face him. Allie pushed a lock of dark hair out of her eyes and winked at Spencer.
“Never better.”
Chapter Forty-Five
The award ceremony went by in a blur: countless dignitaries shaking hands, kissing cheeks, bowing and scraping and patting Drake’s back like he was a new father. As he sat at the head of the long table in the position of honor, trying to remember which fork to use while avoiding spilling wine all over his tuxedo, he was struck by a sense of dissociation, like he was sitting apart from himself, watching someone who looked like him going through the motions, smiling and nodding at the right points. The sensation heightened as the dinner progressed, and he wondered whether he was having a seizure of some sort, brought on by the blow to his head. Then he seemed to get sucked back into his body, and he was looking out through his own eyes again as the Secretary of State’s charming wife recounted a practiced story with just the appropriate amount of irony.
He took another sip of wine and considered the gathered faces, some jaded, others bloated with privilege and the ennui of the powerful, still others hungry with avarice or envy, all eyes on him like a sacrificial lamb. His gaze drifted to Allie sitting a few seats down the table across from him, looking radiant in a white sequined dress with a high collar, its contours hugging her curves with every move. Flashes of light sparkled from the massive chandeliers as a string quartet played Mozart with Latin zest, and he was struck by how silly his fellow humans were, how enamored with trappings of power and wealth, and how little of it actually mattered. He resisted a powerful urge to bolt from the hall, and instead chuckled at the right moment, the woman’s diverting tale at an end.
“I hear that you’re going to start a charitable foundation,” the Secretary of State said after a bite of salmon poached in a champagne sauce.
“Yes. I’m having a great deal of the Peruvian government’s generosity donated to create an organization in my father’s memory. It was he that did the research that enabled me to find Paititi, and he would have wanted the money to go to furthering similar pursuits, I’m sure.”
Polite applause greeted his statement, and Drake despised them all for a moment before choking down his volatile emotions. This was a necessary part of being a hero, Spencer had said, whether he liked it or not. The only thing he had to do was get through the evening without vomiting on the white tablecloth, and he’d be remembered as a hit: young, handsome, gracious, sunburned, and appropriately rakish – the perfect embodiment of the successful adventurer.
The only problem was that it felt like a lie. All he’d done was stumble around in the jungle following his father’s clues. He didn’t deserve any of it.
He offered a wan smile to the beautiful starlet the organizers had seated next to him and took another gulp of wine. Drake might have felt like an empty suit, but if he looked at this public appearance as a job, part of an act, he could get through it. He wouldn’t embarrass himself and tarnish his father’s name.
Spencer caught his eye from his position halfway down the table and grinned a warning. He’d spent enough time with Drake to know he was in trouble. As the entrée was removed to make way for dessert, Spencer excused himself and approached Drake. He bowed deferentially to the gathering and addressed them like trusted conspirators.
“I’m sorry. Would you excuse us for a moment? I need to ask Ramsey here for some investment tips.”
Everyone laughed, the wine having flowed like water, and Spencer led Drake out onto a balcony overlooking the twinkling city lights.
Spencer leaned close to Drake. “Are you all right? You looked like you were about to yack on the hottie they set you up with.”
They were interrupted by a servant carrying a humidor filled with Cuban cigars. Drake shook his head. Spencer took one and, after a slight hesitation, took a second, and slipped them both into the breast pocket of his tuxedo.
“I can’t wait for this to be over,” Drake said.
“Yeah, well, it shouldn’t be much longer now. Just don’t stab anyone with the silverware and you’ll be okay.”
“I know. But I’m having a lousy time.”
“Welcome to the lifestyles of the rich and famous.”
“So far it sucks.”
“Yeah, but the hours are good, and the food’s not bad.”
“I want to get out of here.”
“You’re the guest of honor, Drake. You don’t get to disappear.”
“I know. That’s the problem.”
“What’s up? We talked about this. You just need to smile. They don’t even care if you pick your nose. You’re a rock star. A blinding supernova. You can do no wrong.”
“It just feels…wrong.”
Spencer nodded. “Maybe so. Tomorrow it will be over. You can get on a plane and go anywhere in the world. You’re set. So man up, grin and bear it, or I swear I’ll personally bring a scorpion to your room and have it bite you on the ass.”
“I’m pretty sure scorpions sting.”
“Whatever.”
“All right. Hell, if I can brave the Amazon, the least I can do is tackle a few geriatrics in monkey suits.”
Spencer slapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit.”
Spencer turned to rejoin the dinner, and Drake stopped him.
“Thanks, Spencer. For everything. I couldn’t have gotten through any of this without your help.”
Spencer paused. “Bullshit. You nailed it every time. If you’re beating yourself up because you think you didn’t do your part, that’s idiocy. You found Paititi, Drake. Not me. Not Jack, not your dad, and not even Allie. You did. You located the treasure. You tracked down the ore. I just held your gun for you.” Spencer looked off at the city and then fixed Drake with a hard stare. “You’re frigging Drake Ramsey, you found Paititi, you’re world famous, and Goddamn it, you deserve every bit of it, and more. So suck it up and deal with it.”
They stood facing each other like gladiators, breathing heavily, the music drifting from the ballroom like tendrils of curling smoke.
Drake nodded and smiled. “I have issues.” Spencer pulled one of the cigars from his pocket and sniffed it appreciatively.
“Welcome to the human race, dude.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Drake opened the door of his apartment’s refrigerator and grimaced. The milk had gone bad and the bread was a science experiment. But strangely, being back home, packing his things, centered him, something he needed after two days in Lima before returning to California and what passed for real life. That had all seemed fake, including sitting in first class, the pod seats, polite flight attendants and warm bowls of mixed nuts impossibly luxurious to his pedestrian eye.
Drake stared down at his torn jeans, worn running shoes, and No Fear T-shirt and shook his head. It felt like a mistake. This was reality, not the jungle, or state dinners, or luxurious suites. Reality was a fridge with two cans of cola, a six-pack of beer, some frozen waffles that had been there longer than the TV, and dairy products that qualified as hazardous waste.
He rinsed off one of the sodas and popped the top and, after a swig, returned to pouring products down the drain in preparation for the movers. They’d arrive within the hour, and he wanted to hand them the keys and be out of there, no love lost for his sad collection of furniture and few electronics. The only things he was taking with him were a duffel bag with most of his clothes and the new laptop he’d bought. The rest could rot in storage while he figured out what he wanted to be when he grew up.
The morning had been busy. He’d stopped by New Start Bail Bonds and made arrangements for Betty to work for him as his assistant. Not that he needed one, but she’d declined his offers of financial help, making clear that she didn’t want charity. So they’d reached an agreement where she’d find suitable offices and act as the manager for his new foundation – which at present would largely involve fending off the near constant media inquiries.
The knock on the door startled him. He flipped the switch for the garbage disposal and, satisfied that the worst of the refrigerator’s contents were now either in the sewage system or the garbage, went to the door and twisted the knob.
Spencer took in his ratty clothes and extended his hand. “Nice outfit,” he said.
“Thanks. I thought I’d put on something special,” Drake responded, shaking it.
“It’s not every day you cut a check for thirty-three mil. I hardly recognized you with shoes on.”
“They don’t cut checks anymore. They do wire transfers.”
“Nobody likes a know-it-all.”
Spencer followed him inside and closed the door behind him. He tossed Drake a newspaper with a photo of Drake at the award ceremony on the front page. Drake groaned as he read it. Spencer sniffed the air disapprovingly.
“So how you been?” Spencer asked.
“Good. I just landed this morning. Got out on a red-eye.”
“You could have hired a private jet and flown whenever you felt like it.”
“I wouldn’t know how to book one. Seriously. I’ve never done it before.”
“Neither have I. But it seems like the kind of thing you should start doing.”
“I’ll add that to the list. You get your money?”
“Yeah. Courtesy of Peru. Thanks again. Five hundred big ones. I’m still trying to get used to the idea.”
“I know what you mean. Like, where do you start?”
Spencer shrugged. “You heard from Allie?”
“Yeah. She’s back in Texas. Dealing with ranch issues. I’m supposed to head out and help her tomorrow.”
Spencer nodded. “Did you ever figure out what you were going to do about the shaman and his daughter?”
Drake had debated donating some of his cut to providing health care and other essential services to the tribe.
“In the end, anything I did would just destroy what they have, so it’s one of those situations where if I tried to help, I’d do more harm than good. I decided to just let them be. They’ve managed for thousands of years without me. Who am I to play god and change everything for them?”
“The beginnings of wisdom.” Spencer surveyed the apartment. “Can’t see why you’re moving. It’s got walls and everything. Electricity. A view of that hedge.”
“Time for a change, I guess.”
“I’m kidding. It’s a dump. And it smells like ass.”
“Don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think.”
“So where are you moving to?”
Drake paused. “I haven’t figured that out yet. Sort of trying to get the hang of my new lifestyle.”
Spencer eyed him. “Maybe Texas?”
“Too flat.”
“What about Florida? It’s warm there.”
“Too many hurricanes.”
“Ah. Right. Then what about Southern California? San Diego? Malibu! You could go full-tilt Baywatch. Get a place on the beach. Bug your famous neighbors for Grey Poupon. Walk around naked. Surf.”
“Surfing sounds fun. I used to do it out by Santa Cruz, but it’s been a while.”
“You should pick it back up. Everyone’s doing it. It’s the new ‘I’m not a yuppie’ yuppie thing to do.”
“Good to know.”
“I read that in the in-flight magazine.”
“You should have taken a private jet.”
Spencer smiled. “And the pupil becomes the master.”
Drake went into his bedroom, slipped his computer into his duffel and shouldered it. “You ready to hit it?”
“Sure.”
“Just a second. I need to leave a note for the movers.” Drake pushed by him, scribbled on a piece of binder paper, and carried it to the door, where he tacked it on the outside after closing it. Spencer glanced at the note.
“Nice. ‘Door’s open. Haul everything to the dump. There’s five hundred dollars in the drawer by the fridge. Enjoy the
six of beer.’ Why get tied down with material stuff?”
“I was going to put everything in storage, but I realized just now that I don’t care about any of it. So why keep it?”
“Right. Better to start fresh. In Malibu. Surf’s up, dude.”
Drake nodded. “Cowabunga.”
“I rented a car. We can take mine,” Spencer said.
“Sounds good. Let me throw this in my trunk. Just give me a lift back, would you?”
“You expect a lot for thirty-three million. I already hauled that damned ore box for you. My back still hurts.”
The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, warming Drake as he walked to his car – another possession he couldn’t wait to get rid of, he realized. He absently wondered whether it would start, and decided that it didn’t matter. Part of him hoped it wouldn’t. It would make it easier for him to leave it there, to be towed whenever the city tired of it collecting dust. He threw his bag into the trunk and met Spencer at the curb, where he was sitting in a red economy sedan.
Drake slid into the passenger seat and ran a hand over the dash. “Wow. Real plastic. You’re living large, aren’t you?”
“Screw you. I got the extra insurance. I know how to spend money, too. You’re not the only one, big shot.” He paused. “Where’s the bank?”
“Go west to the El Camino and hang a right. Eight blocks up. Can’t miss it.”
Spencer signaled and pulled into traffic, the engine whining like a chained dog, expensive luxury cars flying by them as they made their way to the main drag.
“Have you figured out what you’re going to do?”
“Allie and I talked after the award ceremony. There’s still that smaller Inca city just waiting to be found. I haven’t had time to look into it yet, but there has to be a thread to follow on that…”
Spencer smiled. “Told you so.”
“All right. Fine. You were right. There. Happy now?”
“Couldn’t be happier.”
Spencer found a spot a quarter block away from the bank. The manager escorted them into her office and handled the transaction, wiring thirty-three million dollars to Spencer’s account without comment. The two men in front of her looked more like pizza-delivery boys than multimillionaires, but she was used to everything this close to Silicon Valley. They were done within ten minutes, and when they stepped out onto the sidewalk, they both seemed unsure of what to do next.
Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) Page 33