Stained River

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Stained River Page 26

by David Faxon


  “I know.”

  A call to the main building brought two guards dressed impeccably in sky blue pants, navy blue tunics, white hats placed strategically over the eyes. They were a welcome sight. In his office, the ambassador received him courteously.

  “Mr. Connery! This is indeed a surprise. I heard only a short while ago that you survived that awful crash. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through these past months. We are here to help in any way we can.”

  “Thank you Mr. Ambassador. It’s good to be here. Obviously, I am in need of your assistance in obtaining a passport so I can get back to the states. I have my children waiting and a business to attend to.”

  “Yours is an unusual situation. I believe word has leaked to the press about your return already. Be prepared for a highly publicized arrival in New York. Everyone will want to hear your story. By tomorrow, we will have what you need. In the meantime, you are welcome to stay the night here, should you choose. Do you mind if I ask how you made it out?”

  For the next hour Connery told his story, mentioning in particular, the people who helped him find his way back. He talked of the demise of the rainforest and the scenes he witnessed. He never mentioned the name Castelo Branco or how his own company was high-jacked. The ambassador listened intently. Afterward, he had his passport photo taken then completed a few forms for the State Department. It was obvious his return to the states would be high priority.

  His stay was short, the room spare but adequate. The food was very good, since he dined with the ambassador. Next morning, he was given his passport and flight arrangements. With some anxiety, he boarded an airliner back to the United States. The flight was uneventful, but he felt relief with the announcement they were about to land at JFK. It would be a while before he got used to flying again.

  When the news wires picked up the story, it generated considerable excitement. He was thought to be dead for over a year, had somehow managed to be the only survivor of a plane crash then found his way out of an un-chartered sector of rainforest with the help of primitive tribesmen.

  EXEC FOUND ALIVE!

  Terrence Connery, 42, thought to be a victim of the Global Air flight that crashed in the Amazon over a year ago, has emerged alive. Authorities say that late yesterday, he contacted embassy officials in Brasilia. Global Air reported flight 302 missing last August 22nd after it was diverted to Sao Paulo from its original destination. Air Traffic Control in Brasilia reported losing contact with the plane at approximately 3 pm. The captain and first officer were both experienced pilots. The cause of the crash is still being investigated. Dense jungle hindered recovery operations for a lengthy period. Global Air reported no survivors among the 231 aboard. Three weeks after the crash, the plane was located in one of the least known regions of the Amazon. The Post has learned that Connery made contact with previously unknown tribes, some of whom still practice head hunting….

  It was the stuff of tabloids for months to come. He never told anyone the details behind what happened that year. The less he said, the more sensational the story became. There were a thousand questions, and he parried every one, saying the experience was too traumatic to talk about. Of the seventy million wire transferred to his account, a significant amount was set up in trust for Pam and the children. Another hundred million designated for an environmental organization that would carry out his instructions for its use. It wasn't long after his return when he received assurance from a trusted source, that unexpected cleanup operations of certain waterways in Amazonas and elsewhere had begun.

  CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

  New York City

  Dan Hewett was a man satisfied with what he achieved in the past year. The position he coveted was finally his. With bonus and salary of seven million, he led more than a comfortable life. The charade was planned perfectly. Connery, wasting his time and money on coquetries, became out of touch with his own company. It had taken years to gain his trust. Once he did, he expanded control over operations, while his boss hopped around the globe courting rich clients and beautiful women. Careless with details he had never been careless with before. It was Hewett who met with Castelo Branco in New York and placed in motion events that would lure Connery out of the country.

  Castelo Branco was a man who operated well above the law. Not only in his own country but outside. Hewett knew about his methods of operation. When the time came, he put out feelers. The two met in a restaurant in the Adirondacks where he presented his plan. Over the next several months, the scheme was perfected; official SEC audit request, official correspondence, doctored bank statements, the convincing story about software problems, and of course, the offer from Castelo Branco. Stephen Walters was easy to enlist as a cohort. Young and ambitious, he was a willing participant. It was essential that Hewett have the CFO in his back pocket if the plan was to succeed. Connery had to be convinced that his company was about to collapse, then, quickly as possible, get him on a plane to Brasilia.

  The day the news broke about Connery, Hewett was at the airport waiting for a plane to Brussels. His cell phone rang.

  “What is it?”

  “Connery’s alive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I said Connery’s alive. He was the only survivor of that crash; walked out of the jungle after a year. He’s landing here in New York tomorrow. It’s all over the news.”

  Hewett dropped the phone as he slid down the chair, deflated.

  “Are you there?

  He recovered long enough to answer with instructions he wasn’t sure of. He spoke as if he was in command of a situation that had just blown up in his face

  “Okay, listen! Play it smart. Say nothing to anyone, especially the press. I’ll cancel this trip and be in the office in the morning.”

  He picked up his briefcase, ran to ground transportation and flagged a cab back to the city. On the way, he struggled to come up with a story. Neither Castelo Branco’s name, nor his company, appeared anywhere on the books of Hawthorne Capital. The SEC audit?

  Tell him it was cancelled three weeks after the crash. The software problem was solved too, the crisis avoided.

  Then the realization came. It wouldn’t fly. He was done. The only other option was to get out of town, then out of the country.

  The hell with it! Let Walters deal with the mess.

  “Cabbie! Back to the airport, and quick!”

  Three years later

  It had taken years, but Hawthorne Capital was cleansed of all shady ties initiated by Hewett. Connery was back in charge of a company that many noted was rebounding nicely. No doubt, some of that was aided by his own celebrity.

  He was changed. His experience led him to fear no one, yet he was humbled. His children lost much of their bitterness over his past behavior and subsequent divorce. He met with them frequently, stayed current with what interested them, even joined the texting craze.

  After arriving in New York, he hardly found time to catch his breath. He was besieged by offers to appear on wide audience TV shows, speaking engagements, plus he had two book deals if he wanted. It took a full two weeks to find the right publicist and agent. When he did, he hired the best.

  Cleaning up the mess Hewett left was first priority, though. On the fourth day back, he made his first appearance at Hawthorne. It wasn’t long before he noticed someone missing. Dave Flanagan, Connery’s public affairs director, happened to be passing by.

  “Dave, where’s Cindy?”

  Flanagan looked crestfallen.

  “We weren’t going to tell you right off, Terry- weren’t sure you heard.”

  “Heard what?”

  “Cindy was murdered almost a year ago, not long after Hewett’s office was broken into. She was being replaced. Hewett made it all look very proper and legal. Her replacement had already been hired. Showed up the day after the murder. That was Hewett, a man of compassion, huh?”

  “Murdered? Did you say murdered?”

  “They found her in her apartment, shot in t
he head. Apparently, she had quite a fight with whoever did it. I’m sorry, Terry. I know you thought highly of her.”

  “My God!”

  Connery sat, trying to digest what he had heard. He thought back. She knew too much. Hewett and Castelo Branco were responsible. He could feel it. Poor Cindy, she paid a higher price than anyone else in the whole mess. If only he hadn’t let things get as far out of hand as they did.

  That day, he got her mother’s address in Yonkers and took a cab there. The place looked worn. A frail looking woman answered the doorbell and let him in. They talked for about an hour. When he left, there was an envelope on her table. More cash than she had seen at one time in her entire life.

  Then there was Pam. She hadn’t forgiven him entirely but was decidedly warmer toward him of late- even accepting a dinner invitation. He hoped to convince her that maybe he had changed during the time he was gone. He had acquired qualities he didn't think he possessed before his ordeal. Each time they conversed, usually when he picked up the children, he sensed a spark. True, there was someone else in her life, but who could tell if it was serious? From some of the things she said, he gathered it wasn’t. Six months before, he told her the whole story. She was the only one who knew about the awful things he experienced, their impact on him. She was particularly taken by the story of Teman-e and his people- how the two became friends and saved one another’s lives- how he finally brought down Castelo Branco. He even told her of Wamura and thought he noticed a touch of jealousy cross her face. Maybe that was a good thing. He thought about being frank and open about his philandering, confessing to relationships she never knew about. That would be like opening old wounds. He decided against it.

  Fascinated by what he told her about primitive tribes that still existed deep in the Amazon, she read several books on the subject, becoming quite conversant about their culture. She also developed an acute awareness of any news articles pertaining to them.

  Their third successful dinner meeting was on the fifty fourth floor of a tall Manhattan building. A chic restaurant called City Lights. After a superb dinner of Alaskan king crab, chateaubriand and expensive wine, she reached into her purse.

  “I don’t know if you saw this, perhaps you have. I cut it out anyway.”

  She handed him the clipping as he withdrew newly acquired glasses from his coat pocket. She watched his face intently as he read.

  August 18, 2008

  Porto Velho, Brazil (AP)

  Authorities today confirmed that government troops were used to quell a rebellion of Indian tribes in a remote section of Amazonas. Two hundred tribesmen, protesting the illegal takeover of their land and pollution of water resources, overran a large ore production site owned by Mansacha Mining. In the ensuing battle, the Indians killed 19, including the operations manager, before government troops intervened. Reported casualties, killed and wounded, among the indigenous tribes, totaled 15. One of the dead, said to be the leader of the rebellion, was found wearing a class ring around his neck. He wore no other clothing or ornaments that might identify him. The ring is from a service academy that contained initials. Authorities are checking university records.

  He read the clipping a second time, then a third, before folding it carefully, placing it in his coat pocket. She noticed the change that had come over him. Maybe she should have waited.

  “Thank you. I hadn’t seen it and maybe never would have. This means a lot. If he hadn’t come back that day, well…I would be rotting beside some river. Strange, when you think of it, how we came to meet. I wonder if I would have done the same. He was advanced, in a place where advancement didn’t exist.”

  As they left, she asked, for the first time, when they would get together again.

  That night, he reached into the drawer beside his bed and took out the talisman carved in the image of a jaguar, the length of hemp still attached. Teman-e had given it to him when he sunk to his lowest point, ready to give up, convinced he would never make it out alive. It was all he had to remember a friend by, the trials they had overcome, their unique relationship. He was glad he kept his promise, but the tide was inevitable. The forest was disappearing and more people would be killed. He had done nothing more than buy a little time. Still, that had to mean something.

  ALSO BY DAVID FAXON

  New England 1873; the true story of three women trapped on an off shore island. They are at the mercy of a determined killer who has rowed ten miles on an icy night to rob them. The robbery turns violent and two are slain by the axe wielding intruder. A third miraculously escapes into the night and lives to bring him to justice. Read the account of one of Maine’s most notorious and controversial crimes.

  Cold Water Crossing

  An Account of the Murders at the Isles of Shoals

 

 

 


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