Looking for the Lost

         I seriously consider turning around and leaving.  As my knuckles hover just over the door, I wonder why I even came. Six hours earlier, I had a pretty good fishing trip interrupted by a very persistent professor of Anthropology here at LSU.  Five missed calls and three highly agitated voice mails later, I figured I had better call my old friend back. Whatever he wanted was clearly very important since his voice mails, which were usually long, drawn out and often ran past the time allotted to leave them before he actually made his point, were today so complex as; “Ryan, this is Jim. Call me back as soon as you can. It’s important.” 

         I called him back about an hour after the first missed call. 

         “Professor, what’s up?”

         “Ryan, where are you?” he asked impatiently.

         “I’m on my boat in Grand Isle. I see you called; I’m just now getting reception.  What’s the deal?  Everything ok?”

         “I need you to come to my office immediately.”

         “Okay,” I said, drawing it out to emphasize my confusion.  “What’s this all about Professor? I have people with me, and I can’t just come back right now.  I’m five hours away.”

         “Ryan, this is very important,” he said. “There are some people that asked me to get in touch with you to help them find something.  They will pay well,” he said, figuring on pressing one of the few buttons I had. 

         “Yeah, ya know Professor I’m really ok right now, financially, and kinda just want to relax some more.  I’ve never gone after something because someone else wanted it.  That’s not what I really do.”

         “Ryan, there’s someone here who wants to talk to you,” he told me.  There was a pause as he passed the phone to someone.

         “Hello Ryan, its Lindsey.”

         And there was another button.



         So, here I am walking into see the Professor and my only real ex-girlfriend, and who knows who else, about something neither of them would tell me over the phone.  Just that it was urgent and they need my help, and I need to get here quickly, and could we meet at the Professor’s office at 6, sharp.  Lindsey had kept it short and had left out the sweet.

         This should be fun.  I knock on the door and start to hope that maybe she hadn't brought her husband.           

         The Professor opens the door and ushers me in.  Professor Jim Randall, PhD.  I wasn't sure what his students called him, since I had never actually been one, so I just started calling him Professor like it was more his name than his title.  He never said anything to discourage it, so it had stuck. 

         Randall had been advising me for years, not on an academic basis but more on a professional level.  Lindsey introduced us years ago when she was actually one of his students, and I had questions about the pirates that roamed Louisiana’s coast in the early nineteenth century.  Lindsay recognized that he knew more about Louisiana’s cultured past than most people, so she introduced us.  For some reason, he liked me and answered my questions without hesitation. Quickly realizing I was looking for information on something valuable, he offered his extensive knowledge and research capabilities to me, for a small percentage of course, should I find said valuable item.  And so over the years he became my de facto mentor.  He never said and I never asked, but I assumed at the time his interest in helping me find things that most people thought belonged in a museum was based on several bad investments and a nasty divorce.  Either way, he had never looked at me with contempt or judgment for wanting to find things that would put cash in my pocket, things other people wanted to see in museums.   

         The Professor’s office always has a warm tone, with old books stuffed into cases all along the walls, low lighting provided by a couple of standing antique lamps, a rather large ancient oak desk and two low leather chairs in front. It gives the whole room a feeling of comfort, a study like your grandpa might have.

         Out of my peripheral I notice Lindsey standing to the side with her husband, Brad.  Great. 

         There is another man sitting in one of the chairs who stands as I enter.  I recognize him immediately, even though we have never formally met.  He is taller than my six foot two by at least two inches.  He has graying hair with only a slight bit of the blonde it used to be shining through on top.  His eyes are blue gray and sharp, and his suit fits him better than my skin fits me; he looks like an older better looking version of Brad. 

         “Ryan, this is Mr. Robert Anderson,” the Professor says as the man stands up and extends his hand.  We shake and feel his hard grip around my metacarpals. 

         Robert Anderson, an easily recognizable figure to anyone familiar with Louisiana politics.  Born and raised in New Orleans, old man Anderson had started off rough-necking in the oil business and climbed the corporate ladder like it was on fire underneath him.  If I remembered right, he had developed some kind of new way to extract more oil from deeper places in the seventy’s and had never looked back. He used his business acumen to start a local oil company, creating jobs and endearing himself to the people he employed. All the while, making himself one of the few, if not the only billionaire in Louisiana, then transitioning into politics and climbing as high as one of Louisiana’s currently sitting senators.  There was speculation he would be the next governor.

         “Ryan Thomas, Sir, how do you do.”

         “Not well Mr. Thomas. Not very well at all.  Which is why the professor has agreed to introduce us,” he said. 

         “Well I hate to hear that, Sir.  The professor tells me you need some assistance looking for something.  In fact, that’s about all he’s told me.”

         “Please, let’s sit, Mr. Thomas.  I believe you know my son and daughter-in-law.”  He gestures to Lindsey and Brad.  Brad extends his hand, and I shake it; it’s quick, like that of two schoolboys who have been forced to apologize to each other, but plan to meet after school to settle everything with a brawl. 

         I hear her say “Hello, Ryan”. 

         I finally look at her for the first time in five years.  “Hey Lindsey,” I say.  Her strawberry blond hair is shorter now, her face slightly fuller than it was the last time I saw her.  At her wedding. She doesn't look like the skinny girl in her early twenties I think about from time to time.  At thirty-one, she looks like a woman now. 

         “Lindsey was worried you might feel some hesitation meeting with all three of us,” Anderson tells me as I sit down.  “But I insisted that Lindsey and Brad be present.  We, as a family, are in dire straits.”

         “Well the truth is sir I have plenty of reasons to be embarrassed…”

         “Nonsense.” He cuts me off with a wave of his hand.  “The past is the past, and nobody is worse for wear.  Except, you did take a mean right hook from my son Jonathan that day,” he says with a smirk.

         “Yeah, it was a pretty good shot.  I certainly deserved it.  So what is it that I can do for you, Mr. Anderson?” I ask, feeling heat rising in my cheeks.  I want the conversation to turn quickly.  The last thing I want to do is relive the day I crashed Lindsey’s wedding with some bullshit hope she would take me back.  It was bad enough I actually got there late and they were already married.  The reception was in full swing, and I was too drunk to realize women don’t run away with their exes at their reception.  Brad’s brother, John, had calmly tried to get me to leave, even offering me a ride home since I was clearly intoxicated.  I respectfully declined by trying to throw a punch that he deftly sidestepped and countered with a hook of his own.  He was a nice guy about it though, helping me up, giving me that ride and a pep talk on the way. 

         “Mr. Thomas, the reason I asked Dr. Randall, via Lindsey, to arrange our introduction tonight, is because I need you to find someone for me.  Someone very important to me.  My daughter, Brynn.”

         I feel a sense of shock.  I never would have imagined this, that what they want me to look for is someone.  I shoot a look at the professor that he is expecting and clearly trying to avoid.

         “Mr. Anderson,” I say forcing my mouth to move from the O shape it has formed.  “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.  I appreciate your situation, but I don’t look for people, I’m not a P.I. or a cop.  I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

         “Ryan. May I call you Ryan?” he asks leaning toward me with fatigue and worry showing in his face.  I nod.           “Ryan, I am fully aware of what you do.  Rather, what you have accomplished

in the past.  I think that most people in this state have heard at least some of the stories about how you discovered at least some of Jean Laffite’s treasure at Calliou Island.  Although there are many people that speculate that you found the majority of it and not the one-eighth you claimed.”  He grins at me knowingly while I keep my face blank to avoid implying one thing or another. “I read about your latest exploits a few months ago.  A lot of people in the academic world were not happy that a valuable artifact was found by a man like you.”

         “A treasure hunter you mean?”

         “A man not concerned with historical significance,” he replies.

         I like his description better.

         "Ok, so your daughter is missing.  What makes you think I can find her?”  I ask as I look from him to Lindsey and Brad.  They both have looks on their faces that I take for a bad news storm on the horizon. 

         "Yes Ryan, Brynn, is currently missing.  There's no other way to say it.  She

accepted a commission from a man named Sullivan Carter.  To help him find something in the Amazon.  Lindsey tells me ya’ll had dealings with him when you were younger.  Dealings that ended in tragedy.”

         So this is it.  This is why they called me.  I could have expected this from Lindsay.  She has every right to hate me and to try and use Carter against me to get what she wants, or even to rub Carter and the things he’d done in my face, but I never would have expected this from the Professor.  I send another look his way, one I hope conveys my feelings about the fact he was complicit in this.  He puts his hands up in an “I’ll explain later” gesture.

         I look over at Lindsey. Her eyes are filled with emotions, but it’s been a long time since I’ve looked into them and I can’t tell what those emotions are.  I don't know what she expected from me.  Probably to run out of the room crying.  Part of me wants to give her the satisfaction.  Part of me wants to find this girl now to spite her for this.

         "Yes, Mr. Anderson, I dealt with Carter.  He's responsible, ultimately, for leading me toward my chosen profession.  I've chased him all over the world, including into the Amazon.  That doesn't qualify me to find your daughter."         

         "I've researched Mr. Carter through various contacts and find that he is a man with little or no scruples when it comes to gaining wealth, which is why I fear for my daughter's life and want to know where she is and see her brought home safely," Anderson says. "Lindsey assures me you're a very capable man."

         "I can't help you."

         "You've got experience with this kind of thing, with Carter.  Whatever it was that Carter wanted, Brynn was sure finding it could launch her career and propel her to the top as far as anthropologist go.  I don't know what it was she was looking for, she just wouldn't say.  Only that she was convinced finding it would change the world. Save the rainforest.  Protect indigenous tribes that still live deep in the Amazon jungle.  If there are any, as she claims there are."

         This isn't going well for me.  I haven't thought about Carter in a long time, or the years I spent chasing him.          I say nothing.

         Lindsey gives Anderson a look then says "Ryan, I know you chased Carter into the Amazon years ago.  I know you almost died down there, but please we need your help."

         I look at her again.  "Yeah, and did you know there are things in the Amazon that eat the things that will eat a man?  Did you know that what Carter is looking for is surrounded by horrors you couldn't even imagine, and not just the regular things the Amazon brings, like poisonous spiders and frogs, or maggots growing in your skin when you get a wound.  Did you know that when you finally do make it back, after having almost died, your girlfriend has left you a Dear John letter?  Oh yeah, you do know about that one don't you. 

         Lindsey glares at me with rage that is about to boil over.

         "Mr. Thomas, Eric Winter's father worked for me when Carter killed him," Anderson says.  "He came to me when he learned Brynn was with Carter, he still believes in you.  He's why I'm here."

         I'm beyond shocked now.  I can feel my fear draining away and old emotions that I haven't felt for long time slowly creep into my body. 

         I take a breath.     

         "What else can you tell me?  Why would Carter want her?" I asked becoming intrigued despite a little voice in the back of my head telling me to stick with the "I can't help you" spiel.

         "This man, Carter, commissioned Brynn and some of her associates to search for some kind of artifact; she just wouldn't give me many details. She told me she signed a nondisclosure agreement with him.  She only told me that she was leading four of her colleagues down to the city of Manaus and from there would be heading toward their destination and would be gone for probably a month but maybe longer," Anderson says.

         The professor and I shoot each other a look that no one seems to notice at the mention of Manaus.

         "Carter had arranged all the logistics of the expedition through his people. She was disinclined to tell me that much, but my daughter and I have always had a strong relationship and she wanted to ease my discomfort with the situation.  I gave her a satellite phone and a GPS transponder to take with her.  We made arrangements for her to call me exactly two weeks and one day into the expedition to let me know how she was fairing.  That was a week ago tomorrow and I still haven't heard anything."

         "And that worries you?  It would be extremely hard for her to make contact from deep within the jungle, in some places I'm assuming quite impossible, even with a sat phone."

         "Yes, it does,” Anderson says. Brynn would always hold her end of that agreement, knowing what turmoil this situation put me in to begin with.  The date was her idea. She had arranged to be in a certain location that she was familiar with at that time, a small village she'd been to before, and now a week has gone by and no word.  Something is wrong, and I need to know what."

         "What about the Brazilian authorities?" I ask.  "Why not just contact them. Maybe they can locate her."

         "My people have contacted the Brazilian authorities, and I can assure you that Americans looking for historical artifacts on their soil, deep in the jungle, as I'm to understand it, is of little concern to them.  Mostly because they believe them to already be dead."

         I leaned back in my chair and heard the old leather groan in protest.  Manaus, Carter, the Amazon.  I looked at the Professor and could tell he was thinking the same things I was.

         "Senator, I know people always say, 'I don't mean to offend you, but...' right before they say something offensive, so we'll skip that part, and I'll just tell you the truth as I see it.  Your daughter and her colleagues are more than likely dead."  As I say this, his inner struggle to refuse to believe that to be true is obvious in his expression.  "Two weeks in the Amazon is a pretty rough time, but definitely not a death sentence to experienced people with supplies and equipment.  I'm not sure about what arrangements Carter had, but there's only one thing I can think of that he would want to send an expedition into the Amazon for, and it's killed many experienced men. If they did find it for him, he more than likely wouldn't let them leave the jungle.  "You see Senator, the only thing Carter would want to find in the Amazon, if it's even there, if it ever even existed, is Z."