Lucky

Disclaimer:  I do not own either of the Mission: Impossible series or any of the characters therein.  I receive no compensation or any other tangible benefit from this story.  I am just a fan who enjoys taking the team out for an adventure every now and then.  🙂

Summary:  Nicholas encounters an unlikely hero after a mission goes horribly wrong.  A story written for a dear friend for her birthday -- shared with permission here.  

 

Prologue

“Don’t get too close, Max,” Jim cautioned from the passenger seat, “but keep them in sight.”

Max remained tight-lipped, his fingers gripping the steering wheel, as he eased off the gas and dropped back several feet. They could still clearly see the small black sedan in front of them.

The team had not been able to maintain contact with Nicholas, who was masquerading as a drug dealer from Venezuela, but they knew that he was accompanying Tomas Rivera to meet their target – a Colombian drug lord, not yet identified, who was singlehandedly responsible for distributing millions of dollars’ worth of illegal drugs throughout Central America. This meeting would determine the team’s next move.

As they crested a large mountain and started down the other side, it appeared as if the distance between the team’s Jeep and the black sedan was widening. “Are you slowing down or are they speeding up?” asked Grant impatiently from the back seat.

“They’re speeding up,” answered Max. “I’m having trouble keeping up with them.”

As the team watched anxiously, the sedan continued to accelerate, even as the road grew curvier. Soon, Max was going nearly sixty miles an hour – as fast as he could safely go -- but still couldn’t keep up with them. The blond agent cursed aloud.

“They’re going too fast!” observed Jim.

“They’ll never make it!” screamed Shannon.

The words had no sooner escaped her lips when the black sedan lost control and dropped off the right shoulder of the road. Rivera overcorrected, sending the car over the side of the mountain where it flipped over and over as it fell.

“Nicholas!” yelled Max at the top of his lungs as he quickly found a wide place and brought the Jeep to an abrupt halt. He jerked open the driver’s door. Suddenly, there was a loud explosion as the black sedan caught fire, and a huge plume of black smoke billowed up from where the car had rested.

“Oh, God, no!” Shannon wailed, as Jim reached out to pull her close.

Undaunted, Max positioned himself to descend the mountainous terrain, but Grant caught his arm.

“Max, don’t,” he begged, his voice soft, his eyes misting over. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ve got to find Nicholas,” Max said resolutely, shaking off Grant’s touch.

“There’s no way he could still be alive,” Grant said sadly, gripping Max’s arm once again.

“He could have jumped.”

“He wouldn’t have made it, regardless,” Grant countered softly. “Not landing on those rocks.” Grant squeezed Max’s shoulder in sympathy, his voice barely audible. “He’s gone, buddy. There’s nothing we can do.”

They stood there at the top of the mountain for an untold amount of time, staring down at the burning wreckage in silence – Max with his hands in his pockets, Grant with one arm around Max’s shoulders, and Jim with both arms around Shannon, who was weeping softly. At last, Jim broke the silence.

“I’ll call in another team to finish the mission,” he said quietly. “Let’s go home.”

“We can’t just leave him here,” Max protested.

“There’s nothing left of him to take with us, Max,” Grant advised, as gently as he could, knowing that the fire would have reduced the bodies to mere ashes. “Let’s just remember him as he was. That’s what he would want.”

After another moment, Max turned and walked to the driver’s door.

“Do you want one of us to drive, Max?” Jim asked.

“No,” Max answered simply, and with that the remaining four teammates climbed into the Jeep and slowly drove off the mountain, leaving their colleague and friend behind forever.

Chapter 1

The first thing he felt was pain – unbearable pain – ripping through his left leg, to the point where he wasn’t even sure it was still attached to the rest of him.

He was lying in a somewhat unnatural position, on what felt like a bed of rocks. As the world came back into focus – mostly, anyway – his head started to spin wildly. He wanted to move, needed to move, but he just couldn’t force himself to do so, at least not yet.

So he lay there for a few moments more, taking stock of his situation as much as his spinning head would allow. He was sure that he had a concussion, at least, and that his leg was likely broken. His whole body ached, and there probably wasn’t a patch of unbruised skin anywhere. But he was alive.

But how had he gotten here?

He tried to think, but his fuzzy brain wasn’t cooperating. He knew that sleep was probably not a good idea, but he just couldn’t help himself. Then the world faded out once again.

*****

An untold amount of time passed, and he opened his eyes to discover that his head was still spinning and his leg was still hurting. He knew that he needed help, and he knew that he wasn’t going to get it lying here on this bed of rocks. He had to move.

But first, it might help for him to recall who he was and how he had gotten here.

He willed his stomach to settle as he squinted against the pounding in his head and forced himself to think. His name was Nicholas Black. He was a member of the IMF. He and his team – his team! They must be worried sick about him! Then he shook his head – immediately regretting the action – and forced himself back to his original train of thought. He and his team were tracking a Colombian drug lord, and he and Tomas Rivera had been on their way to meet the mysterious target when….

“Aren’t you going a little too fast for this road?” Nicholas asked Rivera nervously.

In response, Rivera stomped the floorboard. “No brakes!” he yelled.

Even before the fear of crashing could register in Nicholas’ mind, his companion suddenly lost control of the car and it dropped off the road on the right side. As Rivera jerked the wheel violently toward the left, Nicholas instinctively opened his door.

As the car flipped toward the left, Nicholas was ejected. Miraculously, the spinning car missed him and continued to roll down the embankment.

Nicholas’ body hit the rocky hillside with a thud, and he lost consciousness even before the car burst into flames.

Nicholas knew that the team had been following close behind them, but he didn’t see or hear any trace of them now. They probably think I died in the crash, he thought sadly, as the acrid smoke from the smoldering car scorched his nostrils. A shudder passed through his body, and he wasn’t sure if it was physical or emotional. How long had it been since the accident? he wondered absently. Steeling his resolve, he lifted his aching left arm enough to glance at his wristwatch. But it had stopped, at 3:14 p.m. on the twenty-seventh. The date and time of the crash. And he had no earthly idea what date and time it was now.

At this point, Nicholas was sure only of one thing: he would die here unless he did something about it. The first step was getting to the top of the embankment in order to get himself some help. Looking around carefully, the IMF agent noted that he was lying in a thicket of bushes, which was obscuring his view of his surroundings. The slight padding of the underbrush had probably saved his life, but had no doubt hidden him from the view of his team, who didn’t realize that he had jumped clear of the wreckage.

Normally, he would have been able to contact them on his handheld communicator – assuming it had survived the crash – but this time he had not been able to carry it. Rivera and his men had searched every inch of him for wires; they would have surely found the communicator if he’d had it. But Max had kept him in sight, and Nicholas knew that he and the rest of the team had been tailing them when they’d crashed.

As Nicholas looked up at the sky, he realized that dusk had fallen. Sadly, he resolved himself to spending the night exactly where he was. In the morning, once he could see what he was doing, he would set about his task of getting back to his team.

Chapter 2

Nicholas woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of birds chirping and the first few beams of sunlight peeking through the bushes around him. He took a quick inventory of his physical condition. His head wasn’t spinning as violently now – that was a good thing, wasn’t it? – and his leg was more numb than achy. Though he knew that moving around might aggravate things, he also knew it was something he had to do.

It’s now or never, he thought.

Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Immediately, the bile rose up in his throat, and he emptied his stomach contents on the ground beside him. The violent retching exhausted him and aggravated his already aching body, so he lay heaving on the ground for a few moments until his strength returned to him. Damn concussion.

A few moments later, his resolve renewed, he once again sat up gingerly. While his head was still spinning, this time he was able to keep the nausea at bay. This was good. He was not able to move the muscles in his left leg, so he used his hands to maneuver it into a position where he could grasp a nearby branch and pull himself to his feet.

The pain hit him like a tidal wave, and he stood still, eyes closed and teeth clenched, until the worst of it passed. He then grasped a large branch that had broken off a tree and was lying nearby, and used it to steady himself as he slowly emerged from the thicket and took stock of his surroundings.

It was no more than twenty feet to the top of the embankment. Doable, Nicholas thought optimistically, though he knew that it would be slow going. His left leg was useless, so he would have to drag it behind him.
Nicholas sighed heavily, giving thanks that he was still alive and praying for the strength to make it back to his team. Then he set about his ascent.

Nicholas looked up at the hillside above him and located a rock that was the right shape for his right hand. Then he did the same thing for his left hand. Then he summoned all his strength to pull himself up until his right foot found a foothold. Over and over he repeated this process for an untold amount of time, stopping often to catch his breath, or to wait until his head stopped spinning or his body stopped aching.

Finally, the exhausted agent reached the crest of the bank and pulled himself up onto the curvy mountain road. The sun had long since reached its highest position in the sky, and it was nearing dusk once again. The journey had taken him nearly all day. And while this had likely been a busy road once upon a time, these days it was nearly deserted, so Nicholas had no aspirations of flagging down a vehicle. He hadn’t heard one in hours.

Nicholas’ head was starting to pound again, but he forced himself to think back. Just before they crashed, he recalled, there had been a pay phone on the side of the road. It stuck out in his mind because it had been in the middle of nowhere, in the midst of buildings and businesses that had long since closed down. If I can just get to that pay phone, he thought hopefully.

The pounding in his head had returned with a vengeance, and on top of that he was now dizzy and lightheaded. His lips were dry and cracked, for he had no water to drink, and he knew that the dehydration was taking its toll. If he didn’t make it to the pay phone by nightfall, he knew that he would probably run out of time.

Unable to stand now, he crawled along the roadside, inching forward with his three good limbs and dragging the fourth, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he reached the pay phone. Using it as a crutch, he forced himself to his feet. He reached for the receiver. Please let there be a dial tone, he thought suddenly, fearfully, not having considered that before and not knowing what he would do if there wasn’t one. Thankfully, he heard the familiar sound, and sighed heavily. He started to dial, but then he stopped again.

Who should he call?

First, he dialed the operator. He tried desperately to recall his schoolboy Spanish and make himself understood, as the woman on the other end of the call chattered quickly back at him. It was no use. Dejected, Nicholas broke the connection.

Next, he racked his fuzzy brain until he finally remembered the international country code, and since he had no money on him he placed a collect call to Jim’s condo. But there was no answer. He must not be home yet, and Nicholas had no idea where he – or any of the rest of his team – might be right now.

Nicholas was quickly losing strength, and felt himself on the verge of losing consciousness. But he had to try once more. Not wishing to waste any more time trying to reach his teammates, he dialed the only other number he could remember – the toll-free hotline to IMF headquarters.

It rang three times, connecting just as Nicholas sank to the ground, receiver still in his hand.

“WPS Health Solutions, this is Michele. How can I help you?”

“I’m trying to reach…the IMF…” Nicholas said weakly, his voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, I am not familiar with that company, sir,” responded Michele. “You must have the wrong number.”

“Please…help…”

Instantly, Michele snapped to attention. This was much more than a routine health insurance call.

“Are you all right, sir?” she asked urgently.

“…crash…”

“You were in a car crash?” Michele demanded. When the caller didn’t answer right away, she tried again. “Where are you?”

“…Colombia…”

Columbia? But which one? There must be dozens of Columbias in the U.S., Michele said to herself.

“What state, sir?”

“…Bogota…”

Wait, did he mean Colombia the country?

“Sir, did you say Bogota?”

“…mountain road…forty-seven…”

Michele’s heart was pounding nervously. She could tell that the man on the other end of the line was getting weaker, and she knew that she had to find a way to get help to him. In the meantime, she needed to keep him on the line. “What’s your name, sir?”

“…Nicholas…”

“Nicholas, stay with me,” she urged. “I’m sending help.”

Not knowing anything at all about Colombia or how emergency services worked there, Michele did the only thing she could think of, with the only resource she had at hand. She grabbed an available phone line in the cubicle next door and called the United States Embassy. Quickly, she advised them of the situation. At first, Embassy staff were skeptical.

“No, this isn’t a joke,” she insisted hatefully. “A man’s life is at stake. He needs help!”

Once they realized that she was being serious, they promised to send emergency services to the area. Michele hastily broke the connection and got back on the line with the stranger.

“Nicholas, are you still with me? Help is on the way.”

There was no response from the other end, though Michele could tell that the line was still open. Either Nicholas was unconscious, or…

Michele didn’t want to think about the alternative.
She remained on the line for the next forty minutes, occasionally trying in vain to elicit a response from the stranger, until she heard the faint sound of emergency vehicles approaching. Then someone hung up the phone and the connection was broken, and Michele was left at her desk, not knowing whether Nicholas was dead or alive.

Chapter 3

The following afternoon found Jim Phelps sitting alone on the sofa at his condo, still trying to come to grips with what had happened in Colombia three days prior.

The four remaining agents had flown home in virtual silence. Jim had made the proper notifications to Nicholas’ extended family, and to the Secretary. They had briefly discussed a memorial service, but had decided to put it off a few more days. Everything was still so raw, and sudden, and nobody was ready yet. The Secretary had mercifully agreed to take Jim’s team off the rotation for a week or two, until he had time to decide whom he would choose to replace Nicholas.

But how do you replace someone who’s irreplaceable?

The sound of the ringing telephone jolted Jim out of his reverie. He stared at it for another ring or two, debating whether or not to answer it. Finally, curiosity got the better of him.

“Jim Phelps.”

He was greeted by an automated voice. “You have a collect call from…”

“…Nicholas Black.”

“Do you accept the charges?”

Jim’s breath shut off in his chest. What the hell? Was this some kind of a joke? Yet, the voice had been unmistakable; no voice actor could have replicated it that perfectly, or even had a reason to.

“Do you accept the charges?” the automated voice said again.

“Yes, yes, of course,” answered Jim hastily, afraid that if he took a moment longer the call would be lost.

A click, and then he heard the voice again.

“Jim.”

“Nicholas? Is that really you?” Jim asked, his heart pounding.

“It’s me.”

“But we thought you were dead! How…? Where are you?”

“Take it easy, Jim,” said Nicholas, with a slight chuckle, and for the first time Jim noticed how weak his voice sounded. “I’m in a hospital in Bogota.”

Jim’s fluttering heart dropped to his knees. “Are you hurt badly?”

“My left leg is broken, and I have a concussion,” Nicholas answered. “I’m bruised up everywhere else, but overall I was incredibly lucky. The doctors say I can go home in a day or two. I was hoping you guys could come get me.”

“Of course!” Jim replied instantly, breathing a sigh of relief. “But how on earth did you survive?”

“I’ll save that story for when you get here,” Nicholas replied. “You are bringing everyone, aren’t you?”

“They’d never forgive me otherwise,” smiled Jim. “We’ll catch the next flight out and see you soon.”

After obtaining the hospital’s address, Jim broke the connection, reluctant to say goodbye to Nicholas but excited to share the good news with his other teammates.

*****

The first call Jim placed was to Max. He knew that Max and Nicholas were close friends, and that Nicholas’ death – presumed death, Jim reminded himself – had hit Max especially hard.

The phone rang three times without an answer. On the fourth ring, Jim began to contemplate the idea of going to see Max in person. Finally, on the fifth ring, there was a click.

“Hello?”

“Max.”

“Hey, Jim,” the blond greeted. His voice sounded tired.

Jim started to ask Max how he was doing, but refrained; he already knew the answer. He knew that he had good news to share, but his initial intention was to keep it a secret until he got all three of them together.

“We need to meet,” Jim advised. “Can you be at the condo in an hour?”

Max sighed heavily. “Jim, if this is about a new mission, I can’t. It’s too soon.” In fact, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready for another mission, he added to himself. Losing Casey was hard enough. Losing Nicholas…

“It isn’t,” Jim reassured him. “But it is important.”

Max sighed again. “I can’t, Jim,” he said flatly. “I’m sorry. I just can’t face anyone right now.”

Jim scolded himself for prolonging Max’s misery, realizing it wasn’t fair to keep the secret any longer. “Max,” he said gently, “Nicholas is alive.”

“What?” came the instant response, as Max’s heart began to beat wildly. “How? Are you sure?”

“I just talked to him,” Jim answered calmly. “He’s injured but he’s going to be all right. I’m leaving for Bogota in three hours to go pick him up. I assume you’d like to come along?”

“I’m on my way,” Max declared instantly.

Jim chuckled. “I’ll call the others. See you soon.”

*****

Jim’s phone calls to Grant and Shannon were met with equally incredulous responses. In less than an hour, the four agents were on their way to the airport, with indelible smiles on their faces. They couldn’t wait to see Nicholas, to touch him, to talk to him, to find out how he had survived such a horrific crash.

It was just after midnight by the time the plane touched down in Bogota. The agents were itching to contact their friend, but they knew that they wouldn’t get into the hospital until morning. So they rented some hotel rooms, but none of them got much sleep, and they were dressed and ready to enter the hospital at eight o’clock sharp.

Although the nurse’s station attendant advised that visitors were limited to one or two at a time, he relented when he realized that nothing was going to keep all four of them away from the patient in room twenty-three.

Shannon was the first to enter, rushing in after barely taking time to knock at the door.

“Oh, Nicholas!” she cried out, running into his arms.

Nicholas’ left hand was fouled down by a needle connected to a nearby bag of fluids dripping into his veins, but he reached out with his right arm and caught Shannon in a tight embrace. “Hi, Shannon,” he said softly.

Shannon stepped aside briefly so that the injured agent could greet each of his other three companions with smiles and warm handshakes. Then the four of them sat around his bed, with Shannon clinging to his right hand, Max’s hand resting on his left shoulder, and Grant and Jim flanking each side of the bed near Nicholas’ feet.

“It’s good to see all of you,” Nicholas smiled fondly.

“Likewise, buddy,” answered Max, returning his smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, now that you’re all here,” Nicholas assured them. He nodded toward the cast which covered his left leg. “I’m going to be out of commission for a while, though.”

“What about your concussion?” asked Jim.

“It’s not so bad,” Nicholas replied. “My biggest issue was dehydration. The crash was Sunday, and it was Tuesday night before I made it to the hospital.”

Max’s smile faded. “I’m sorry we left you on that mountain,” he said sadly, his voice barely audible.

Grant, too, was gripped by the same feelings of guilt that were showing on Max’s face. “I’m sorry, too, pal,” he added. “Max wanted to look for you, but I told him there wasn’t any point.”

Nicholas briefly removed his right hand from Shannon’s gentle grasp and reached over to touch Max’s arm. “You wouldn’t have found me, anyway,” he said softly. “I landed in a pile of bushes. You couldn’t have spotted me, and I couldn’t call out to you. It’s all right, Max, really.” Nicholas kept his hand in place until his blond friend met his eyes and smiled faintly. Then Nicholas returned his smile and once again grasped Shannon’s hand.

“Were you thrown from the car?” Shannon wanted to know.

Nicholas shook his head. “The brakes failed, and I knew we were going to roll over the bank, so I bailed out. I knew it was risky, but I figured I was dead either way, and if I jumped I’d at least have a chance.” He shuddered at the recollection.

“How’d you make it to the hospital?” asked Grant.

Nicholas sighed as he recounted his struggle to ascend the embankment and drag himself to the pay phone. When he was finished, Max whistled, and then grinned. “Talk about a will to survive,” he said in admiration. “I’m impressed, buddy.”

“I can’t take all the credit,” said Nicholas hastily. Seeing the questioning looks in everyone’s eyes, he recounted how he had tried and failed to get through to first the operator, then Jim. “I didn’t know the number for emergency services in Bogota,” he advised, “so I dialed what I thought was IMF headquarters. But I wasn’t thinking straight, and I must have gotten a number wrong. I ended up making contact with some sort of call center, and a lady named Michele. I managed to squeak out that I was in Colombia and in trouble. I don’t know how she did it, but she must have summoned help. The last thing I remember is talking to her on the phone, and then I woke up here.” Nicholas’s expression sobered. “She saved my life,” he said quietly. “I’d love to find her and say thank you.”

“Well, it’s not much to go on,” admitted Max, glancing affectionately toward Grant, “but we do have the best tracker in the business.”

“We’ll find her,” Grant promised, “as soon as you’re out of here.”

Chapter 4

Three days later, the five agents were back at Jim’s condo. Nicholas was resting comfortably on the sofa, his casted left leg outstretched, while his teammates were seated nearby. Grant was in Jim’s customary place with his laptop. None of them wanted to be far from Nicholas, after coming so close to losing him; plus, they all wanted to be a part of their friend’s search for the woman who had saved his life.

“Do you recall the name of the call center, Nicholas?” Grant questioned.

Nicholas furrowed his brow, trying to remember. “I know it was an acronym. Three letters, like the IMF. And I’m pretty sure the last letter was an ‘S.’ Also, she said, ‘health,’ something. Not ‘health care.’ But something after the word ‘health.’”

“And the contact number was similar to that of IMF headquarters,” Grant mused, as he pushed a few buttons. “Health care, health care, health care,” he mumbled as his eyes scanned the list. Suddenly, he stopped. “Could it have been ‘health solutions’?”

Nicholas brightened. “Yes, that might be it.”

“Found something?” Max asked, getting up from his chair to stand at Grant’s shoulder.

“WPS Health Solutions,” Grant replied. “They provide health insurance options for veterans. And their contact number is only one digit off from ours.”

“That sounds right,” Nicholas agreed. “Can you access the employee list?”

“Give me a second.”

Grant punched another button or two, and then he whistled. “This is a huge organization,” he advised. “There must be ten thousand people on this list.”

“How many are named ‘Michele’?” asked Nicholas.

Grant looked up at him. “You’re sure about the name?”

“Absolutely,” he answered. “Her name and voice are all I had to hang on to.”

“It’s a pretty common name,” Grant advised skeptically. A pause. Then, “There are hundreds of employees named ‘Michele’ working here. We have to narrow that list.”

“What time did you call?” asked Shannon.

“I’m not exactly sure,” replied Nicholas, “but I know it was Tuesday, sometime around dusk.”

“Let’s find out how many women named Michele were working that shift,” mused Grant, following Shannon’s idea. After punching a few more buttons, and adjusting for the time difference, he sighed heavily. “That still leaves fifty-four names, Nicholas.”

Nicholas pondered for just a moment, and then he spoke. “Let me talk to them.”

“All of them?” Grant’s voice was incredulous.

“That’ll take forever,” added Max.

“It won’t take that long,” countered the dark-haired agent. “I’ll know her voice immediately.”

Grant shrugged in acquiescence and dialed the company’s number. When the receptionist answered, he asked to speak to the first Michele on the list, then handed the phone to Nicholas.

“WPS Health Solutions, this is Michele.”

Nicholas’ expression clouded. “I’m sorry,” he apologized hastily. “I think I have the wrong number.” Then he broke the connection with one finger.

“Not her?” asked Jim, and Nicholas shook his head.

“On to number two,” offered Grant, with forced optimism.

Fifty-three more times, the scenario was repeated. Fifty-three more times, Nicholas was disappointed to find that the Michele on the other end of the line wasn’t the woman he had spoken with. By the time they were finished, two hours had passed, and Nicholas was exhausted.

“I don’t know what else to tell you, Nicholas,” said Grant in frustration once they had broken the connection with the last Michele on the list. “Maybe you have the company name wrong.”

“I don’t think so,” mused Nicholas sadly. “The more I hear it, the more it sounds right.”

“Could she be in a different department or something?’’ Max inquired, trying desperately to grasp at anything that would make his crestfallen friend feel better.

Max’s inquiry triggered an idea, and suddenly, Nicholas snapped his fingers. “Grant, can you bring up a list of past employees?” he inquired, playing a hunch.

Grant looked at him, his eyes filled with doubt. “But she would have had to have left employment in the past week. The odds-”

“Can you just check and see, please?” Nicholas begged.
Grant shrugged and punched some numbers on his keyboard. When the screen popped up, his eyes grew wide. “I don’t believe it,” he said aloud. “There is one. Michele Lombardi. Her employment end date is this past Tuesday.” He looked up. “The same day you made the call. And her shift times match.”

Nicholas grinned triumphantly. “Lombardi. Sounds Italian. That could definitely be her.” Then his face clouded. “I sure hope she didn’t lose her job because she was helping me,” he added.

“Do you have her contact information?” Jim asked.

“Yep. It’s right here,” answered Grant. But before he could dial the number and hand the phone to Nicholas, something else caught his eye. “Hmmm, that’s interesting. It says here that she has federal security clearance. She must be a pretty sharp lady.” He dialed the number into the phone and winked at Nicholas as he handed it to him.

“Here you go, pal.”

*****

The phone rang twice before she picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Yes, could I speak with Michele, please?” The voice on the other end was unfamiliar. Male and robust, with an accent. For a moment, she thought she was speaking to a telemarketer.

“Speaking. How can I help you?”

The instant that she used the same phrase she had used when receiving his call last Tuesday – How can I help you? -- Nicholas knew he had found the right Michele. His pulse rate quickened slightly.

“Michele, this is Nicholas,” he answered. A slight pause. “From Colombia.”

It took a moment to register, but then she gasped audibly.

“Nicholas! Oh, my God! Is it really you? How are you?”

Nicholas chuckled as the questions all spilled out at once. “Yes, it’s really me. And I am much better than the last time we spoke,” he replied. “I just wanted to say thank you for saving my life.”

“You are very welcome,” Michele assured him. “I did wonder how things turned out. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Then there was a slight pause, and a moment of trepidation, as she realized that this stranger was speaking to her on her home phone. “Wait a minute,” she interjected. “How did you find me here?”

“Relax, Michele, I don’t mean you any harm,” Nicholas soothed, and the compassion she heard in his voice was genuine. “But I would like to meet you in person. My friends and I would like to take you to dinner, just to say thank you. Is that okay?”

Michele hesitated only a moment. There was something in the stranger’s voice which drew her in, and suddenly she couldn’t wait to meet him as well. “Okay,” she agreed. “Where would you like?”

At Grant’s prompting, Nicholas named an expensive five-star restaurant which had just opened less than ten miles from Michele’s home.

“That sounds great,” Michele gushed, hardly able to contain her excitement.

“Excellent. Tomorrow evening, eight o’clock?” When Michele agreed, Nicholas added, “Look, I know I am a complete stranger, but I’d like to pick you up, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Michele confirmed, reasoning that someone who intended to do harm would certainly not go through this much trouble just to find her, when there were so many other women in the world that he could target.

After confirming her address, Nicholas smiled. “I look forward to meeting you tomorrow, Michele.”

“So do I, Nicholas. Take care and I’ll see you soon.”

As she hung up the phone, Michele was contemplating how she was going to keep her excitement under wraps – she certainly had no intention of sharing the details with her mother or sister!

Chapter 5

The following evening, at precisely eight o’clock, a black stretch limousine pulled up to Michele’s front door. Michele was upstairs getting dressed, and her mother and sister rushed to peer out the window.

“Wonder who that could be?” mused Michele’s sister.

“I don’t know, but they definitely have the wrong house,” answered Michele’s mother. Then she called Michele’s name. “You need to come down and look at this. There’s a limo parked outside our door.”

Presently, Michele came downstairs, dressed in a beautiful new lilac-colored evening gown.

“Where do you think you’re going?” demanded her sister.

“And dressed like that?” her mother chimed in.

“Out,” replied Michele. “Don’t wait up.”

“You don’t actually think they’re here for you, do you?”

The two women watched, open-mouthed, as the limo driver got out, walked around the vehicle, then opened the door for Michele and helped her inside. They were still staring as the black limousine pulled out and headed for the restaurant.

*****

“Miss Lombardi,” greeted the limousine driver, taking her hand. As she nodded, the vehicle’s doors opened, and five pairs of eyes smiled back at her.

Next to the empty seat – which was obviously intended for her – was a handsome bronze-skinned gentleman with coal black hair, dressed impeccably in a white suit. On the other side of him was a blond man, taller but still ruggedly handsome. Across from them on the other seat were a distinguished-looking older gentleman with white hair, a pretty brown-haired woman wearing a form-fitting silk dress, and an attractive Black man with a million-dollar smile.

“Hi, Michele,” greeted the dark-haired gentleman, taking her hand and kissing it tenderly as she sat down. She recognized his voice even before he added, “I’m Nicholas.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Michele responded, noticing for the first time that Nicholas’ left leg was outstretched in front of him, and a white cast was peeking out from underneath his pants leg.

“You look beautiful,” he told her, and she felt herself blushing as he introduced all of his friends in turn.

“Pretty impressive ride,” commented Michele, once introductions were complete.

“We wanted to make it memorable,” Nicholas advised her, “to show our gratitude.”

The six of them made small talk until they reached the restaurant, where Michele again took her place beside the man she had helped save. After everyone had gotten seated and their food ordered, Michele asked Nicholas to recount once again what had happened the day of the crash.

“So you meant to call the organization you work for,” she mused in conclusion, “but you got me by mistake.”

“Yes,” Nicholas responded. “And thank God I did.”

Michele chuckled out loud. “Oh, the irony,” she remarked. At the team’s questioning glances, she explained, “My sister’s an emergency services dispatcher.” And, boy, is she going to be jealous! she added to herself.

The six of them laughed heartily, then Nicholas sobered once again. “How did you manage to send help from here to Bogota?”

Michele told the team about calling the United States Embassy with the limited information Nicholas had given her before losing consciousness.

“You’re lucky they believed you,” Grant remarked.

“Well, they didn’t at first,” Michele smiled, “but I can be quite persistent.”

“I’m grateful for that,” added Nicholas, smiling fondly at Michele and reaching out to squeeze her hand.

"We are all very grateful, Michele," said Shannon sincerely, with an affectionate glance toward Nicholas. “We don’t know what we would do without this guy.”

“I’m just the lucky one who answered the call that day,” said Michele dismissively. Then her face clouded slightly as she remembered the events that had taken place right after she’d received Nicholas’ call.

“Michele, can I see you for a moment?”

Michele’s heart came up in her throat as she rose up from her chair and went to her boss’s office.

“Have a seat,” he said, his voice cold, as he closed the door behind them.

“You just spent almost an hour on the phone with one person. One person. Not even a customer,” he began. “Nobody buying insurance. Somebody in another freaking country, for heaven’s sake! How do you explain that?”

“He was injured,” Michele said simply. “He needed help.”

“That’s what emergency services are for,” the boss countered. “Not WPS. Thanks to you tying up not just one, but two lines, and not being available to answer other calls, our efficiency numbers are going to be in the toilet this month!”

He paused for a moment, letting that sink in. When she did not apologize, he spoke again. “Well?”

“I’m not sorry, if that’s what you’re waiting to hear,” said Michele bravely. “We had other people here to answer the phones. That man I was talking to didn’t have anybody else.”

“We simply can’t tolerate that kind of behavior, Miss Lombardi. I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go.”

Michele stood up. “If this company is going to put stats before people,” she scoffed, “I don’t want to work here anyway.”

And with that, she boxed up what few personal items she had at her desk and left the office for good.

Nicholas, ever perceptive, noticed how Michele’s expression had changed. “Michele,” he said softly, “did you lose your job because of me?”

Michele opened her mouth to say something dismissive, but Nicholas interrupted her gently. “Please. Tell me the truth.”

Michele wrinkled her nose. “They’re more worried about their percentages,” she replied. “People aren’t important to them. Which reminds me,” she said suddenly, changing the subject, “you never did tell me how you found me, since I am not at WPS anymore. Or what you were doing in Colombia, for that matter.”

Nicholas cast a fleeting glance toward Jim, who nodded subtly. Then he turned back toward Michele. “We were in Bogota on business,” he answered. “It was a matter of national security. I…hope you understand that I can’t say any more than that.”

“Of course,” Michele assured him. “I know a little bit about that.”

“About federal security?” Grant asked, feigning ignorance, knowing the answer but not wishing for Michele to know that they had dug that far into her background.

“I have federal security clearance,” answered Michele with a nod. “I had to have it for my job at WPS.” Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. “And since WPS deals in federal contracts, and you have clearance,” she continued, smiling slowly, “you could have gotten access to all manner of information about our personnel.”

“Smart girl,” Grant complimented, returning her smile.

“I’m sorry if it sounds like we invaded your privacy, Michele,” Nicholas said hastily. “You have to understand how important it was to me to find you.”

“I understand, Nicholas. It’s okay,” she said reassuringly, reaching out to squeeze his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’m really glad you found me.”

“So, Michele,” said Jim, “since you’re no longer at WPS, what’s your career plan?”

Michele sighed. “Well, I have lots of call center experience, and they’re always hiring,” she answered optimistically.

“We were wondering if you’d be interested in working with us.”

Michele was taken back by the unexpected offer, and it took her a moment to catch her breath. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“We have some job openings requiring federal security clearance within our organization,” Jim explained, “if you’re interested. And we have an office ten miles from you. Of course,” he added, “you can always relocate to our office in San Francisco.”

Michele hesitated. “This is a lot to take in,” she said honestly.

Jim chuckled. “You don’t have to decide now,” he said persuasively. “In fact, you could start close to home and transfer later, if you want to.”

Michele started to remark that the team didn’t know anything about her, but then she stopped short: something told her that they and their “security clearance” already knew more about her than she knew about herself. She smiled at Nicholas, who read the look on her face and grinned back in return. “Okay,” she answered. “I accept.”

As Nicholas grasped her hand and kissed it, Jim smiled in satisfaction. “Very good,” he remarked. “I’ll get things in order, and we’ll be back in touch with you.”

*****

The six of them finished their meal in silence. When they were finished, Jim got up to pay the check, and Grant, Max, and Shannon followed him out to the limousine, leaving Michele and Nicholas inside the restaurant to share a private moment.

Once again, Nicholas reached over to grasp Michele’s hand.

“Thank you again,” he said in a half-whisper, “for everything you did to help me. I owe you my life.”

“Nicholas, you don’t have to keep thanking me,” replied Michele, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks. “Besides, it was my pleasure.”

Nicholas pushed his chair out and got to his feet, his leg cast making his movements awkward and difficult.

“Let me help you,” Michele offered, and she reached over to grab his crutches and help him get them into position. Then, she clung gently to his shoulder as he ambled out to the limousine where his team was waiting.

The limo driver was waiting to take his crutches; as soon as he did so, Nicholas reached out with both arms and caught Michele in a warm embrace, which she returned. Then she helped him get into his seat, and the six of them set off toward Michele’s home.

*****

Michele’s sister and mother were peering out the windows as the black limousine pulled up in front of Michele’s door. After exchanging handshakes and goodbyes with the other four team members, Michele caught Nicholas in a sideways hug, and he kissed her cheek fondly.

“Thank you for an unforgettable evening,” she smiled. “It was a pleasure meeting all of you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Nicholas promised.

“I can’t wait,” replied Michele. “Goodbye, Nicholas.”

The limo driver gripped her hand and helped her out of the car, then she waved once more to everyone as she walked toward her house. As soon as she opened the door, her mother and sister were standing there, again with their mouths agape.

“What was that all about?” her mother demanded.

“Who on earth was that?” added her sister.

“Wait until you hear,” Michele replied dreamily. “You will never believe it.”

The End

(c) 2022