The van stopped after long hours of driving over rough roads with dips and holes. Jazmin was battered and full of fear since Ethan hadn’t shown any sign of recovery. The door was opened and two kidnappers appeared, strong men with determined faces, who pulled Ethan out from his legs.
“Be careful, you bastards!” Jazmin sat up and followed on her knees. “Don’t hurt him!”
“A fierce cat,” the first man said, laughing and whistling through his teeth. “I like that. Hot and wild!” He grabbed Ethan by the collar of his jacket and pulled him out. “We’ll see ya, pussy!” The two men dragged their prisoner by his arms toward a low stone house, panting with the weight.
Jazmin climbed out and was immediately seized by the gangster who had steered the van.
“Where are we? And what do you want from us?” She fought his grip just to not be the obedient hostage, her focus on Ethan’s limp body. If she was separated from him, she’d go mad.
He slapped the back of her head. “Move if you wanna live! Questions later!”
He was stronger than he looked, and fighting him was useless. Jazmin took in the faces of the men and the few women around. They didn’t react to her fearful glances, but looked away or pretended disinterest and went about their business. Some men looked her up and down as if judging her for value or a night of fun. No one seemed surprised by shackled prisoners among them.
There were two rows of low buildings, all of them covered with branches to keep them from eyes in the sky. Armed patrols stood at the entrances, scanning the access roads to the little village. Army transporters waited in the shade of trees, some loaded with large boxes. A sweet smell was in the air, mixed with some strong herbs. Jazmin’s stomach rumbled in spite of the gruesome circumstances. The exquisite dinner the night before was history.
The house was simply built and furnished with long tables and some wooden chairs. Women in underwear with face masks were packing cocaine in plastic wrapping, then packing it in large boxes. Jazmin bet the government knew about the plantations in the north and the drug lords ruling them, but didn’t interfere. She was pushed away from the working women and through a door with bars in its upper half. A single barred window allowed some light in the very small room. Ethan had been placed on a thin mattress in the right corner. A kidnapper cut the plastic straps around his wrists and did the same with hers. The second man frisked Ethan’s clothes thoroughly and took away his knife, belt, and shoes, then cut away the holster to claim the spare clips of his 9mm. He also took his Zippo and watch, but from his happy glance it was his loot and not considered as weapons.
“Keep quiet and don’t make a fuss!” the driver warned her, retreating.
“Could we get some water? And maybe some food, too?” she yelled when the door was locked.
The steps vanished and Jazmin knelt beside her husband. “Ethan? Hey, wake up. It’s about time.” She gently turned his head to the side and put him in recovery position. She flinched, realizing he was still clammy and unresponsive. His eyes were dilated, his pulse slow. Jazmin had heard enough stories from her father—always delivered with spicy details during lunch and dinner time—to know about the effects of general anesthetics. She stroked the back of his head, biting her lips to not cry again. She was up on her feet immediately when she heard footsteps approaching. “What did you give him?” she demanded to know once more. “You drugged him! With what?” The door opened and a different man than before handed her two bottles with water and a bowl with rice and some grilled meat she couldn’t identify. “Tell me! Why’s he still out cold?”
With an annoyed expression the fat man slammed the door shut in front of her and turned the key. She watched him shuffle out of the house and heard some words about not being in a hotel and that Alano should take care of his guests. Frustrated, Jazmin put the bowl on the sandy floor, drank and ate. Her stomach was full after a few bites. She leaned back against the wall, covering her face with her hands. She needed strength and felt yet so beaten and hopeless.
* * * *
“I can’t believe it.” Ryan couldn’t breathe. Cold sweat was on his brow, and the breakfast felt like a stone in his stomach. “I just can’t.”
Vancho, driving his old Volvo at high speed across damaged roads and around discarded cars shed him a sorrowful glance. “A terrorist attack doesn’t make you sweat, but the news of your friends being kidnapped throws you off the track? You gotta explain that.”
“They’re my best friends, pal. Like family. Don’t say this would leave you cold.”
“No.” He made it a long, inquisitive word. “But you’re a professional. You’d better hear all the facts first and then judge what’s to be done. Man, you’re hyperventilating!” He opened the windows on both sides. “Calm down, for God’s sake! You’re paling quicker than a girl on prom night!”
Ryan closed his eyes. “You don’t understand. We’ve been in some very dangerous situations before. Ethan was kidnapped almost three years ago by some lunatic in Colombia. He had him and Jazmin under his thumb for three weeks until they could free themselves.” He shook his head. “He’s never told me what he went through, and Jaz...” Ryan fought for maintaining his composure. “You know what happens to a woman in captivity. God, I can’t think about it!” The lump in his throat got thicker.
“Okay, I got it. They both’ve been through hell.” Vancho glanced at him, then quickly evaded two youngsters with their hands full of stuff they had looted from a grocery shop. “What happened to their kidnapper back then?”
“He’s been sentenced and sent to jail.”
“Could he be free by now?”
“No dice.” Ryan licked his lips, keeping his face close to the open window. Though the wind was warm, it was pleasant and calmed his nerves. He remembered the trial, the accusations, Jazmin’s statement and then Ethan’s. Ryan knew his friend had been on strong medication to be able to talk about those weeks at all. “He’ll serve his term without probation. But I’ve got to be sure—”
“Yes, you wanna know if he’s still there. You need a telephone that works, and that’s rare these days. And by all means—do you truly think he could’ve freed himself?”
“I just don’t know! I need to call the FBI, the US Marshalls or—”
“I’ll talk to my contacts from the CIA. After all, they have a department at the embassy.” He winked at Ryan. “That might be faster. Who should they search for?”
“Raoul Acosta, born Colombian. A drug lord. One of the mean ones. Some of his men serve their time probably at the same prison, but I don’t know their names.”
“Acosta. Okay. I’ll talk to my CIA guys as soon as we get back to the embassy.”
“Thanks.” Ryan ran a hand through his hair. He had thought the couple were spending a nice night between the sheets, relaxing, enjoying each other’s company. He would’ve been jealous as always when meeting Ethan in that exuberantly happy mood only Jazmin could trigger. To know they were both in danger brought up the memories of their imprisonment like an avalanche. His heart beat in his throat as if it wanted out.
“Almost there.” Vancho parked the car in front of the hotel entrance. “Leave the talking to me, Ryan. I think you’re somewhat agitated.” They got out. “You got a picture of the couple with you?”
“Yes.” He pulled it out of his wallet and stared at it for a moment as they entered the hotel. Jazmin wore a tight-fitting short red dress with matching high heels, Ethan a black suit with a red pocket handkerchief. The couple were laughing into the camera, having a good time dancing. “Here you go.”
“Wow!” Vancho swallowed drily, his eyes wide open. “I’d have said she looked stunning, but this is—overwhelming.”
“It was taken a year after their wedding at her father’s birthday party.” Ryan could hardly speak. “They’re a very happy couple.”
“Yeah, hard not to notice.” Vancho patted Ryan’s shoulder. “Let’s see what we can find out.” He approached the counter. “I’m with the US Embassy. My name’s Vancho Reyes, this is Ryan Griffith from the US Diplomatic Service. You reported a kidnapping of two of your guests?”
“Yes!” The stout mestizo in uniform whistled sharply, and another, much older man with white hair got up from a bench and came over. He kept his tall frame very straight, shoulders stressed by the epaulets on his uniform coat. “This is Benison. He was on duty at the door last night and has been waiting here for you since.”
“I reported what I saw,” Benison said in a friendly, reserved baritone voice. His brown eyes spoke of benevolence, and the wrinkles under his eyes came more from happiness than sorrow. He pointed a finger at the entrance. “There was a gray Ford E-series, a wagon as they call it. I’d say it’s a large van, but who asks me?”
“Any specifics on it?” Vancho wanted to know.
Benison lifted his hand, pursing his full lips. “It’s easier, son, when I tell you what I saw and you ask your questions later.”
Ryan put his hands on his hips. In spite of his impatience he smiled.
Benison used his hands to emphasize his speech. “This van comes across the median strip, ruining all the plants and flowers that have been set there in spring. Then I realize it’s not doing this because of the traffic jam, but because of the two people on foot trying to come in our direction.”
“You saw their faces? These faces?” Vancho held up the picture.
Benison took out his reading glasses, studied the picture and nodded gravely. “This couple, yes. She in a wonderful blue gown, he in a tux. He realizes they are being followed, draws a weapon and fires at them. She runs. Other people run, too, shocked by the shots. Some are screaming in terror. It’s getting hectic. The van’s windshield breaks, but it doesn’t slow down, so I think the driver hasn’t been hit. Maybe he ducked behind the wheel. But that doesn’t matter. It stops and two men jump out with large weapons. They fire at the couple—”
“Oh, my God...” Ryan mumbled, half-turning away. He feared the rest of the report so much his stomach turned.
“Both go down. He shields her to the last moment when he collapses. You must see, this all happened very quickly, and people were frightened because there were more gangsters coming across from the park. They were firing at... I don’t know. Maybe passers-by, maybe just to scare others off. It works. Well, yes, it works very well. They’re screaming at them and everyone seeks cover or ducks in the car. There were no shot wounds reported afterward, though. I think they just fired into the air.” He winked at them. “But every bullet must come down somewhere, right?”
Ryan’s mouth was dry. He needed to know if his friends were still alive. His heart beat so frantically he was hyperventilating again. Hands clenched to fists, he forced his body to stand still.
Benison frowned and went on. “Then one of the men pulls the woman over his shoulder and carries her to the van. She struggles and screams for help, but no one dares. Then two more men pull the man in the tux off the ground. He’s trying to resist, but then there’s a third one, and they push him against the hood. They press him harshly because he’s really trying to get rid of them with all he has!” Benison made a dramatic pause. “But then this third man’s got something he puts against the man’s neck and a moment later he cries out and collapses, and they drag him into the van and are gone.” He swallowed and shook his head. “Awful, I can tell you. Really awful!”
“You’re a very good observer,” Vancho praised. “I’m impressed.”
Benison bowed curtly. “This is the Marriott, señor, people expect us to be circumspect and observant.”
“Okay. You watched as Ethan and Jazmin were abducted. Do you know the license plate number?” Ryan wanted the old man to speak faster. He was so eager to get in motion, search for evidence and find his friends every second standing there seemed wasted.
Benison lifted his brows. “The license plate? No, I couldn’t see it. Blinding headlights around.” A small smile played around his mouth. “But I think my boys and I did much more than that.” He unfolded a sheet of paper he had carried around in his uniform coat. He smoothed it with a hand. “This is the list of cars and the names of people who were close to the scene. We took this down after the kidnappers were gone, of course. I don’t know if they saw anything or if it’s worth talking to them. You decide what to do with this list.” He handed it to Vancho ceremoniously. “I only know that the man and the woman were alive when they took them away. Don’t know what kind of bullets the kidnappers used, but—”
“Rubber ammo,” Ryan mumbled. “It’s less lethal, but shocks and hurts.” He shook his head. “And Ethan was hit often enough to bring him down. Damn it, this was planned!”
“But by whom?” Vancho looked through the list. “Great work, Benison! I can’t thank you enough! Police couldn’t have done that better.” He shook the old man’s hand. “Thanks a lot!”
“You’re very welcome. If you want to talk to the boys, I can give you their names, too.” He waved farewell and left the lobby.
Ryan stepped outside to breathe again. The news of his friends being abducted was better than learning they had been killed, but still he worried so much his thinking was limited to how and when to follow them.
“We’d better start interrogating these people soon, or they won’t know anything about last night anymore.”
“Isn’t there a shortcut? I don’t want to drive through the city and talk to twenty people who just tell us there were men with guns and they were frightened! That won’t lead to anything!”
“First—police work is not always straight to the goal. Second—the fact they were shot with rubber ammo makes it very clear they wanted them alive. Third—witnesses are fragile but mostly reliable in their own way. If we ask three or four of them, there’ll be quite a clear picture of what happened and who did it. There must be people who were directly beside the van when the kidnapping took place. You’re right—they were too frightened to help and will be full of remorse. We have to help them remember and make clear we didn’t expect them to be heroes. No one wants to lose his life, y’know? It might be your profession to protect others, but the average citizen isn’t thinking that way. They’re afraid to get hurt, blackmailed or put their loved ones into danger.” Vancho studied the list once more. “I’m convinced one or two saw the license plate. See? Benison didn’t just list names. He let his boys mark their position on the street. He drew a map! Isn’t that amazing?”
“It’d be amazing if we found my friends today rather than tomorrow! The kidnappers won’t keep them around here anywhere. If they take them out of the city...”
“Calm down, Ryan, really. Take a deep breath. We’ll find them.”
“And I need this damn information about Raoul Acosta!” He got into the car and slammed the door shut. He had never before been so worried.
* * * *
Alano wiped his hands on his thighs. He sat at the radio station to contact Lucio and thought about how to put his deed best. He’d lost count of the many versions he’d prepared when he heard Lucio’s voice.
“Alano? What’s up? Do you have the package?”
“Yes, I got... it, yes.” Alano realized his boss didn’t know about the foreign assassins and their attack on the convoy. He leaned back, satisfied he didn’t need to tell the whole story and how much he’s feared not living through the night. He had a hiccup again. “We collected it like a ripe fruit.”
“Very well!” Lucio sounded so relieved Alano smiled. He let go of his breath, expecting more praise. It felt damn good to be the one bringing news of success. “Good work. It’s not damaged, I suppose?”
“Of course. Like I said—it was easy.” Alano nodded toward the desk, and his chest was swelling with pride. He reached for the small glass of pisco sour to drink slowly and get rid of the hiccup. “You know me. When I say I do it, I do it. No big deal.”
“What’s the condition of the package?”
Alano heard worry and distrust and didn’t like it. His smile faltered, and in the back of his mind the question came up whether his boss had watched their work. He put back the glass. “Locked in a room, what else?”
“No, no, I mean is the package intact... whole?”
Alano chose his words carefully. He was under the impression that his boss was sweating. He just couldn’t imagine why. He frowned. “Well, in a way, yes, but—”
“In a way? What way? Is there any damage? Speak, man!”
The accusation stung, and Alano had no idea why his boss was fidgeting. He forgot about being careful over the radio. “I wouldn’t say heavily damaged, but at the moment it’s... unresponsive.”
“Check the package immediately and report back to me. Did you take care of its needs?”
Staring at the desk with pursed lips Alano thought about the many answers that surfaced and threatened to blurt out all by themselves. “Yes.”
“And made sure it’s safe? From what I know such packages are... elusive.”
“Locked up and guarded. It’ll stay like this.” Alano couldn’t rein in his impatience. “Boss, what’s this about?”
“Where are you now?”
“At the location you named.”
“Do you have men outside to check the road?”
“Of course!” Alano shook his head and shooed Ricardo out of the room to not let him hear the conversation. “Do you take me to be stupid?”
Lucio’s voice sank to a growl. “Move the package before sunrise. You hear me? Take it to the next place we spoke about. I’ll arrange further transport as we speak. And, Alano, be careful! I don’t want you to harm or lose the package! It’s too important.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Alano broke radio contact and sat on the hard chair, wondering why his boss had hardly praised him. He had to make sure his boss wouldn’t forget who had gotten him this valuable package. Nodding to himself, he emptied the glass. At least the drink was as tasty as expected.
* * * *
The moment Ethan gave a sign of waking up was the best thing that had happened in the long hours of waiting. Jazmin knelt beside him and lowered her head toward the mattress so he could see her when he slowly and under obvious strain opened his eyes. He groaned.
“Welcome back, captain. Looks like you missed most of the show. Haven’t you thought about me being alone?” She tried to make light of it, but couldn’t prevent tears trickling down her cheeks.
“Status?”
She knew he went into his bodyguard slang if everything else failed. It was a bad sign for his condition. “We drove well into morning, are locked up in a small room in a kind of village, and, if you’re up to it, our kidnappers provided water and some food. So far they haven’t done anything else, and, no, I’ve got no idea what they’re up to.” She gently stroked his head and the curve of his ear. “How’re you feeling?”
Ethan wet his lips. The words came out with every breath. “Dizzy. See double. Mouth feels filled with fur. Weak. Really weak.” He frowned. “Did you put me in this position?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
“I heard the gangsters say that moving your one-hundred and ninety pounds wasn’t easy. They were sweating. Badly, badly sweating.”
“Bastards. Rubber ammo and drugs.” When his eyes closed again, he made an effort to try and open them again. “Are you hurt?”
“One bullet, but it stung bad enough. Will be a bruise. I guess your whole upper body will look like that, right?”
“Hmm.” He put his left hand on the mattress to push himself up, but stopped, shivering. “It’s cold. Do we have a blanket?”
“Not yet, but I’ll see what I can do.” Jazmin got up and shouted for the guard. One of the women went out of the large, almost empty room to come back with the driver of the van.
“What do you want?” he asked, checking on Ethan through the bars. His jaw was set, but his eyes told of insecurity. “He’s up?”
“You drugged him so heavily he’ll feel the aftereffects for a day! He’s cold and miserable. Provide some blankets.”
“You’re fresh for a prisoner!”
Jazmin didn’t flinch. Something in the way the gangster behaved told her he wouldn’t risk anything. The driver was restless and looking everywhere except into her eyes. “People die of shock after such a badly prepared general anesthetic! So you either do what you can to ease his suffering, or live with what happens.”
“Don’t tell me he’ll keel over! He’s strong like a bull!”
Jazmin pursed her lips, refraining from another argument. She had already learned what was worth knowing. Her hard stare was enough.
He lifted his hands and shook his head as he turned around. “Yeah, right, I’ll get you some blankets.” He left the room, and Jazmin saw the women stare after him.
She sat on the ground beside the mattress again. “Order’s out.”
Ethan took a deep breath. “Can you help me sit up? I need to... get going somehow.”
Jazmin knew her husband inside and out and refrained from debates about taking time or that there was no need to rush since they were locked up anyway. She supported him as best as she could so he leaned against the wall. Sweat covered his face. She handed him an open water bottle.
“Drink. I bet they’ll deliver more when we need it.”
“You bossed him like a pro.” Ethan’s small smile turned to a frown. “What kind of gangsters?”
“Drug dealers. And this is a packing place.” She opened his bow tie and the topmost button of his dress shirt. “Simple people with guns and an attitude. Report to a boss, I bet. And if you ask me—this is just a stopover. We’ll be taken elsewhere soon. Away from Lima. Away from any police or army.”
“But why?” He emptied half of the bottle and wiped his forehead with the jacket sleeve. “Any idea why they took us?”
“If I knew! They haven’t spoken much around here. And the women outside just whisper. I couldn’t catch a word. They’re afraid. From what I’ve heard, the men deal with them harshly.”
“They were thorough frisking me. Why did they take my watch?”
She kissed the tip of his nose. “Maybe they thought you were James Bond. Could’ve been a weapon.”
“Funny.” He flinched.
“Shall I have a look at the bruises?”
“To do what? Ask for a first aid kit? Don’t think they’ll be that obliging.”
“How bad is it?”
Ethan evaded her stare as she had expected. “I feel like I’ve got dents all over. Breathing hurts. But that’ll pass. Right now I’m more worried about feeling so... worn out. Cold.”
“Still dizzy?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think you can eat something?”
“Not yet.” He grimaced. “What about you? Had they drugged you, too?”
“No. And as you see, the bruise is not that bad. They don’t take me to be a threat.”
“That’s good. Leave it like that.”
Jazmin got up when another grumpy looking man unlocked the door to thrust four blankets at her. The door was locked up quickly and without a word. To her surprise, the blankets were neither smelly nor old and moth-eaten. She wrapped Ethan in two and put a third one around her shoulders.
“Looks like hotel service to me,” Ethan said quietly, looking at the bars in the door. “What’re they up to?”
“In most cases, ransom. Isn’t that usually the case?”
“Why us?” Ethan drank the rest of the water. “The van was coming after us. Precisely. They knew where we were heading and that they had to get to us before we reached the hotel.”
“So?”
Ethan frowned, pulling the blanket tight around his shoulders. He was still shivering badly. “We drove from the airport to the hotel. I’ll admit I didn’t check for followers. I just wanted to get into our room and put you to bed.” When Jazmin twitched her brows, he added, sighing, “Not what you think. Guess we’d both had enough for a day, hmm?”
“I’ve never been so shaken in my life.” She caressed his arm under the blanket and carefully snuggled up to him. “And that means something. I can still hear the bullets hit the doors.”
“Hadn’t thought the limousines would stand the AP so well. The new material was worth the money.”
“Don’t up the ante, captain. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if the projectiles had stopped us.”
“Fighting would’ve been harder. Not impossible, but we’d have lost men.” He pressed her hand and whooshed out a breath, apparently with another wave of pain. “That still doesn’t explain why those dealers kidnapped us. It doesn’t make sense.”
They listened to the sounds outside the door. A few women were giggling about something she didn’t understand, and then a harsh male voice told them to shut up. Slapping followed, and the women were quiet. Two men were exchanging words. A van’s engine roared and took off.
“Nolan said I look a bit like the ambassador,” Ethan said after a while, looking at her. “Do you think it’s possible they wanted to kidnap him and his wife?”
“But the ambassador would’ve driven back to the embassy. He doesn’t have to stay at a hotel.”
“Maybe they followed Ryan, too.”
The possibility Ryan was in danger sent a shockwave through her. She shook her head. “I don’t want to think about Ryan being in the same miserable position.”
“My ID?”
“The one frisking you probably took it. What’re you thinking?”
“They know by now who I am. And if they know—”
Jazmin shook her head vigorously. “No, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“If they know they don’t have the ambassador of the United States, they’ll get rid of us soon.” He looked her in the eyes. “We have to break out, or they’ll kill us.”