The day was a long one. All I could feel was a wordless tension that left my nerves in tatters. I spent the entire time alone in the garage. I wasn’t asked to do anything, I did absolutely nothing besides drink coffee with Dalva and chat with the pool man.
At certain moments I was totally convinced I should give up on our plan. I thought about Dona Lu and how she was suffering, and how all of it was similar to the ordeal my mother had gone through. The alternatives were complicated, I thought.
Killing Ramirez and Juan, running away to Rita, arranging false documents. I said to myself, Get out, over. But it was too late. My clandestine radio was off the air. Over and out. There wasn’t anyone more inside me. I ruled, I decided. Just me.
At eight that evening Sulamita was on watch at the bus station.
Half an hour earlier, at home, we had reviewed the plan thoroughly, but she went on asking me the same questions.
Are you sure? she asked by phone.
I’m sure, I said.
Only say what’s necessary. And disguise your voice. When you make contact, talk as if you were hoarse. Do exactly what we agreed. I’m going to keep tabs on the precinct by phone.
You already told me all that.
Is Junior’s cell phone charged?
I love you, she said.
Me too.
No matter what happens, we’re in this together.
That’s fine, I said, I gotta go.
At 8.10 p.m. I called José Beraba and told him to go by himself to the bus station and look for the public phones near the ticket window. Get in the rental car, I said. There’s an envelope taped under the first telephone. Just follow the instructions.
Sulamita called me at 8.45 p.m. It’s clear, she said. José Beraba is by himself. I’m taking a taxi to the gas station.
In the envelope were instructions for José Beraba to drive to the Krispan supermarket and look for a red piece of paper under the trash can to the right of the entrance.
I was waiting in the supermarket parking lot in Sulamita’s aunt’s car, an old VW whose tinted windows prevented me being seen from the outside.
Underneath the trash can we placed the following directions:
“Take Highway 26A to Kilometer 34. Wait for phone call.”
We set up a kind of treasure hunt, and Sulamita told me that was how kidnappers operated. You have to get the victim dazed, she said, and at the same time check how he acts at different stages. If the police are involved, we’ll know.
Sulamita, who was already at the gas station at the entrance to 26A, phoned me when she saw Beraba’s rental car heading toward Kilometer 34.
Ten minutes later, I arrived at the gas station. Sulamita got in the car, panting. Park back there, she said, pointing to a more protected area.
Then she called Joel at the precinct, with the excuse that she needed the number of a mutual friend. Sweetheart, he said, is there anything you ask me with a smile that I don’t do for you? he said. Don’t suck up to me, Tranqueira, just give me the information. Before hanging up, she also asked to speak with Dudu.
The whole team’s there, having their Friday night beer bust, she said when she hung up.
We waited a few minutes and then I called José Beraba’s cell phone again. I told him to walk to the third lamp post on the highway, to his left, where there was an envelope with more instructions, beneath a rectangular stone.
Sulamita, always thinking of forensics, had prepared all the notes that afternoon. The final one read: “Take the side road at Kilometer 42. Park the car. Go four hundred meters toward Green Creek and wait there with the headlights off.”
We went toward the side road, taking a shortcut that started at the same abandoned farm where we had buried our cadaver. The shortcut came out at Green Creek on the other side of 26A. We hid the car behind a thicket and waited a bit, looking at the road, which was now just below us. From there we could see any vehicle that approached.
Minutes later we saw a car enter the side road and turn off its headlights. I called José Beraba again.
I’m already there, he said. It’s very dark; I can’t see anything.
Drive three hundred meters. You’ll find a crossroad. Wait inside the car. With the lights off, I ordered.
I put on the mask and said goodbye to Sulamita. Wait until I turn on the headlights, I said before starting my walk.
I had already covered the same course three times with Sulamita, but at night things were very different. I walked carefully, afraid I would hurt myself. The darkness, however, was our guarantee. If any car approached, we would abort the operation. It took me over ten minutes to get to the crossroad.
José Beraba was inside the car. Only then did I turn on the flashlight, signaling. I kept the beam of light on the rancher’s face, blinding him. As soon as he got out of the car I asked where the money was.
In the valise on the front seat, the passenger side, he said.
I turned off the flashlight, went to the car, opened and closed the door twice as if there were more people with me.
Don’t call the police, I said. Keep your cell phone on.
What about my son? he asked.
You’ll receive instructions.
I added that he was to go on until he got to the main road. It’s an hour’s walk, I said.
I turned on the headlights and took off at high speed.
It was like having no arms or legs. Tires, steering wheel, head, ideas, nothing. Just my heart beating out of control. I recalled the CD I had received from Rita two days ago. Like always, no return address. On it, an ultrasound image with the same black dot, but this time with sound. Toom toom toom, the creature pulsated. I spent half an hour at an Internet café downtown, listening to those heartbeats. Now, driving in the darkness, I felt like that black dot. A heart in the dark, nothing more. Pulsating.
At the agreed-upon location, Sulamita was waiting for me in the VW. I parked beside her, under a tree. No sign of movement, no one. Everything’s fine, she said, coming over to my window. I opened the valise, wearing gloves, and transferred the money to a garbage bag she had brought. Then I left the valise in the rental car and put the key on top of one of the tires the way parking valets do.
Sulamita ran a cloth over the panel and locks to wipe away my fingerprints.
On the way home, using Junior’s cell phone, I called José Beraba again and explained where he could find the rental car and where I’d left the ignition key.
If you keep on cooperating you’ll have your son back soon, I said.
We arrived home at 10.20 p.m.
Sulamita spread the money on top of the bed and started saying holy shit. Holy shit, she repeated as she walked around the bed.
Holy shit. I couldn’t believe it myself.