Emilio

by Sophie Masson

  TITLES IN THIS SERIES

  Shahana (Kashmir)

  Amina (Somalia)

  Naveed (Afghanistan)

  Emilio (Mexico)

  Malini (Sri Lanka)

  Zafir (Syria)

  THROUGH MY EYES

  series editor Lyn White

  Emilio

  SOPHIE MASSON

  A portion of the proceeds (up to $5000) from sales of this series will be donated to UNICEF. UNICEF works in over 190 countries, including those in which books in this series are set, to promote and protect the rights of children. www.unicef.org.au

  First published in 2014

  Text © Sophie Masson 2014

  Series concept © series creator and series editor Lyn White 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or ten per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

  Allen & Unwin

  83 Alexander Street

  Crows Nest NSW 2065

  Australia

  Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100

  Email: info@allenandunwin.com

  Web: www.allenandunwin.com

  A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the

  National Library of Australia – www.trove.nla.gov.au

  ISBN 978 1 74331 247 6

  eISBN 978 1 74343 131 3

  Teaching and learning guide available from www.allenandunwin.com

  Cover and text design by Bruno Herfst and Vincent Agostino

  Cover photos from Getty Images and Vicky Kasala (top),

  Chico Sanchez (bottom) Map of Mexico by Guy Holt

  Typeset by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  For Xavier, who helped me feel Mexico

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Author's Note

  Timeline

  Glossary

  Find out more about ...

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  ‘Hey, Emilio,’ hissed Pablo, leaning over the classroom aisle. ‘Come to the beach this weekend?’

  Keeping a wary eye on Señora Ramirez, who was writing sums on the board, Emilio whispered back, ‘Wish I could. But you know Mamá needs me to help Saturday night.’

  That very morning, before going to work, his mother had said, ‘I know you’d like to go away on the weekend with your friends. But it means so much to me that you’ll be there.’

  ‘Mamá, I wouldn’t miss your big night,’ he’d told her, ‘you know I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Thank you, Emilio. Your father would have been so proud of you.’

  That had brought a lump to his throat. Three years it had been since the car accident killed his father, and yet at times it felt like yesterday.

  ‘Did you hear what I said, hombre?’

  He jerked his attention back to Pablo, who was looking at him curiously. ‘What?’

  ‘Esteban’s older sister Beatriz,’ said Pablo. ‘The really hot one. She’s going to be there too. Want to change your mind?’

  Emilio shook his head, smiling. ‘I can’t. Besides, she wouldn’t look twice at you. She’s fifteen!’

  ‘What does that matter—’

  ‘Señor Lopez! Señor Vega!’ cut in Señora Ramirez. ‘I did not know you were such math geniuses that you didn’t need to listen! Perhaps you would like to stay in after school today?’

  ‘No, sorry, excuse us, Maestra,’ said both boys hastily. They were lucky the bell rang then, and after the usual shuffling of seats and clatter of desktops the whole class gratefully left.

  Pablo and Emilio walked out together, with Nina and Sergio and Sierra, making their way through the usual noisy, cheerful afternoon street bustle of Mexico City, cars honking, street vendors singing their wares, loud music belting out from stores, the appetising smells coming from street hawkers’ stalls and the stink of car fumes and drains. Grabbing some grilled fish tacos from a hawker along the way, they all hung out together for a while at Nina’s place, only a couple of blocks from school. They sat around in the big living room eating, chatting and laughing, sprawled on bright cushions with the TV going in the background, before Pablo headed off home.

  ‘Lucky him, going to the beach,’ said Sergio, draining his coffee. ‘We haven’t had a proper holiday in ages.’

  ‘Neither have we,’ said Emilio. ‘Mamá works too hard to take any time off.’ He sighed. ‘And that’s only going to get worse now that American company is joining up with her agency.’

  ‘Hey, but at least you’ll be rich,’ joked Sergio.

  Emilio shrugged. ‘In your dreams.’ His mother was excited about the linkage between her business, Lopez Travel, and an Arizona-based company, Holiday South, but all he could see was that she’d be spending even more hours at the office. Proud as Emilio was of his mother, he also wished, and not for the first time, that things could be different. That his father could still be here so he didn’t have to be the man of the house. That he could be free, like Pablo, to go off for a weekend without feeling guilty.

  They’d had the TV on in the background, not paying much notice to it, but now an item of news flashed onto the screen and they fell silent. ‘Headless bodies found on roadside,’ ran the headline, followed by a shot of uniformed police surrounding some blurry shapes. Sierra made a sharp little sound in her throat. ‘It’s them again,’ she whispered. Nobody asked her what she meant. Everyone in Mexico knew about the drug war, which had already claimed tens of thousands of lives in recent years and spread its tentacles into even the safest district.

  Nina got up and turned off the TV. ‘Hey, has anyone thought about that geography assignment? It’s due soon.’

  ‘Trust you to think of that,’ grumbled Emilio, secretly relieved that she had changed the subject.

  ‘Someone’s got to remind you,’ retorted Nina.

  The haunted expression vanished from Sierra’s face. ‘Lucky we have you then, Nina,’ she laughed.

  ‘True enough,’ said Sergio, with a sideways look at Nina, who tossed her long, shiny hair and shrugged, as she always did when Sergio tried to compliment her. She could be a real prickly cactus sometimes, Emilio thought.

  Emilio finally left his friends at around five and headed home. His mother had told him she’d be home late, so there was no need to hurry. So he dawdled, kicking a ball for a group of kids playing soccer, admiring a new motorbike parked in the street next to his, and detouring to the corner store to buy the latest instalment of his favourite superhero comic, Batman. Reaching his apartment building a short time later, he keyed in the entry code that made the heavy front door click open and went through the little courtyard beyond, past the cubby-hole where the caretaker Señor Santíago kept a watch on everyone’s com
ings and goings. But today Emilio could hear the TV blaring – Señor Santíago was busy watching his favourite telenovela, the soap opera Amor Bravio.

  He had just had a shower and was setting out his homework on the table when the key rattled in the door. ‘Mamá, did you—’ The words died on his lips as he saw his cousin Juanita in her city police uniform, her face strained, her eyes red. She wasn’t alone. Beside her was a tall man in the black uniform of the Policía Federal, the Federal Police of Mexico.

  Chapter 2

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Emilio,’ Juanita began, her voice breaking a little. Her hazel eyes were bright with tears.

  Emilio hardly heard her. His stomach was heaving, there was a roaring in his ears. The Federal policeman said, ‘My name is Raúl Castro, and I am an officer of the PF here in Mexico City.’ He showed his identification. ‘I regret to inform you that I have bad news.’

  Emilio could hardly breathe. ‘Mamá,’ he whispered, ‘is it Mamá – is she, is she . . . ’ He could not finish the sentence. Dread filled him as his mind flashed back to the images he’d seen on TV at Nina’s place. His mother, lying dead somewhere in a pool of blood . . .

  Juanita read his expression at once. ‘No, no, Milo,’ she cried, ‘she’s not dead. She’s—’

  The policeman cut in quietly, ‘Señora Lopez has disappeared and all the signs point to a kidnapping.’

  Emilio stared at him. ‘What?’

  ‘I understand it must be a terrible shock. Please be reassured. We will do everything we can to find your mother and bring her safely home.’

  Emilio was not at all reassured. ‘But what if – what if you don’t find her?’

  ‘They will,’ said Juanita shakily. ‘Tía Gloria will be home in no time at all. You’ll see. Now, Emilio, I’ll help you pack.’

  ‘Pack?’

  ‘This is why I asked Officer Torres to come along with me,’ said Castro. ‘You can’t stay here. It isn’t safe.’

  ‘You’re going to come and stay with us, Milo,’ said Juanita, and hugged him. ‘We’re family. We’ll look after you.’

  ‘A negotiator will be appointed as soon as possible but Officer Torres will also liaise,’ said the policeman.

  Struggling to control the shake in his voice, Emilio turned to Juanita and said, ‘I want to know exactly what happened.’

  The policeman began, ‘I don’t think that is a very wise—’

  ‘Please, sir,’ broke in Juanita. ‘I think my cousin needs to hear this.’

  Emilio flashed her a grateful look and stammered, ‘Yes. Yes I do. Please.’

  ‘Very well,’ Castro conceded. ‘At three-twenty this afternoon, a car was found abandoned in the carpark of the Hotel Paradiso. The hotel carpark attendant became suspicious after hearing a sound coming from the area where the car was parked.’

  ‘A sound?’ whispered Emilio, his imagination conjuring up horrible things.

  ‘The sound you hear when a car door is left open – the alarm. And that’s what the attendant discovered. Not only had the car door been left open but the key was still in the ignition. This car was clearly identified as a company vehicle belonging to Lopez Travel, from the logo on the door. And this was found on the ground close by.’ He drew out a clear plastic bag from his pocket and took from it a small metal object.

  Emilio recognised it at once. It was the little enamel medal of Our Lady of Guadalupe, the patron saint of Mexico, that his mother always wore around her neck on a thin silver chain. Millions of Mexicans wore the same medal but Emilio knew this one because of the tiny splash of blue paint on the back, from when his mum had been painting a cupboard years ago. She’d never been able to scrub it off. ‘It’s my mother’s,’ he choked.

  ‘It must have been pulled off when she struggled,’ said the policeman. ‘The chain’s broken. Like the car, it’ll be dusted for fingerprints, and we’ll see if any of them are useful to us, once your mother’s have been eliminated. Though it’s likely the kidnappers made sure they didn’t leave DNA traces.’

  ‘But surely . . . ’ said Emilio. ‘Didn’t the attendant see anything? Mamá must have screamed, struggled!’

  ‘Not necessarily. Going by what we know from other incidents, she was probably injected with a powerful tranquilliser that acted almost instantly. We believe she was probably snatched pretty much as soon as she parked and got out, although the attendant didn’t notice anything for a good half-hour.’

  ‘How come it took him so long?’

  ‘He says he’d been listening to the radio – it was only when he switched it off that he heard the sound from the alarm.’

  ‘But – do you believe him?’

  ‘We can only go by that for the moment,’ said the policeman smoothly.

  ‘But someone else in the carpark might have seen something? Another motorist?’ cried Emilio.

  Raúl Castro shook his head. ‘So far no one has come forward.’ A pause. ‘Of course, they rarely do.’

  Emilio exchanged a look with his cousin. He understood what the policeman meant. People were too scared to come forward in cases like this. Violent men took bloody revenge if they thought you’d informed on them. Better to see nothing, hear nothing, know nothing.

  ‘There are cameras,’ went on Castro, ‘however, they only cover the exit and entrance.’ Seeing Emilio’s expression, he added, ‘But we might well get something useful from them.’

  Emilio swallowed. He knew the policeman was trying to be reassuring, but that somehow made it seem worse. And there were so many things he didn’t understand! Running a nervous hand through his thick dark hair, he said, ‘But Mamá – why was she there in the first place? She doesn’t have any clients in that area.’

  ‘Staff at Lopez Travel informed us that Señora Mendoza Lopez had been called out to meet urgently with an important business contact who was staying at the hotel. An American named Señor Sellers. But there was something odd about this call.’

  Emilio knew that Señor Sellers was one of the Holiday South people. He said, ‘What? Surely he wasn’t a part of this?’

  ‘No, no. The call was not made by Señor Sellers,’ said Raúl Castro. ‘The city police spoke to him and found he knew nothing of any so-called appointment. When this was confirmed, they turned the case over to us as a probable kidnapping. We traced the call to your mother and found it was made from one of those pay-as-you-go cellphones, mobile phones you can buy from any street vendor.’

  ‘But why – why would anyone want to kidnap my mother?’ cried Emilio. He looked at Juanita. ‘Tell him. Tell him. We’re not rich or famous or important. It makes no sense.’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t. It’s wicked and pointless and—’

  ‘Wicked, yes,’ said Castro. ‘Pointless, no. There is most certainly a point to this.’ He paused. ‘I believe there was an article in the local press a couple of weeks ago about the recent deal between your mother’s company and an American travel agency, the one run by Señor Sellers. That’s probably what triggered their interest in your mother.’

  ‘You mean – they might have got the idea from that that Mamá is some sort of tycoon or something?’ Emilio was horrified.

  ‘Yes,’ said the policeman. ‘They might think she’s richer than she really is. Or that she is going to be rich. People who are already wealthy have ironclad protection – armed bodyguards and so on – and are much harder to kidnap. The gang that took your mother was looking for a softer target.’

  Emilio felt sick. ‘Do you know who . . . ?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  ‘But do you have any idea – any idea at all?’

  ‘There are always ideas. Nothing firm, though. They’ll be local if the article is what tipped them off.’

  ‘That stupid article!’ Emilio cried wildly. ‘If only . . . ’

  He never finished his sentence, for just then the telephone on the wall began to ring.

  Chapter 3

  Emilio sprang for the phone, but Castro held
up a hand. ‘Wait. You have another phone here?’

  ‘In the kitchen.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be listening. I’ll give you a signal. When you pick up, just say your name. Don’t say “Who’s this?” or make any pleas or anything else. Understand?’

  Emilio nodded, all his attention on the shrilling phone.

  ‘Pick up on the count of three. One, two, three,’ boomed Castro’s voice from the kitchen.

  Emilio snatched up the receiver. ‘Emilio Mendoza Lopez here,’ he stammered.

  ‘Hello, Emilio.’ It was the caretaker, Señor Santiago, and he sounded a little surprised by Emilio’s shaky voice. ‘A courier’s just brought something for you. A large envelope, addressed to the Lopez and Torres families, marked Urgent and Important. Is your mother there?’

  Señor Santiago must not have seen Juanita and Castro, Emilio thought. Juanita had a key to the apartment, so she wouldn’t have needed him to buzz her through.

  Emilio gabbled, ‘No. She’s not home yet. I’ll – I’ll come down right away.’

  Raúl Castro appeared in the kitchen doorway with the phone to his ear, and shook his head meaningfully.

  Emilio said, ‘Actually, do you mind coming up with it?’

  ‘No problem. But Emilio – is anything wrong?’

  The policeman shook his head.

  ‘No. No. Nothing’s wrong,’ lied Emilio.

  ‘I’ll be there in a few seconds, then.’

  Emilio put the phone down. He looked at the adults. ‘What should I do when he . . . ’

  ‘Put these on.’ Raúl Castro handed Emilio a sachet containing a pair of transparent plastic gloves. ‘Ask him to give you the envelope, and tell him to come in. But don’t say anything to him about what’s happened. I will need to speak to him. He may have some important information and it’s best if he doesn’t have time to think about it.’

  It was at most a few minutes till the knock came on the door, but to Emilio it felt like hours of agonising waiting. When the rapping came he caught the Federal agent’s warning glance and tried to master himself, but couldn’t help fumbling as he opened the door.