Emilio

by Sophie Masson

  The negotiator gave him a cool look. ‘What they want is a great deal of money. Nine million pesos, or seven hundred thousand American dollars.’

  Everyone gasped.

  Tío Vicente barked, ‘Nine million pesos! Absolutely ridiculous! Impossible. That’s way beyond what we could even dream of raising! We’re just ordinary people. Who do they think we are, Carlos Slim or someone?’

  ‘Setting such a high price is an ambition only,’ said Alda, unruffled. ‘The starting bid, designed to make you feel grateful when they drop the price. As they will.’

  ‘But how much – how much do you think they’re prepared to . . . ’ said Tía Isabel.

  ‘In my experience, it drops steeply over time to something a family can afford.’

  Over time – Emilio had once read about someone’s kidnap ordeal. It had taken weeks and weeks for the police to find them, and by that time the victim, who’d been kept in a tiny dark room, was practically insane. Panic fluttered in his throat. He blurted out, ‘Please – just how much time do we have?’

  She gave him a cool look. ‘It depends on who’s got her.’

  Raúl Castro cut in, ‘We don’t know who we’re dealing with yet – or whether the motive is political, opportunist or personal, but—’

  ‘Personal?’ interrupted Tía Isabel sharply.

  ‘Perhaps the mastermind is somebody known to Señora Lopez,’ said the policeman. ‘Somebody who bears her a grudge.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous. My sister has no enemies!’ snapped Tía Isabel.

  ‘A disgruntled former employee, for instance,’ said Castro, ignoring her.

  ‘But – everyone likes my mother,’ choked Emilio. ‘She gets on really well with her staff. She’s never sacked anyone. Never!’

  Luz supported him. ‘It’s true. Tía Gloria is a good person. No one would ever hate her,’ she cried, as the others nodded in agreement.

  Castro said, ‘We do consider it unlikely, because this crime was certainly carried out by professionals, not amateurs. Everything’s been well planned and properly executed, with nothing left to chance, and their information was good. And the fact that there’s been no other demand than money seems to argue against a political motive—’

  ‘I should think so! Gloria doesn’t have a political bone in her body,’ interrupted Tía Isabel.

  ‘Some radical group might have objected to her joining forces with an American company for political reasons, for instance,’ went on Castro. ‘But that doesn’t seem to be the case as far as we know right now. If it’s not political, then there is more hope for a speedy resolution. Political demands complicate matters. The American connection is important, though – it’s given the kidnappers the idea that Señora Lopez has access to large funds, in American dollars.’

  ‘That’s an idea,’ said Tío Vicente. ‘I mean,’ he said hastily as he saw their startled expressions, ‘that the Americans might agree to help pay the ransom, once it’s more reasonable—’

  ‘Vicente!’ said Tía Isabel crossly, just as Alda put in, ‘My advice is not to mention them at all.’

  ‘But we will still need to talk to them eventually,’ persisted Emilio’s uncle, ‘because it’s all very well to talk round and round this question, but the fact is, even if it’s as you say and the kidnappers will take less than they’ve asked for, there’s one certainty: these people are serious about getting paid a lot of money to release her. We want Gloria back, safe and sound. Therefore it follows that everything that has to be done will be. And that includes contacting the Americans.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Alda. ‘But it can wait.’

  Emilio blurted out, ‘Excuse me, but you said they were . . . ’ – he gulped – ‘professionals. Do you mean a kidnap gang?’ He’d heard of such gangs before. Their main business was kidnap for ransom, and they snatched thousands of people every year.

  Castro nodded. ‘That is a possibility. However, it could also be somebody whose normal business is mainly in another area of crime.’ He exchanged a meaningful look with Alda Jiménez. In a flash of insight, Emilio thought, He’s talking about the cartels. Drug dealers, that’s who they think is behind it.

  His skin felt clammy as he remembered that story on the news, the bag of severed heads that had been left in the street not many kilometres from where they were right now. The drug cartels were merciless. Hideously cruel. Capable of anything. If his mother was in such hands, then what were her chances? He whispered, ‘But Mamá has nothing to do with . . . ’ He swallowed. ‘With those kinds of people. So why?’

  ‘Money,’ said Castro. ‘Just money.’

  ‘But – but they make money, don’t they,’ Tía Isabel said. ‘Lots of it. With their vile poisons. Much more than we could ever dream of. So why do they need . . . ’

  Castro said, ‘Probably these people have had their trade interrupted by army or police action. It’s quite likely, in fact, that that the group we’re dealing with is not one of the big cartels, but a smaller gang that for some reason can’t run their usual drug business. When that happens, they will often turn to this kind of crime to finance themselves.’

  ‘Then do you know of any gang that has recently experienced such – such disruption?’ said Emilio’s uncle.

  ‘Yes, I do. But we have nothing definite yet to tie any of them to this.’ Castro paused. ‘Please be assured,’ he went on, ‘that we will let you know as soon as we have more information, but until we have some firm leads, some hard evidence, I’m afraid it’s useless to speculate further about the identity of these criminals.’ He got up. ‘Now, I must go, but I leave you in Alda Jiménez’ capable hands. She will explain the next stage in the negotiating process.’

  Tío Vicente seemed to be about to argue but Juanita headed him off. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘And may I relay any further questions we may have on the progress of the investigation to you?’

  ‘Certainly, Officer Torres,’ he said. ‘At any time of the day or night, I can be reached on the numbers I gave you. Don’t speak to anyone else about it, not even your colleagues.’

  Emilio knew what this meant. Nobody else was to be trusted.

  Castro was almost at the door when he turned. ‘And may God and the Virgin be with you all,’ he said gently, and let himself out.

  Chapter 6

  ‘Hmm,’ Tío Vicente growled as the door closed behind the policeman. ‘I hope he’s not just relying on divine intervention to—’

  ‘Hold your tongue for once, Chente,’ snapped his wife. ‘Alda,’ she went on, turning to the young woman, ‘please tell us, what happens next?’

  ‘I will log you into the account we are using,’ the negotiator said, ‘but first we must discuss what you should say in the first message to the kidnappers. This will be in answer both to the proof of life demand, but also their first demand.’

  She looked at Emilio and Luz. ‘If you young ones feel scared or unsure, you don’t have to—’

  ‘No,’ said Emilio sharply. ‘I want to be a part of this. She’s my mother!’

  ‘I want to help too,’ put in Luz. She looked pleadingly at her parents.

  ‘We are all in this,’ said Tía Isabel firmly, with a look at her husband as though she expected him to disagree. Instead he said, ‘We’re a family, Señorita Jiménez. A family stands together. Especially at a time like this.’

  ‘Fine. Well, then, it’s important that you as a family should feel comfortable with my advice. You may of course disagree with my suggested course of action. But can I also say that a professional negotiator’s advice should be trusted and followed if at all possible.’

  They all nodded, except Tío Vicente, who said, ‘Trust isn’t something you give out like sweets from a piñata. The fact is, we don’t know anything much about you, other than that you work for the Federales.’

  ‘Papá!’ said Juanita warningly, but he went on, ‘And forgive me for saying so, but you don’t look old enough to have had much experience.’

  W
hat is it with Tío? Emilio thought. He’s acting as though he’s the boss of the family, as though Mamá is his sole responsibility. But he’s only her brother-in-law. And I’m her son! He wanted to say something cutting but couldn’t. You had to have respect for your elders, even when they acted foolishly. He saw Luz roll her eyes.

  But Alda Jiménez did not seem at all fazed. She gave a tiny smile and said, ‘I understand your doubts. But let me reassure you that despite my age, I do have a great deal of experience. I have acted as negotiator in many successfully resolved cases of kidnap. And there’s another thing you should know about me. I come from Juárez.’ She paused to allow them to digest this and then went on, ‘Yes, I’m from the most violent place in the country. We were pretty poor, but my parents brought us up well, and so my brother and sister and I never lost our way. Others we knew weren’t so lucky. My own cousin Joaquin fell in with a bad crowd. He loved the whole gang thing, the guns, the easy money, the bravado, and he hero-worshipped the gang’s leader. When you live in an atmosphere like that, nothing is normal. Joaquin started off in a small way, with petty thieving, then stealing cars, and he graduated to armed robbery. Five years ago he got involved in a plot to kidnap my mother’s employer. The man was just a shopkeeper, but those greedy fools thought he was hiding the true extent of his wealth and decided they’d make his family cough up. Anyway, it all went wrong. There was a shoot-out. In the crossfire, the shopkeeper was seriously injured, and Joaquin was killed. It broke my aunt’s heart. And broke up our family, because for a while my mother was under suspicion of having helped the gang. She lost her job. The shame of it burned her. And the pain of having been betrayed by her own flesh and blood, by her sister’s son. She never really got over it.’ Alda paused again. ‘Now perhaps you can understand why I do this.’

  There was a short silence. Then Tía Isabel said gently, ‘Thank you for telling us.’ She added, ‘How do you think we should speak to these people?’

  ‘Your message should be personal,’ said Alda, ‘but not too personal. Firm, but not aggressive. Willing to negotiate, but not desperate to close any deal. You’ve got to make them feel there are real people involved in this, but not try to touch them emotionally, because they won’t be receptive. It is no use at this stage to ask them to transmit any kind of personal message to Señora Lopez, as first you must build their trust.’ She saw their expressions. ‘I know. It sticks in the throat. But it must be done, if this is to be handled successfully. Now then, you need to see the original message.’

  They all waited with bated breath as she drew the laptop towards her, rapidly brought up a webmail site, typed in a username and password, clicked Enter, and brought up the account.

  Welcome to your webmail, said an ironically cheery message in the inbox. In the box labelled ‘Drafts’ was a single number, in brackets: (1). Emilio’s heart pounded as Alda clicked on it and the message opened. It had nothing in the ‘To’ line or the ‘Subject’ line, and was very short.

  For the release of Gloria Mendoza Lopez, we demand 9 million pesos. Proof of life is attached. She will remain unharmed if you do exactly as we say. Write a message of agreement and leave in the draft box. Further instructions will follow.

  And that was it.

  Chapter 7

  ‘It’s important that you react correctly to this first message,’ said Alda. That does not mean you have to agree with the size of their demand. What I suggest is that you write something very simple but personal, saying you are thankful for proof of life, and although the reward they request is beyond your financial capacity, you—’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ snapped Emilo’s uncle, ‘they didn’t request, and it’s not a reward, it’s an extortion demand! These people are blackmailing scum!’

  Tía Isabel quelled him with a look. ‘Juanita, get some paper and a pen. We’ll write something together,’ she said. ‘Please go on, Alda.’

  ‘You need to make sure they understand you cannot pay that amount but you are willing to negotiate,’ went on Alda. ‘You should finish with something simple like “We await your further communication.” ’

  Emilio’s aunt began scribbling rapidly. ‘What about this to start with?’ she said, and read it out loud: ‘My name is Isabel Mendoza Torres. I am Gloria’s sister and speak for the whole family.’ Emilio made a little movement of protest. ‘I know she is your mother, Milo,’ she said softly, ‘but it’s best if an adult’s name is on this. Do you understand?’

  Emilio’s throat felt tight, but he managed to say, ‘Yes, Tía, I do.’ And he did, in a way. The kidnappers were unlikely to take any notice of a thirteen-year-old boy, let alone think he was speaking for the family. But how he wished he was older! How terrible it was to be unable to do anything to help, not even something as simple as putting his name to a message!

  ‘You’re a brave young man,’ said his aunt, flashing him a little smile and reading on. ‘We are glad to have received proof my sister is alive and well. Right – what next?’

  ‘Please understand that the size of the reward you request for her liberation is well beyond our capacity to pay,’ said Juanita.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tía Isabel, writing it down, ‘but we are keen to continue negotiations and to this end are prepared to draw up financial statements so you can see what is possible.’

  ‘We await your communication,’ Juanita said.

  ‘In the expectation Gloria will remain unharmed,’ finished her mother. ‘And then I sign it. What do you think, Alda? Will it do?’

  Alda nodded. ‘Yes. It strikes the right balance.’

  ‘I have to say it makes my hair stand on end, that we have to be so polite to these disgusting people,’ grumbled Tío Vicente.

  ‘Unfortunately that’s the case, Papá,’ said Juanita.

  Emilio caught Luz’s eye. He could tell from her expression that she was feeling as irrelevant as him. ‘We are all in this,’ Tía Isabel had said. And so they were. But when it came to the crunch, it was pretty clear that all the decisions lay with the adults, and Emilio and Luz could only look on.

  It took a few more minutes for the message to be finalised and put in the Draft box. When it was done, Alda talked to them some more, while they kept a nervous eye on the webmail account, hoping the kidnappers would respond quickly. When they still hadn’t done so more than an hour later, Alda left, accompanied by Juanita, to fetch clothes and other necessaries for her stay. They’d be back by lunchtime, they said.

  While Tía Isabel went off to calm her nerves with preparations for a massive lunch, and Tío Vicente went off to calm his nerves with a quick drink at the local cantina, the cousins sat in the living room, halfheartedly watching TV while keeping an anxious eye on the laptop, just in case anything changed.

  ‘Why in God’s name haven’t they answered already?’ said Emilio for the umpteenth time, and for the umpteenth time Luz replied, ‘They haven’t logged into the account yet, that’s all.’

  He hoped she was right. He was afraid there was another reason – that they’d been angry with the family’s response and had taken it out on his mother. He didn’t want to imagine how, but his mind kept sending up horrible images.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ said Luz. ‘You’ll see. She’s a fighter, your mamá. And she’s smart. She won’t give up.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emilio. He knew Luz was trying her very best to be positive, and so he tried to match her. ‘She’s probably thinking up ways of escaping them right now.’

  ‘Yes, I bet she is!’ said Luz. ‘Hey, you know what,’ she went on, her eyes widening. ‘I’ve just thought of something!’

  ‘What?’ said Emilio cautiously. ‘I’ve just thought of something’ usually meant Luz had had a more than unusually wild idea.

  ‘That medal they found – Tía’s medal – you know how they said it only had her fingerprints on it?’

  ‘Yes. So?’

  ‘What if it didn’t just come off when they took her? What if she deliberately broke the chain and le
ft it there herself?’

  ‘What?’ repeated Emilio, baffled. ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘As a clue, of course!’ said Luz impatiently, tossing back her curly hair.

  Emilio snorted.

  ‘You can snort all you like,’ huffed Luz, ‘but it might mean something.’

  ‘Like what?’ said Emilio, one eye on the webmail, still frustratingly unchanged.

  ‘Well, I don’t know. But we might be able to work it out, if we think hard.’

  Emilio shrugged.

  ‘Don’t you even want to think about it for one minute?’ cried Luz. ‘Isn’t it better than just staring at that stupid, stupid screen hoping something will come up and hoping that everything’s going to be all right if we just sit tight and do nothing?’ The last words ended on a gasp as she burst into tears.

  ‘It’s okay, Luz,’ he said, in a voice he tried hard to steady. ‘It’s okay. Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be silly! What do you need to be sorry for?’ said Luz, fiercely wiping her eyes. ‘It’s a stupid idea, I know that, but my brain feels like a rat on a wheel and I feel I’m going crazy and I just don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Emilio sadly.

  She flung her arms around him, and hugged him tight. ‘Oh, I know, I’m sorry, Milo, I’m so sorry, I wish I – oh how I wish . . . ’

  ‘I know,’ he said, hugging her back. ‘I know, Luzita.’ They sat in silence for a moment longer, then he said, ‘You know what?’

  ‘No,’ she said, with a watery little smile.

  ‘You’re right. We can’t just sit here and wait. We could do some research.’ He gestured at the laptop. ‘On the internet. See if we can find out a bit about – about the things Señor Castro was talking about. I mean, about the gangs that could be involved.’

  ‘Oh,’ breathed Luz, looking a little more cheerful now. ‘Do you think we could find out who—’

  ‘No,’ he said honestly, ‘but it’s better than nothing, right?’