‘Yes, we agree it’s better not to let rumours take hold,’ said Alda. ‘But remember to give them just the bare facts, no detail. Don’t mention me at all, and don’t tell even your best friend where you are.’
That evening he called his friends and finally broke the news to them. It was hard, listening to them struggling to express what they felt. Sergio, usually so jokey, could say nothing but, ‘Hermano – bro – I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ while Sierra burst into tears and Nina had stayed quiet so long he thought she’d hung up, till she said, ‘If there’s anything, anything, Milo . . . ’ but then had broken off, unable to finish. It was Pablo who was the most talkative, who asked a dozen questions Emilio couldn’t answer, and who ended up by saying in his usual brash way that the police were sure to be involved with the gang and the family shouldn’t trust any of them, not even Castro and Alda. Emilio shouted, ‘You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about!’ and slammed the phone down. Pablo rang back moments later to apologise but his words still haunted Emilio, hours later. For when all was said and done, could they really trust anyone? The papers were full of stories about corrupt police officers. Was Castro really the good man he appeared to be? Was the lack of progress really just a lack of progress, or was there something more sinister behind it?
A day passed. Another. Then another. And another. In all that agonising time, there was no new message from the kidnappers, or from the Federales about their investigation. The Americans called but only to ‘touch base’. Everyone in the family was restless and depressed. Luz went unwillingly back to school on the second day, but the adults had taken time off work and could not seem to settle to any of their usual activities. Tío Vicente didn’t even go to the cantina, and though Tía Isabel kept putting delicious food on the table, it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. And when friends called to find out how they were, she put them off. Instead, she and the others spent hours at the kitchen table talking ransom money.
It was a huge worry. Emilio’s grandfather had promised quite a lot of money, but even with that and Gloria’s savings and everything else they could raise, they were a long way from the amount demanded. As to the insurance company, it was just as Emilio’s uncle had said – they would not contribute to a ransom, only to ‘some reimbursement’ of money later. And the family had no idea yet if the Americans would end up contributing, or, if they did, how much they’d be prepared to give.
As to Emilio, he spent his days trying to work at the lessons his teachers had emailed to him, then giving up and trying to watch movies he could never finish, reading books he abandoned after the first few pages, starting computer games he didn’t have the heart to end.
He felt he was in a horrible dream. Since he’d told his friends, they’d texted or called every day, but there was no news to give them and he did not feel like talking about other things. He missed them and he knew they would have liked to come and visit him, but their parents wouldn’t let them. ‘They’re afraid that a kidnap might be catching,’ Luz said crossly. Emilio felt bad about it but he also understood. It did feel sometimes as though he was living in quarantine, like someone sick. Nobody wanted to catch the kidnap germs. Everyone was afraid of that disease, and himself most of all.
I’m hopeless, he told himself. Sometimes I just want to crawl into bed with the covers over my head and not talk to anyone or do anything, just go to sleep till it’s all over and Mamá is back with us. But how weak and stupid is that? For the love of God, how can I help my mother if I’m weak? How can I be of any use to this family?
Chapter 13
Finally, on the agonising fifth morning of radio silence, the next message from the kidnappers arrived. It was a stunning one.
Your request has been granted, under certain conditions which must be fulfilled exactly. A clean phone will be made available for the purpose, with place and time of the call noted in the inbox. This phone is to be obtained today, outside the Chapel of the Indians at LaVilla de Guadelupe. It will be given to Gloria’s son, and Gloria’s son only. He is to go alone, wearing a white cap, white T-shirt and jeans, and carry a small backpack. He is to arrive at fifteen minutes to midday and wait till 1 p.m. There is to be no one following him. No one watching him. No police. You have our word he will not be harmed in any way if these conditions are followed to the letter. But failure to abide by them will result in the gravest consequences for Gloria.
There was silence for a moment while they all digested these appalling words. Then Tía Isabel burst out, ‘How can they do this? How can they? There is no way we are going to put Emilio in such danger!’
‘No way,’ echoed her husband fiercely. ‘We’ll go with him.’
‘I can go,’ said Juanita. ‘I can make sure I’m not seen. There are always crowds at La Villa.’
But Emilio found his voice at last. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘You read the message. You read what they said. No one else can go. I have to go on my own.’
Alda shook her head. ‘It’s far too dangerous. We’ve got to send them another message at once to say you’re sick, or can’t go for some reason. We simply can’t allow—’
‘I have to do this, I do!’ cried Emilio. ‘Please don’t try to stop me. Please don’t try to change things, or delay it. It will just make matters worse for Mamá. I know it will.’ He clenched his fists. ‘I want to do this for my mother. She needs me. It’s the only thing I can do. They said I wouldn’t be harmed. They gave their word and the basilica at La Villa is our most holy site.’
‘Ha! The word of such scum is worth nothing,’ growled Tío Vicente. ‘Don’t think that just because they’ve arranged this meeting in a sacred spot, they won’t go back on their promise.’
Emilio drew himself up to his full height, saying defiantly, ‘Then Our Lady will protect me. I’m going to do this. And you can’t stop me.’
‘Actually we can certainly—’ began Alda, when Tía Isabel interrupted her.
‘Wait. You are here to advise us, Alda,’ she said, ‘but not dictate what we are to do. Correct?’
‘That’s so,’ agreed Alda.
‘I am Gloria’s sister. Her flesh and blood, like Emilio. I hate what these people are asking. But I do not think we can simply ignore what they say. I think we must do all we can to bring my sister back safely. And we cannot just brush aside Emilio’s feelings, or his courage.’ She put an arm around him. ‘I know how much this has torn you up, cielito. I know how much you want to do something. But are you certain you are ready for this?’
He looked at her in grateful surprise. Nodded. ‘I . . . I am.’
Tía Isabel turned to Alda. ‘Would you mind giving us a little time alone as a family? We need to be united on this matter.’
Alda shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ And she left the room.
When she had gone, Tío Vicente said, ‘Honestly, Chavelita, is that wise? She’s the expert. If she says that—’
‘Yes. She is the expert. But it’s not her family in the firing line,’ said Tía Isabel. ‘These people,’ she gestured towards the laptop, ‘have made a concession to us, for the first time. We will be speaking to Gloria. And that will be very important. Not necessarily because of what Castro said, that it might provide a clue. I doubt that. What I do know is that we need to hear her voice. And more importantly she needs to hear ours. She needs to know we really are behind her in every way.’
Thank you, Tía Isabel, thought Emilio. She had said exactly what was in his heart.
‘That phone call has to happen,’ his aunt went on. ‘And it’s not going to if we delay or try to get more concessions out of them. I’m just as worried as any of you by what’s being asked of Emilio. But I don’t think we can simply say that because he is young he should not be allowed to do it.’
‘I so agree! I would do it if it was you, Mamá, in Tía Gloria’s place,’ said Luz in a choked voice, taking her mother’s hand. ‘I would do it in the blink of an eye! And Papá or Juanita or the police or the President or whoever it was w
ould never be able to stop me!’
‘You little goose,’ said Juanita, smiling, ‘you’d have to take me with you anyway because I’m your sister and there’s no way you’d leave me behind! But really, Mamá, Papá, I completely understand what you’re saying.’ She looked at her father for confirmation and he nodded. ‘And I do understand how Emilio feels,’ she went on. ‘If it was me, of course I’d go at once without question. But we can’t just dismiss what Alda said. I suggest we ask her if there’s a way Emilio could go but also not be in as much danger, and—’
‘No one can follow or watch,’ said Emilio anxiously. ‘You saw what they said. I’m sure they’d spot it at once.
‘They wouldn’t spot it if it’s not a person but an electronic follower.’
‘You mean, like a bug?’
‘If you like. But a two-way one. You wear a concealed device which keeps you in touch with us and which transmits to us what’s going on.’
‘But won’t they see it?’
She shook her head. ‘Those things are pretty much invisible these days. So – shall I call Alda back in? Say we’ve agreed Emilio should go, but with the right precautions?’
There was a chorus of agreement.
When Alda came back in, she immediately said, ‘Excellent solution. I was going to suggest it myself. I spoke to Raúl and he said that we’ll also have people on alert close by. Very discreetly,’ she hastened to add as she saw Emilio’s expression. ‘That’s easily done in a place like La Villa, which is always swarming with people. But it is necessary. You do see that?’ she went on, addressing the whole family, and when they agreed, she immediately called Castro back to arrange it all.
So that was how, a couple of hours later, Emilio found himself in a taxi on his way to La Villa, wearing an audio surveillance device concealed behind a belt buckle. The belt wasn’t his; it was a custom-made one that Alda had fetched from work. She had explained how it worked. ‘It’s quite simple. The device transmits your conversation and all sound around you to the radio receiver at the station near the basilica, where Raúl and the others will be monitoring you the whole time. There’s an embedded antenna in it which makes the transmitter’s reach quite good, so they’ll hear not just what’s right in front of you but also along the length of the belt, to the sides and back.’ She showed him a tiny switch in the buckle. ‘This will activate it. Don’t turn it on until you are at your destination – how about you do it after you step out of the taxi. The driver has been told to pick you up again at one p.m.’
‘He’s not a policeman, is he? They said that—’
‘No. He’s not. He’s a real taxi driver. But he’s one we’ve used before in certain situations. He’s completely reliable and discreet. Now, you must also remember the code phrase you need to say if you feel threatened at all.’
He repeated it back to her: So many people here. It wasn’t a phrase that would spook them in any way, she said. He could drop it casually in the conversation if need be. But he wasn’t to hesitate if anything worried him. He had to get the backup at once, not try and play the hero. Yes, yes, he’d agreed, nervous and excited by turns as he made his farewells to his family and went downstairs with Alda to where the taxi was waiting.
He was nervous again now, as the taxi wove through the heavy traffic towards La Villa. He was in fact very nervous. What if the kidnappers realised he was wired up? What if they had been lying when they said they wouldn’t harm him? What if the one who was meant to give him the phone didn’t find him? His aunt had sent a short message to the kidnappers: My nephew will be outside the Chapel of the Indians at fifteen minutes before midday and will wait till 1 p.m. He will be wearing exactly what you said.
But how many other people might be wearing the same outfit, he thought. How could they tell one jeans-clad teenager from another?
‘Oh, they’ll know,’ Alda had said grimly. ‘They’ll know exactly what you look like, and much more besides. They make that their business.’
Hope she knows what she’s talking about, Emilio thought. The traffic was heavy and he began to sweat with anxiety as the taxi inched its way through the streets. He desperately wanted to tell the driver to hurry up but didn’t quite dare to, so he jammed his nails into his palms to stop himself from yelling and tried to distract himself by counting the people wearing red in every colourful mural they passed by, as his father had taught him to do when he was little and couldn’t wait to get somewhere. But it didn’t work. Try as he might, he couldn’t concentrate on that, or on any of the real-life scenes going on outside the car windows: a mariachi band playing in a square, a group of kids bashing a home-made piñata with a stick, a couple of street hawkers having an argument, an old man crossing the road on the arm of a very tall girl in very high heels, a group of policemen lounging around smoking and gossiping. All he could think of was that time was ticking away and that if the traffic didn’t clear soon, they’d be too late. He prayed fervently under his breath. Please please please, God, let us get there soon. Please please please don’t let us lose this chance.
At last they were there, with only four minutes to spare. Jumping out of the taxi after confirming a pick-up time, he activated the device and set off at a run across the huge plaza through the complex of churches towards the Chapel. The place was heaving with people. There were the usual pilgrims from all over Mexico and the world, some carrying banners, candles, statues and icons, some advancing slowly on their knees, going the last few metres to the sacred site the hard way. Emilio fought through the thick crowds of pilgrims, souvenir-sellers and foreign tourists clicking away with their cameras. He had to get to the Chapel on time!
But when he was finally there, his phone clock read twelve to twelve. He was three minutes later than his aunt’s message had said. His heart was hammering in his chest. What if the kidnappers got angry that he was late, even if it was only by this little bit. Please, Our Lady, please let it be all right, he prayed.
Like everywhere else, the space around the Chapel was packed with people. It was very hot and his back was sweaty, so he took off the pack and laid it by his feet where he could easily see it. He waited. And waited. Midday. Fifteen past. Twenty past. Half past. He swigged the water and ate the peanuts he’d brought, trying to stay calm. He couldn’t leave. He had to stay put. And yet with every minute that passed he got more and more worried.
People milled around. A few glanced at him, without much interest. A couple of beggars asked him for money and he gave them some coins. Snack- and souvenir-sellers roamed around. At one point he thought maybe one of the souvenir-sellers, a sinister-looking fellow with a lazy eye, might be his target. But the man didn’t come near him, and instead headed straight for a more promising group of foreign tourists nearby, elbowing out of the way another seller, a scrawny, stringy-haired girl a little younger than Emilio, who was timidly trying to sell an assortment of very cheap medals and badly printed holy cards out of a plastic bag.
Emilio felt sorry for her, and when she came by he bought one of her medals, to her obvious surprise. She fumbled at her bag, managing to drop some of the other items in the process, so he spent a few precious seconds helping her pick them up, all the time trying to keep an eye out for the messenger. The girl thanked him shyly and walked on with her pathetic bag, trying to attract people’s attention without much success. How many items would she sell today? Emilio thought, distracted for an instant from his own troubles. And how much would she make out of it even if she did? She certainly looked like someone who slept rough, and someone who didn’t eat enough either. I’ve never had to wonder where my next meal was coming from or where I was going to sleep at night. If I did, would I sell cheap souvenirs, or join a gang?
The church clock struck a quarter to one, startling him from his wandering thoughts. Only fifteen minutes to go, and still the messenger hadn’t come. Emilio felt sick. He’d been late by three minutes. What if the man had come during that time? What if he, Emilio, had spoiled everything? The time t
icked away and away and away, and still there was no sign of anyone. As the minute hand moved closer and closer to one, Emilio’s spirits sank lower and lower. Now he was convinced the messenger had come during those fatal minutes. It was his fault. He’d blown it. They wouldn’t get the call from his mother. She wouldn’t hear their voices . . .
Bong. The deep voice of the clock announced that it was one o’clock. His time was up. He’d failed. Crushed, he bent down to pick up his pack and put his empty water bottle in. Only then did he notice that there was something else in the bag. A phone. And it certainly wasn’t his, because his was in his pocket.
The new phone, shrink-wrapped in plastic, was a cheap ‘burner’ pre-pay phone, the kind you could buy from street vendors and dodgy backstreet shops. Just the sort of phone the kidnappers would use. But how? No one had approached him, nobody had given him anything, he’d had the bag in his sight all the time, so how could it have—
And then it struck him. The girl. The souvenir-seller! She must have fumbled her bag deliberately, and slipped the phone into his pack when he was busy picking up her things, looking everywhere but at her. What an idiot I am, not to spot it was her! he thought. He had to find her, she must be a link to the gang. He knew he should call Castro, but he had no time. He had to try and find her. Grabbing his bag, he plunged through the crowd, looking in every direction to see where she might have gone. But it was hopeless. How could you see one scrawny kid among all those thousands of people? She didn’t even have a white cap or a white T-shirt to flag her. But someone might have seen where she’d gone. Ay! There was the other souvenir-seller, the fellow who’d elbowed her out of the way.
‘There was a girl here just now,’ Emilio panted, ‘a skinny little kid selling medals, did you see her?’
Emilio Page 6
