The same question was on all their faces, as they looked at Alda. Alda said, ‘Answer it. Now.’
Tío Vicente pressed the answer button. ‘Who – who’s there?’
‘Hola, Vicente Torres,’ said a tinny voice over the loudspeaker, so distorted by interference that it was impossible even to tell if it was male or female. ‘Now pass the phone to your wife, as she is clearly the boss.’
Tío Vicente flushed, but before he could say anything, Tía Isabel touched him gently on the shoulder, murmuring, ‘Don’t let it matter, mi amor, my love.’ She held out her hand for the phone.
‘Isabel Torres here,’ she said, as everyone listened tensely. ‘I thought the call was to be on the phone you provided.’
‘We changed our minds. The Americans are here?’ said the distorted voice.
‘Yes.’ She glanced at Sellers and Taylor. Sellers mouthed, ‘Would you like us to say something?’ She shook her head.
‘Good. Then they and you will hear our proposal from Gloria’s own lips.’ There was a clunk, a rustle, and the voice suddenly cut out, leaving the family looking at each other, bewildered and not a little chilled. But that was forgotten as quite suddenly a familiar voice came on the line, faraway, but unmistakable: the voice of Emilio’s mother.
‘Isabel – are you there?’
‘Yes I am, mi hermana querida, my darling sister,’ said Tía Isabel, her voice shaking. ‘Are you – how are you keeping?’
‘I am as well as may be expected,’ said Gloria.
Emilio’s heart raced. His skin felt clammy. He hardly noticed Luz’s hand creeping into his. ‘And you – how are you, Chavelita?’ his mother went on. ‘How is the family?’
‘Okay, querida mia,’ said Tía Isabel, ‘but thinking of you all the time.’
‘How is my little heart, my Emilio?’
‘I am well. But I miss you. My heart for you always, Mamá,’ Emilio shouted, so that she’d hear. There. He’d said it. He’d said what was written on the back of the silver heart. She’d know what it meant. And those bastards who held her wouldn’t have a clue.
‘My heart to you too, my Milo,’ she said, and there was a new lilt in her voice, so that he knew for sure that not only had she heard but she’d understood.
A painful feeling gripped in Emilio’s chest. He was so glad he’d said it. He was so glad he could hear his mother’s voice. And yet he felt a sharp pain too, his eyes stung with tears and his throat was choked with words he could not say.
‘Sister,’ his mother went on, ‘we don’t have much time, and I must put a proposal to you and to our American partners which is to the satisfaction of – of the people here. Having considered the financial information you provided, and as a gesture of good faith, they have been kind enough to agree to a special arrangement.’ Her voice was toneless as she said the last sentence, and they all knew she did not at all mean ‘kind’. ‘They will accept two million pesos in cash.’
Everyone looked at each other in stunned relief and astonishment. It was less than a third of the original demand. Still a large sum, but not completely out of reach. But before Tía Isabel could speak, Emilio’s mother went on quickly, ‘But they want something else as well. Holiday South owns shares in a hotel in Veracruz. They want those shares.’
‘What?’ The Americans had started up from their seats. Taylor hissed, ‘Are they crazy? We’ll never . . . ’
But his friend, Señor Sellers, flapped a hand at him to be quiet. ‘Ask Señora Lopez to repeat that,’ he said to Tía Isabel.
She did so, and Gloria repeated what she’d said, adding, ‘I am so very sorry. I do not know how they – how they knew . . . ’ A pause, then she went on, ‘But it’s their condition for agreeing to a – to a lower cash component. I – I am to tell you that this is the final offer.’ Gloria’s voice went dry, as though she were reciting a lawyer’s letter, learned by rote. ‘No further negotiation will be entered into. You must all agree to this deal without attempting to change it in any way or it will be null and void, and’ – her voice faltered – ‘you know what that means.’
A cold shiver rippled up Emilio’s back.
‘There must be no police involved,’ Gloria continued. Everyone looked at Alda, who shook her head. The gang must not know she is police, Emilio thought. That was something. His mother went on, ‘You will soon receive detailed instructions by email as to how everything is to be done. As soon as the demands are met, I will be released. What is your response?’
Tía Isabel glanced at the Americans. Taylor opened his mouth, but Sellers cut him off. ‘Tell her we agree.’
‘But . . . ’ began the other American.
Sellers put a finger to his lips. ‘Tell her we agree,’ he repeated in a louder voice.
Relief and astonishment flooded through Emilio. Did the American really mean what he said? Or was he only pretending, playing for time?
‘Yes,’ said Tía Isabel into the phone. ‘Yes, Gloria. We agree, on the whole deal. All of us, the family, and Señors Sellers and Taylor too.’
‘Then I—’ began Gloria Torres, but then her voice cut out and was replaced by the hateful tinny voice.
‘There. That wasn’t hard, was it?’
‘Please,’ said Tía Isabel shakily, ‘let us say goodnight to Gloria.’
‘No need,’ said the tinny voice. ‘She’ll have a good night, knowing her family and friends would never try to betray her, won’t she? Won’t she?’ it hectored, when Emilio’s aunt didn’t answer quickly enough.
‘Of – of course,’ said Tía Isabel quickly. After a pause, she said softly, ‘And thank you, for letting us speak to her. For giving us hope.’
There was a silence, though they could all hear the person at the other end breathing. Then the voice said, ‘You’ll hear from us,’ and the call ended as abruptly as it had begun.
Chapter 17
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Alda said, ‘Well! I understand what you were trying to do, Señora Torres, but these people are rarely to be moved by appeals to their better natures, and now you have given them exactly what they want, and they feel they hold all the cards—’
‘Well, don’t they?’ snapped Tío Vicente. ‘We want to save Gloria’s life, after all, and they have it in their hands! Until we can get her back, who cares if they think they have it all over us?’
Before Alda could answer, Tía Isabel said to the Americans, ‘We understand that last demand is impossible for you, and . . . ’
‘You can’t mean that, Tía,’ burst out Emilio.
Sellers said, ‘Wait a moment. It’s not impossible, Señora Torres.’
‘You can’t mean to say you really would be prepared to do that! But we can’t expect that. It’s not right. Not fair. We will somehow have to try and change their minds,’ said Tía Isabel, sadly.
‘You heard your sister,’ said Sellers. ‘This is their final demand.’
‘But maybe they don’t mean that.’ She turned to Alda. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think that these people know what they’re doing,’ she replied. ‘And that they have excellent information. What is the hotel you own in Veracruz, Señor?’ she asked, turning to Sellers.
‘It’s called Cielo del Sur, Southern Sky,’ answered the American. ‘And we aren’t the outright owners, we just own shares.’
‘But a substantial number?’
‘Close to a half,’ said Sellers, ignoring Taylor’s glare.
‘They’d be worth a good deal?’
‘Yes. ’ He frowned. ‘But I don’t understand. If that’s what they wanted, why didn’t they kidnap me?’
Emilio thought, He’s right. And a bitterness came surging through him. If only – if only it had been Señor Sellers they’d taken! It was a bad thing to think, he knew that, especially when the American had been so kind. But he couldn’t help it.
‘You are American, Señor,’ said Alda. ‘To kidnap an American is problematic. It would bring too much heat on them from both here
and beyond the border. This way, they get double the value at half the risk. I’m sorry to put it that way,’ she added, seeing the family wince, ‘but that’s how these people think.’
‘But why then didn’t they make that demand first?’ said Tía Isabel.
‘It’s likely they didn’t know about the hotel till afterwards. They must have done their research since then.’
‘Señora Lopez knew about it of course,’ said Taylor, and flushed a little at the looks everyone, including Sellers, turned on him then. ‘Not that I mean anything by that. I’m real sorry for Señora Lopez and all that, but there’s no way in the world we’re handing those so-and-sos our hotel.’
‘Oh no. They’ll think they’re getting what they asked for,’ said Sellers, with a grim smile. ‘There are ways we can do this that will make it look as though we’re complying. That’s all we need to do.’
‘I would advise against trying to play games with these people,’ said Alda. ‘We can stall them maybe, but until we know who they are, I suggest . . . ’
‘Oh, as for you,’ barked Tío Vicente, ‘all you want to know is who you’re dealing with, but all we want is to get Gloria home safe!’
‘That’s not fair, Papá,’ said Juanita. ‘Alda’s goal is just the same as ours. And she’s doing all she can to help us.’
‘Oh, I know that, I know that and we’re grateful, Alda, really we are, but you lot are no closer to finding these bastardos really, are you?’ said Emilio’s uncle, ignoring warning looks from his wife and elder daughter. ‘Okay, so you may know now what gang’s involved – but as you don’t know where they are, that doesn’t help, does it? Nobody’s going to tell you a thing.’
‘There’s that policeman, the corrupt one, who helped put them in jail,’ said his wife. ‘Maybe he’ll have an idea where they might be.’
Something flickered in Alda’s eyes. ‘Mmm,’ was all she said.
‘By the look of your face, I’d say that was highly unlikely,’ said Tío Vicente. ‘If that guy is even alive any more.’
‘I can’t reveal . . . We don’t care about him or any other supposed informer,’ interrupted Tío Vincente, ‘you know damn well we don’t have time for possibles and maybes. What we do know is that this was the final offer. No more negotiations. You heard.’
‘Yes, but Papá,’ said Juanita, ‘they said that before. And yet they changed their minds.’
At that moment, Alda’s phone rang. It was Raúl Castro. She filled him in rapidly on what had been said, and he told them he had good news. It had taken a little while, but the call had been traced. And it hadn’t been made from a cellphone, but from a street payphone. ‘There’s a car heading to that precise location right now,’ he said.
‘How is that possible?’ said Emilio’s aunt.
There was a short, confused silence. ‘A car has been dispatched to—’ Castro began.
‘No. No. What I mean is, if they made the call from a payphone, then they must have been there with Gloria. Someone would have noticed.’
‘Yes. Exactly. That’s what we think. Even if they’re gone by now – which is likely – someone may well have noticed them. And even if they haven’t, the payphone’s on a busy street, not far from various shops. Someone may have a camera installed. It’s being checked right now.’
‘You don’t understand. What I meant,’ said Tía Isabel, ‘is why would they use a payphone when it was likely they could be spotted forcing Gloria to say what she had to say? That seems very careless.’
‘That’s because it is,’ said the policeman. ‘Remember, this is a gang without a leader. Without even the top lieutenants. Junior people are running this operation. They make mistakes more easily. And they don’t have the smarts of el Capitán or his top people.’
‘Surely he’d be directing every aspect from jail?’
‘He’d try. But it’s difficult to do so. He can’t control it to the same level as he would if he were free.’
‘Where does that leave us?’
‘It leaves us much closer to locating them,’ Castro said smoothly. ‘Don’t worry, Señora. I will be in touch again as soon as there is any more news. Meanwhile, make sure to contact me as soon as you receive the email with their “instructions”.’
A little later, Emilio’s grandfather rang. When he heard about the new demand, he immediately said he’d make arrangements to give half of the cash ransom. ‘I’ll arrange for it to be transferred to Gloria’s account first thing tomorrow,’ he added, and would not listen to any word of thanks. ‘It’s normal, just normal. And tell those snails of Federales to get themselves moving,’ he growled.
At least he was in agreement with us there, Emilio thought. That was about the only thing they agreed on, though, as the discussions between the family and the Americans went on well into the night, with no email arriving from the kidnappers. How were the Americans going to give the impression that they were doing what was demanded, while not actually giving over their shares? Emilio had no idea, for he and Luz were not allowed to listen in and had to go to bed. He was really scared, though he tried not to show it. Alda had said you shouldn’t play games with these people. Emilio was terribly afraid she was right. The kidnappers would know if they’d been tricked. And they’d take it out on his mother. Maybe Alda was right and they should just try to stall them, somehow. But that too was dangerous – what if they lost patience? But how could you trust what Alda said, either? Sure, she had helped them a lot. Sure, she wanted it all to end well. Sure, and her background meant she understood what kidnap victims went through. But she still wasn’t personally, emotionally involved, and that made a big difference.
He slept badly again that night, tossing and turning as he relived the conversation with his mother, hearing her voice again and again, trying to think over and over whether she had sent yet another coded message. For the life of him, he couldn’t work it out. Most of what she’d said had been straightforward – either the words she’d had to parrot for the kidnappers, or the few ordinary words she’d been able to exchange before that. Of course she’d also managed to ask the question, and he’d been able to answer her, without arousing the suspicions of the wicked people who held her. But everything else had been what you might expect. Nothing was mysterious or stood out. Or did it? Again and again his mind went round and round like a rat in a cage until finally he fell into a heavy and unrefreshing sleep.
The email still hadn’t arrived next morning. Hours went by and then it was afternoon and still it hadn’t come. Neither had any news from Raúl Castro. Presumably police inquiries as to who might have been at the payphone had failed to yield any useful information. Alda said that because the payphone in question didn’t use coins but telephone cards, it was possible that the card used by the kidnappers could be traced through its pin number, which might be in the machine’s databank. But searching that would take time. As usual. So much about this was about waiting. Waiting. Hoping. Fearing. Waiting. Waiting . . .
There was no news from the Americans either. They had gone to ‘prepare papers’, according to Tía Isabel. She wouldn’t say any more. The family spent much of the day huddled around the computer, fuelled by massive amounts of caldo de pollo, chicken soup, and chilli quesos, cheesy spicy dip with fresh tortillas. They combed the internet for information on the gang leader, el Capitán, real name Juán Andrés Medina, who came from Culiacán, the capital of Sinaloa province, one of the provinces most dominated by the cartels. His was a ‘connected’ gang, which of course meant connected to the big local cartel. He was from a well-off family, and in Mexico City he had owned a couple of ‘legitimate’ businesses – a security firm and a restaurant – into which, secretly, went his drug-trade income, so that it looked as though he was just an ordinary successful businessman. These had closed about a year before his arrest. But it was rumoured he’d afterwards bought into a tourist resort in Cancún, through a frontman. And one of the articles also mentioned that there was a young woman nicknamed Flor d
e la Noche in his gang, and it was hinted she had carried out some of the gang’s killings.
‘Medina might be in prison awaiting trial,’ Tío Vicente observed in disgust, ‘but the scum has a luxurious room and can get pretty much anything he wants. As to his lieutenants, they do not seem to be too worried either. Their boss is looking after them, even in prison.’
Alda nodded. ‘None of the gang would do anything without his knowledge, whether inside or outside of prison. His reach is still there. The change of plan has to be his idea. And if the rumours are true, and he’s bought into tourist resorts, then dishonestly acquiring a hotel in Veracruz would be right up his alley.’ She gave a grim smile. ‘He is clearly intending to reinvent himself as a hotel mogul. It’s not uncommon. More than one flash hotel has been developed with drug money.’
‘But this mongrel takes it one step further and plans to just help himself,’ snarled Tío Vicente. ‘Why work after all, even in their vile business, if you can just take what’s not yours? And don’t tell me it’s because he’s gone without in his life. Why does he need more?’
‘Greed is always hungry,’ said Alda quietly.
Tía Isabel had been deep in thought, and now she said, ‘That child at La Villa – the little pickpocket – it’s a long shot, but I wonder if perhaps Padre Benitez might know something about her?’ She turned to Alda. ‘He’s our parish priest, but has also done a lot of work in the area around La Villa, especially with orphans . . . I know he hates the drug trade and what it’s done to families and to our country. And he said he’d help us in any way he could. I’d like to call him.’
‘Do as you wish,’ said Alda, ‘but be discreet.’
‘Of course,’ said Tío Vicente, ‘what do you take us for?’
So they called Padre Benitez, just saying they needed his help, and he came round shortly after. He sat with them in the living room, sipping on café con crème, listening intently to Emilio’s description of what had happened at La Villa. Following Alda’s advice, they had not told him the full story – ‘for his own protection as much as yours,’ she’d explained. ‘As we all know, even priests are not immune to the violence of the drug war. More than twenty have been killed in the last few years because they tried to protect people against the drug cartels, or worked with teenage victims.’ They’d all gone quiet after that little speech. None of them wanted the Padre to suffer.
Emilio Page 8
