When he returned home during college vacations, and told Viktor what he was doing, his father did not seem particularly interested.
“Don’t let this thing become a distraction my boy. By all means try your luck on the share market, but it has ruined many a good man, and it really is just an enhanced form of gambling.”
Frederik disagreed.
“Not if you already know the outcome, before you buy the shares. It’s really all about knowing what you are doing”.
“Is that so? If that was the case, why do so many clever people lose their money? Just take care. Playing the stock market is like all gambling. Never put in more than you can afford to lose. You are in Harvard for your education. Making a living to support yourself, and a family, will follow, but education comes first. Money is important, but it is not the most important. Tell me about your teachers.”
And Viktor would listen intently, while his son described the various members of the faculty he had come across, and how his classes were going. His father’s lack of interest in his modest share market forays, did not perturb the young Swede. His father had his contraptions to invent, machines to design, things to build, that is what drove him, but while Frederik was interested in this work, it did not consume him in the way it involved his father. Yes, some of the problems Viktor had to overcome, were challenging, and the way his father could analyse what was required, then design a piece of equipment that would perform the task, could be quite fascinating.
Frederik held his father in awe, when it came to applying practical knowledge and skill to solve a mechanical problem. He could not, however, see himself in his father’s shoes, working in his father’s business, though he did not tell Viktor that.
It was something of a relief, when he heard Amelia had moved on. He had felt guilty about the girls he had been dating, back at the university. She had another young blade showing her attention, and made it clear enough, she did not feel committed to Frederik, which he thought was just as well. They were still good friends, but the passion he was sure would last forever, was no longer there. Life went on.
Something else Gerry explained to Frederik, was about lines of credit, and how finance worked.
“Fred, if you are smart enough, you use other people’s money to make yourself rich. You borrow to invest, and if you are going to do this, you need a line of credit.”
Gerry had a banker he could call on, to provide funds for his ventures, but with a stringent cap on the amount available. Backing it all, was his father. Peter had guaranteed a small, come-and-go overdraft, to encourage his son’s financial ventures, and Gerry had increased this with a floating charge over his portfolio. It was all mumbo jumbo at first to Frederik, but as he began to understand how the banking system operated, it made sense.
It was all about trust really. If the lender trusted you, he would lend you money, and you could use that money, to make more money. To build that trust, you had to pay it all back, with interest, on time. Over time, the trust would grow, and so would the amount of money available. For now, Frederik did not attempt to borrow money, content to allow his small investments to grow at a slow pace, but he could see that the time would come, when he might need to become bigger.
There were any number of students he came in contact with, both male and female, who were from moneyed families, many with banking back grounds. The young Swede proved popular on campus. His tall strong body, near blonde hair, and square rugged face, which lit up with flashing blue eyes, went down well with the American girls, who were intrigued by his European accent and gentle manners. Frederik seemed more refined than his American competitors.
There was a toughness behind the good looks. Founded in Frederik’s experiences of having been with people who struggled simply to live, and who had to be tough to survive, and parents who believed you had to work hard to justify your existence, it was core toughness. He had seen enough of the world, to understand how privileged his own life had been, compared to most. Even with the hard work his curriculum thrust on him, he did not lose sight of the tremendous advantage being in this place, and with these people, was offering him. His university friends might not realise it, but he could recognise they were among the luckiest people in the world.
Almost from the beginning, Frederik made the decision that his life would count for something. Just what, he had no idea at this stage, but deep in his mind, probably implanted subconsciously back in the small scrabbles of mud huts and scrawny villagers, was a determination that one day, he would do something to make all this better. It simmered deep down, coming to the surface from time to time, particularly during vacations, when he would join his parents on another of their forays into India or Africa. It would never leave him.
4
“I don’t think it is a good idea. Can’t you find somewhere that is not so conflicted? I looked up what is happening, and it’s very much like civil war in the south. Lots of people are being killed, and the government is barely in control. From what I have read, the soldiers are part of the problem. They have poor discipline, and pretty much do what they want”.
Since his mother had announced she and Viktor were planning another visit to Africa, or more particularly, the Sudan, to stay in another small village and do some work, Frederik had been concerned. Sudan did not seem a safe place to be in, at the present time. In the south, a strong movement to gain independence from Sudan proper had turned nasty, and there had been many deaths.
“Fred, your father says he has done his homework, and there is a village he wants to go back to we visited some years ago, and also another one nearby that could use our help. I am sorry you won’t be able to join us, but your finals come first. You have to get them out of the way.”
Frederik was not convinced she was correct, but he could not leave the university just now. He would liked to have joined his parents.
“How can you know it will be safe? Even if there was an army unit in the area, I am not sure you would be safe with the soldiers. From what I hear, they seem a pretty lawless lot.”
“You worry too much. The villagers know what we are there for, and they will take care of us. We will stay away from any trouble, believe me. We only plan to spend two weeks this trip. Viktor and I are both sorry we shan’t be seeing you, but we will make up for it. We will be back in time, to give us plenty of time to get over there, for your graduation. Good luck with those finals.”
Frederik was not to know, that would be the last time he would speak to his mother.
Over the next few weeks, exams occupied him completely. He expected his parents to contact him, to see how he was faring, but when he had not heard from them for over a fortnight, he began to become anxious. They usually tried to phone him before then, they would have been concerned how his exams were going, but when that stretched for a further week, he began to really worry. He tried to make contact.
Tracing his parents movements in Sudan proved to be daunting. He was able to track them to Khartoum International airport, where they had been recorded as arriving, but after that, a blank. He knew Viktor had intended to hire transport. He understood what might have happened. Viktor would have arranged to hire vehicles to carry he and Freja, and whatever equipment they had brought along, but there were many hiring companies, and record keeping was hit and miss.
Eventually he located the company that had provided the Sorensens with two vehicles, but this did not further his enquiries. Viktor had driven one truck himself, and Freja the other, a land rover. No drivers were supplied. The company had not heard from them since they left. They were overdue. Phone calls to the Swedish embassy in Sudan, caused the staff there to also begin enquiries.
Then it hit the news!
The Khartoum newspapers trumpeted the headlines. His parents had not been seen, since a raid on a village by a terrorist gang. His parents were believed to have been kidnapped, snatched from the village, thought to be
by a raiding party from Boko Haram, the Islamist terrorist group operating out of the Congo, to the south of Sudan.
No bodies had been found, hence the suspicion they had been kidnapped, and were now being held for ransom. The report stated the village his parents had been working in, no longer existed. The men and boys had all been killed, and the women and girls taken by the raiders, along with two whities. All the huts were burned to the ground, crops destroyed, and the cattle killed, or stolen. The “whities” were identified as two Swedish aid workers in the village, a man and a woman, believed to be Viktor Sorensen and his wife,Freja.
A day later, the Swedish ambassador to the United States made a personal visit to Frederik, to express his regret at what had happened, and say his government was doing everything possible. Viktor was, after all, a well known and highly regarded citizen, of Sweden. All he could offer Frederik, was the possibility, he said the strong possibility, his parents were being held for ransom, and if that were the case, they would be released when the ransom money was paid.
A few days later, he telephoned.
“Frederik, it is as we thought. The Boko Haram have your parents, and are holding them for ransom. Our embassy has received a demand for one hundred thousand American dollars to procure their release. We thought they would ask for more, but they probably thought, because your parents were not wealthy Americans, that was as much as they could expect. They would not know who your parents were, which is probably just as well. The demand note said we have fourteen days to make the payment. It was dated two days ago.”
“So, when are you paying over the money? When will they let mum and dad go?”
What followed, shocked the young Swede.
“I am sorry Frederik, but the Swedish government will not be paying any ransom money. It is government policy, set in concrete, I am afraid. If we started paying out ransom demands, no Swedish citizen would be safe from kidnap, anywhere in the world. The government refuses to make deals with kidnappers.”
“But you have to pay! You must! If you don’t, my parents will be killed, surely the government knows that!”
“Again, I am sorry. The government extends its deepest sympathy, but it will not agree to be party to paying money to kidnappers. It is not negotiable.”
“So, what do I do?”
“I am afraid, Frederik, you are on your own. The government cannot forbid you to pay the ransom yourself, but paying ransoms only encourages the kidnappers to do it again, to someone else. You should think carefully about it.”
As far as Frederik was concerned, there was nothing to think about. He was furious with his government, but there was nothing he could do, except make the arrangements himself, and he had to act without delay.
Frederik quickly made some phone calls, then was on his way to Africa on the first available flight to Khartoum. There, he chartered a creaky old Cessna, with a dubious looking pilot, to take him from Khartoum International to Dalang airport, the nearest town to where his parents had last been seen. Before he left Khartoum, he paid a visit to a bank, nominated by his own bank in Sweden, then to a second hand shop.
The battered looking leather briefcase sitting on his lap in the Cessna, and attached to his wrist with a leather strap, was stuffed with a mixture of one hundred, fifty, and twenty dollar American notes, as well as one hundred thousand Sudanese pounds. His father’s bank released the money to him, and arranged for the local Khartoum bank to provide it.
The kidnappers had given a two week deadline. If the ransom was not paid by then, they would kill their hostages, and time was fleeting quickly. Frederik had another obstacle to overcome. He had to make contact with the kidnappers, to get the money to them, and they were hidden away, somewhere in the Congo. He had no idea how this could be achieved. There was no official contact between the terrorist organisation and the government of Sudan, with whom they were at war, but he had to let the terrorists know he was there. He decided to go public.
The local press and T.V. station both reported that the son of the kidnap victims was in the country, and was prepared to deal with the kidnappers. It made front line headlines, and was the first item announced on the radio and television news.
Within hours, the first contact was made. The whole of Dalang knew Frederik was there to pay money to the terrorists, and he did not have to wait long to hear from them. A tall Sudanese, as black as a piece of coal, scruffily dressed in a long, once white, robe, shuffled into his room, his head swathed in a turban, his feet wearing tattered sandals. His face was heavily bearded, and his eyes kept darting around the room, suspiciously. Without an explanation, he demanded the money.
“You money give me now, old people let go. You no money give, and..” he drew his hand across his throat, in an unmistakable gesture.
“What is your name? How do I know I can believe you? How do I know my parents are still alive? How do I know you represent the people who are holding my parents?”
When Frederik started to argue, the man became agitated.
“You money give now. No funny stuff. No money, and old people killed, pronto pronto.”
Frederik shook his head. He moved further away from the man.
“I want proof, that my parents are alive, and that you represent the people holding them.”
With that, the man put his hand into his sleeve, and pulled out a long, curved knife. He held it high, in front of his chest.
“You money give now, or you die too, infidel.”
Frederik had half expected this, and had come prepared. When his hand appeared from his own jacket pocket, it held a black, very business-like, automatic, which he pointed at the man’s head.
“If you move, you’re dead, not me. Now, put the knife away now, and we talk.”
The knife was reluctantly returned to its hiding place. The man glowered at Frederik, who did not put away the gun.
“How do I know you represent the people who are holding my parents?”
Frederik controlled his shaking hands with difficulty, and he was angry. This man might represent Boko Haram, but he could just as well be an opportunistic thief, with no knowledge of his parent’s whereabouts. This thought was soon allayed. The watch the man produced from his robe was unmistakable. It was Viktor’s Rolex, a gift from a client.
“You know?”
Frederik reached out and took the watch with his left hand, his right hand still holding the gun, aimed at the man’s head.
“All right, I know. Now, what is going to happen? I give you the money, then what? I want to give you the money for my parents. I give you the money, you give me the old couple”.
“No. Cannot do like that. Cannot bring old people here. I take money, give to my boss, then old people will be brought to border and released, that is what we do. No money and..” again the hand across the throat.
Frederik believed he had little choice. There was no way he would be allowed into the Boko Haram hideaway, and even if he was, there would be little likelihood he would ever come out alive, nor his parents. His small automatic was no match for the AK47’s used by the kidnappers.
“You have money, yes?”
Frederik nodded.
“Show me money.”
Frederik reluctantly nodded assent. He undid the strap from his wrist, and placed the briefcase on the bed, opened it to show the cash., then stepped back, still aiming the pistol at the man. His visitor’s black eyes lit up as he picked up a handful of the dollar bills, and ruffled through the contents of the bag, to make sure it was full.
“There is one hundred thousand dollars as you asked. Do you promise me, that once you have the money, my parents will be released? When will my parents be released?”
“You money give me, the old people we let go, that is what we do.”
The man suddenly grabbed the briefcase, and made a dash for the door.
“We let go
, when I get back with money.”
He was gone, and so was the money.
Frederik eyed the closed door with misgiving. Were his parents still alive? He did not know. He also had no way of knowing if the seedy looking character who had just left, had told him the truth, and that, now the ransom had been paid, his parents would be released.
Boko Haram had a fearsome reputation for cruelty, and committing atrocities, proclaiming their actions to be in the name of their religion. He thought this claim was spurious. From what Frederik had learned of the organisation, it consisted mainly of young men, thugs, of little or no education, unemployed, and for the most part largely unemployable, who were, in essence, violent criminals. That their crimes were committed in the name of Allah, in pursuit of an ill-defined jihad, was denounced by most Muslims. Boko Haram killed, because they enjoyed killing.
Had he a choice? How else might he have negotiated with the big black man who had come into his room? Frederik fretted, sleeplessly, waiting to hear something.
It was two weeks later, before news came through. The heads of the two Swedish kidnap victims, impaled on stakes, had been found near the Sudanese border. Their bodies were never recovered.
Later, for their funerals, Frederik had their remains in full sized coffins, with a picture of each on the lids. Anything else was too dreadful to contemplate.
5
Frederik returned to Sweden with stone in his heart, and a terrible sense of loss, and failure. His life had been torn apart. He had not been able to save his parents. He had failed them. He had been too naive, simplistic, to even think that he could trust people like Boko Haram. Why they had chosen to kill his parents, after being paid the ransom money, was difficult to comprehend. It must make future kidnap ransom demand negotiations more difficult for them. Who would trust them now?
Antiphon Page 3
