The Spanish Kidnapping Disaster

by Mary Downing Hahn

  As she spoke, I noticed how tightly Grace was clutching the steering wheel. Her voice rose too, and she sounded angry. Worried that I was making things worse, not better, I slumped in my seat and wished I could think of a joke to tell, a funny story, something to make Grace laugh. But nothing came to mind, and I began to think nobody in the car liked me. Not Grace, not Phillip, certainly not Amy. They all hated me.

  Suddenly Grace reached over and patted my knee. "I did not mean to upset you, Felix," she said. "I only intended to say your mother is lucky to have what she has. Especially you. I do not understand why you complain, that is all."

  As I turned to her, Phillip leaned over the seat and shouted in Grace's ear. "I'm starving. Couldn't you take us to McDonald's before we see the windmills?"

  "How much farther is it anyway?" Amy asked. "You promised we'd be back at seven-thirty."

  By then we'd been driving for at least half an hour, taking one turn after another until I had no idea which direction we were going.

  "Not far now, not far," Grace said as she negotiated a sharp curve. A herd of cattle watched us jolt past, their faces bored, their jaws working hard like people chewing gum.

  "Are you sure we're not lost?" Phillip asked.

  Uneasily I looked out the window. The countryside was dry and desolate. Not a town or a building in sight. In fact, the cattle were the only living things we'd seen since we turned off the highway.

  "It's going to be dark soon," Amy said. "How will you see the road at night?"

  Suddenly Grace leaned forward and pointed. "There, there they are," she said, "the windmills, you see? Straight ahead. Like Don Quixote."

  Sure enough, three windmills stood above us high on a hilltop, their shapes dark against the rosy sky. From here, with a little imagination, they could be mistaken for monsters. I could almost see the man from La Mancha galloping up to them, brandishing his spear.

  "Let us look at them quickly," Grace said as she parked at the bottom of the hill. "Then we shall return to Segovia."

  "It is the true España!" I cried as I leapt out of the car, eager to impress Grace.

  "Watch out." Phillip pushed past me rudely and raced ahead. By the time I caught up with him, he was taking a picture of the windmills.

  "Do you like them, Felix?" Grace stood beside me, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. The sunset blazed in her hair and tinted her shirt as pink as the flower over her ear.

  "Oh, yes," I said, wishing she would look at me instead of staring at the sky. "They're so Spanish."

  Grace nodded and glanced behind her, down the hill at the little Citroen. She opened her mouth to speak but Phillip ran toward us, interrupting her.

  "All my film's gone." He waved his camera in Grace's face. "Can we find that McDonald's now?"

  "Yes." Amy looked at her watch. "It's six-thirty."

  "You know what's wrong with you two?" I said to Amy and Phillip. "You have no soul."

  Amy gave me what she thought was a withering look. "Can't you ever stop showing off, Felix?"

  "You're such typical tourists," I said scornfully.

  "Oh, look who's talking," Amy said. "The great world traveler, Felicia Flanagan."

  Ignoring Amy, I glanced at Grace, but she was already walking down the hill, her back to me. From the way she acted, you'd think I was no more interesting than Amy and Phillip. Why had she bothered to bring me here if she wasn't even going to talk to me?

  I watched Amy and Phillip run ahead of Grace toward the Citroen. Then, turning my back on all three of them, I stared at the sunset till my eyes stung with tears. The whole sky was a brilliant pink. Purple clouds massed on the horizon, just above the mountains, and everything glowed with reflected light. All that was missing were cherubs and angels and saints smiling down from heaven.

  "Hurry, Felix," Grace called. "You must not delay us."

  Reluctant to leave, I walked slowly down the hill, kicking at stones and taking my time. Suddenly I heard the sound of an engine. Looking up, I saw an old Volkswagen bus crest a hill and bounce down the road toward us. It skidded to a stop beside the Citroen, and a man leapt out. He was wearing a stocking over his head and there was a gun in his hand.

  At the sight of him, Amy screamed and Phillip tried to run. To my astonishment, Grace grabbed Phillip and then turned to me.

  "Come, Felix, ¡este momento!" she yelled.

  When I hesitated, too startled to move, the man with the gun ran up the hill toward me. For a second, I lost all sense of reality. Surely this couldn't be happening. Not to me.

  As the man came closer, my heart started racing, my legs shook, my mouth went dry. Without another thought, I spun around and ran up the hill toward the windmills.

  Behind me the man shouted. "¡Deténganse!"

  I didn't know what that meant, so I kept going as fast as my trembling legs would take me.

  "No, Felix," Grace called. "Do not cause trouble!"

  Pausing for a second, I looked back. Grace's hair caught the last light of the sun and shone as red as fire. From where I stood, I could see the fierceness in her face. There was no lie I could invent to explain her behavior. Grace was helping the man in the stocking mask. She had betrayed me.

  I wanted to scream every bad word I knew at her, I wanted to tell her how horrible she was. But I didn't dare. I'd reached the top of the hill and I was skidding down the other side with the man right behind me.

  Then I stumbled and fell. Before I could get up, the man had me by the arm. Yanking me to my feet, he said something in Spanish and pushed me up the hill ahead of him.

  As he shoved me toward the Volkswagen, I heard a sound overhead. Far above us a jet streaked by, leaving a vapor trail like a chalk mark scratched on the brilliant sky. In it were people, I thought, looking down at the mountains, never dreaming that a kidnapping was taking place beneath their very eyes.

  9

  When I was thrust, kicking and screaming, through the side door of the Volkswagen, I saw Grace sitting in the driver's seat, her face as white as Phillip's. Beside her was another man. He too was wearing a stocking over his head, but his black leather jacket looked very familiar.

  "That was not wise to run, Felix," Grace said softly. "Please cooperate now. You must not anger anyone. Do you understand?"

  Ignoring her plea, I leaned over the seat and glared at her. "How could you do this?" I cried. "I thought you were my friend!"

  "Sit down," the man in the black jacket said, "beside the other two. And don't be such a bloody little nuisance." He sounded like a British actor on Masterpiece Theater, but the gun he held was very real.

  Ignoring him, I yanked one gold hoop out of my ear and then the other. Fighting back tears, I hurled them at Grace. "You're right," I said, "I don't want to be anything like you, not now, not ever!"

  Without looking at Amy or Phillip, I threw myself down next to them and stared at the back of Grace's head. At that moment, I hated her with all my heart.

  Hearing a car engine start, I glanced out the window and saw the other man at the wheel of the Citroen. He was still wearing the stocking over his head. From where I sat, I could see a machine gun on the seat beside him.

  Then Grace turned the key in the Volkswagen's ignition. The bus jolted and jumped as she struggled to get it into gear. The Englishman said, "Can't you do any better than that?"

  She glared at him. "It is an old wreck," she said, "and difficult to start. You know that, Charles."

  In a few seconds, the bus sputtered and moved forward, more or less smoothly.

  Cautiously I stole a glance at Amy. Her face was ashy white and shiny with tears. "This is all your fault," she said. "I told you she was weird, but you wouldn't listen. I hope you're proud of yourself!"

  As Amy began sobbing, I leaned toward Grace. "You better take us back to Segovia," I told her. "My father's an important person and he'll send the Marines after you!"

  Charles turned around and squinted at me through his stocking mask. "The Marines can't
help you now," he said. "So, if you want to see your parents again, I suggest you behave yourself."

  "Yes," Grace said. "You must please be quiet and cooperate. This is not a game."

  Beside me, Phillip snuffled and sniffed, and Amy squeezed my arm. "Can't you see you're just making things worse?" she sobbed.

  Turning my head away, I said nothing. The bus bounced on, lurching and swaying, climbing slowly uphill, its gears grinding and slipping. Speechless with disillusion, I stared out the dirty window. We were driving deeper into the mountains, not back toward the road.

  Glancing at my watch, I saw it was almost seven o'clock. The sun had dropped behind the mountains, and as the sky darkened, a few stars appeared. Mom and Don were probably still drinking wine in a little cafe, enjoying our absence. I wondered how long it would be before they remembered they were supposed to meet us in the parking lot. If they called the police right away, maybe they would find us before anything really horrible happened.

  ***

  After at least an hour of creeping up a steep winding road in first gear, the Volkswagen stopped. Charles got out and came round to the side. Opening the door, he gestured at us. "Come along," he said.

  Shivering, I followed Amy and Phillip into the darkness. The night air was cold, and the mountains were a black mass against the starry sky. There wasn't a sign of a house or a town, not a light, not a sound. All around us were rocks. Had they brought us here to kill us?

  "This way now, please," Grace said, touching my shoulder lightly.

  I hesitated, and Charles nudged me forward with his gun. "Go," he said, as the lights of the Citroen swept over us.

  "Into the cave," Grace added.

  Amy whispered when she saw the small, dark opening in the rocky hillside, but she dropped to her knees obediently and crawled into it. Phillip followed her.

  "You," Charles said to me. "After your brother."

  "He's not my brother," I said, but I did as I was told.

  After creeping on my hands and knees for several yards, I found myself in a large cavern, dimly lit by a fire burning on a hearth. An old woman dressed in black was stirring something in a pot. She glanced at us, but her face was expressionless. In the flickering light, she looked like a witch.

  "Sit down over there," Grace said, brandishing a flashlight. "Against the wall."

  "You're making a big mistake," Amy sobbed. "We aren't rich. Felix was lying."

  "All Americans are rich, compared to the rest of the world," Charles said. "If your parents can't pay, your government will."

  Turning away from us, he said something in Spanish to the old woman. She picked up a ladle and began spooning food from the pot into bowls. Despite everything, I could feel my stomach rumbling. Like Phillip, I'd been hungry for hours.

  "Yuck," Phillip said as he poked the stew in his bowl. "What's in this?"

  "Goat meat," Grace said, licking her fingers. "Very good."

  Phillip tasted a small mouthful and spat it out. "It's awful," he said. "I'm not eating it!"

  Amy leaned toward him and grabbed his shoulder. "Do what they say," she whispered. "Don't make them mad." Putting a forkful of stew in her mouth, she chewed slowly. Then, with tears running down her cheeks, she forced herself to swallow it.

  "We don't have to do anything they tell us," I told Phillip. "If you don't like it, don't eat it."

  Pushing my bowl away, I glared at Grace. "I'd rather starve than eat this," I said.

  "Fine." Charles took my stew, and I sat there listening to my insides growl while Amy and Phillip choked down their dinners.

  I wanted to cry, but I wasn't going to give Grace or Amy the satisfaction of seeing my tears. To keep myself from falling apart, I stared at the floor and concentrated on hating Grace.

  The next time I looked up, Charles had taken off his stocking mask and was eating my share of the stew. Just as I'd thought, he was the man in the black leather jacket I'd seen last night in the Plaza de Zocodover, the one Amy thought was admiring her.

  I glanced at her to see if she'd recognized him yet, but she was still crying into her stew.

  When I looked back at our kidnappers, I realized I had other things to worry about. The man who'd caught me had taken off his mask, and I recognized him too. He was the one I'd locked eyes with in Toledo. His cobra stare was as cold as ever, and I shivered, knowing that this time I couldn't just walk away from him. This time I was trapped.

  10

  After everyone except me had eaten, the old woman collected the plates. In the silence, I could hear the tin utensils clink as she washed them in a bucket of water.

  After a while, Charles turned to Grace. "Get their passports," he said.

  "Don't give them to her," I told Phillip and Amy, but Amy was already pulling her little canvas purse out of her shirt. Like Phillip's and mine, it hung on a cord around her neck and held her passport and money. Don had bought one for each of us at Wilderness Supplies before we left for Spain, and I could still hear him saying to me, "Whatever you do, keep this hidden under your clothes so a pickpocket can't get it." Until now, I'd thought losing your passport was the worst thing that could happen to you in Spain.

  Nervously, Phillip looked from Amy to me and back at Amy. When she saw him hesitating, Amy said, "Give her your passport."

  "No!" I grabbed Phillip's hand to stop him, but he ducked away from me and gave Grace what she wanted.

  Then it was my turn. "Cooperate, Felix," Grace said. In the flickering light from the fire, her high cheekbones gave her face a cruel quality I'd totally missed in the sunny streets of Toledo.

  "I'm not giving you anything," I said to Grace.

  "The passport, please," she said.

  "No!" I was shouting now.

  "I'll take care of this." Charles pushed Grace aside and scowled down at me. "Hand it over," he said.

  I ducked but not quickly enough. Charles grabbed the cord around my neck and jerked upward, pulling the purse out of my tee-shirt and over my nose so hard tears stung my eyes.

  "I told you, Felix," Grace said. "Do what you are told and you will not be harmed."

  "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" I screamed and threw myself at her, kicking, scratching, slapping at whatever part of her I could reach.

  Then someone grabbed me and pulled me away from Grace. I could smell garlic on his breath as his fingers dug into my skin. It was the man with the cobra eyes. While I struggled to escape, Grace said, "Don't hurt her, Orlando. Please don't. She is a child, remember."

  Orlando pushed me away and I reeled across the cave and fell hard on a pile of old blankets. I hurt all over, but I forced myself to sit up and glare at Orlando. I wasn't going to let him know he scared me.

  But Orlando wasn't even looking at me. He was studying our passports, frowning and mumbling as Charles tried to explain something to him in Spanish. Grace glanced at me, saw me staring at her, and turned away.

  The old woman was sitting quietly by the fire. From the expression on her face, I was pretty sure she was upset about the way Orlando had treated me.

  While Charles and Orlando talked, Grace bent over Amy and Phillip. "You must sleep now," she said, pointing to the blankets I was sitting on. "Over there with Felix."

  Obediently, Amy and Phillip crossed the cave and sat down beside me. Amy was still crying, and Phillip was very pale.

  "You expect us to sleep on these rocks?" I glared at Grace.

  Without answering, she dropped the armload of extra blankets she was carrying and walked back to the fire.

  "Thank you," Amy said to Grace. Then she handed half the pile to Phillip. "Lie down," she whispered to him.

  "Can't we at least have a pillow?" I yelled at Grace.

  "Felix!" Amy begged. "Stop it. Do you want to get us killed or something?"

  "Be thankful you have blankets," Charles said. "And full stomachs. Many of the world's children would envy you."

  "Thank you," Amy said again, to Charles this time. "Thank you for the nice b
lankets and the good dinner."

  I stared at Amy in disbelief. "Don't grovel like that," I hissed. "It's positively disgusting."

  She looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears. "I don't know about you," she whispered, "but I want to stay alive. You just keep making things worse and worse. Please, Felix, can't you be nice for once in your life?"

  Across the cave, Orlando said something in a low voice, and Grace blew out the candles, leaving only the firelight to illuminate the darkness.

  For a while the three of us were silent. Phillip and Amy huddled close to each other, but I sat alone and watched Grace and her friends. They were talking so loudly in Spanish I was sure they were arguing. If only I'd listened to Phillip's tape on the plane to Spain instead of wasting my time reading fashion magazines, then maybe I'd know what was going on.

  Reluctantly I asked Phillip, the language expert, if he understood anything Grace and the others were saying.

  The firelight shone on his glasses, hiding his eyes, as he leaned toward me. "I can't understand everything," he admitted, "but I think Orlando's going to drive the Citroen back to the main road and leave it far away. Then they're mailing our passports to the U.S. Embassy, along with a letter demanding three hundred thousand dollars."

  "One hundred thousand each?" I sucked in my breath. "Wow, they must think we're worth a lot."

  "I wonder where they got that idea." Amy glared at me. Turning back to Phillip, she asked, "What are they talking about now?"

  Phillip listened hard. After a while he whispered, "Grace wants Orlando to promise he won't hurt us if they don't get the money." He bit his lip. "I think she's afraid he'll kill us if anything goes wrong."

  Amy closed her eyes for a moment as Orlando's voice got louder and louder.

  "He just said something about muerte —'death.'" Phillip looked at Amy and me.

  "They won't hurt us if we cooperate with them," Amy said. "You heard Grace. Just do what they say, Felix, and stop showing off."