Kidnapped and a Daring Escape

by Gian Bordin

  So that’s why he wants to stay away from the security police, and tourist is just a front, she reflects. Maybe he knew more than he let on when he begged me not to go across the river. But how could I take him seriously when he played the silly tourist? And if he knew something bad was going to happen why did he come along? … Why couldn’t he have been more open? Claiming he had a premonition! It fuels the simmering anger she felt against him ever since Franco’s unjust accusation last night. Desperation, and fright swamp her mind once more. She breaks into sobs.

  "Courage, Bianca, courage. You’re not alone."

  "I hurt all over."

  "Let’s try to roll over so that we can lie on the other side for a while. I’ll hold the blanket up with my legs to give you space."

  When she thinks that they have entered a straight section of road, she twists around, and a few seconds later André does the same.

  "Hook a leg over mine. It will prevent you sliding away from me."

  She does. It helps. His handcuffed hands press into her stomach. They remain silent for a while. The vehicle is still going uphill. Judging by the increasingly painful pumps suffered, the road has become even rougher. Some sections are so steep that she slides down, her legs wedged against the back door. After a while, they switch back to their original position. They repeat this several times. It temporarily relieves the pain.

  * * *

  Bianca has turned silent. André has no doubt left that she is the target of the kidnap plot he overheard and that by some rather improbably twist of fate he has become caught up in it. But if this is the case, their chances of getting out of this unscathed are slim. Didn’t ‘le richard’ make the ominous suggestion that the kidnappers do away with their victim one way or another? It raises his apprehension. He also realizes that any attempt of escape risks getting shot. The burst of machine gun fire that sent pebbles flying around his feet and made him abort his attempt to flee was proof enough that these guys mean business, particularly their leader he nicknamed ‘la bête’— ‘the animal’, after having been punched in the face.

  The kidnapping was expertly planned and executed. In fact, their Jeep must have been under surveillance already in San Agustin. He vaguely remembers seeing a gray Toyota drive away when they came out of the restaurant after their quick lunch. He recalls that it was the excessive mud splatters that made it conspicuous.

  But what disturbs him deeply is the growing suspicions about who is behind the kidnapping. Only a few people knew about the flight, and even fewer knew which archaeological sites Bianca planned to see and the timing, nor would anybody outside the tour group know that she came from a wealthy background. The voice of ‘le richard’, the instigator of the plot he overheard in the Alcazar, sounded middle-aged, definitely not like that of a twenty-year-old fellow student, nor did the silhouette he briefly glimpsed while the man left the alcove and his manner of moving point to a young man. His stance was far too staid and controlled. So that leaves only one person as the candidate for ‘le richard’, the person who instructed Bianca in detail what statues she must see and in what order, and that person is Professor Visconti, her fiancé. It isn’t difficult to imagine a motive. Most likely it’s greed, coupled with financial difficulties that the dowry negotiated with her wealthy father would not cure, but a high ransom will and more, even if he has to share part of the likely four-million-euro ransom with the kidnappers.

  But he’s not going to add to Bianca’s distress by voicing these suspicions. He doubts she would believe him and it would only fuel her animosity against him. Nor is it really relevant to their current plight. He will direct all his efforts into getting them out of this alive. He is not going to simply wait for their captors to dispose of him with a bullet to his head. He has no illusions that, once they realize no ransom money for him will come forth, this is what awaits him.

  There is something else that is faintly knocking at the back of his mind, as if asking to be let in, another piece of the puzzle. But what? He revisits the scene he witnessed in the Alcazar Bar. Then, like a flash, he sees it once more. The squat fellow standing at the entrance, scanning the patrons — the same squat shape exuding strength as ‘la bête’. Are ‘le trapu’ and ‘la bête’ one and the same? In his mind he listens again to their voices. Both timbre and pitch are identical. That removes the last shred of doubt he has. He has got caught in the kidnap affair sealed in the Alcazar.

  The temperature has dipped considerably. Bianca is shivering at his side. Since the vehicle is still going mainly uphill, their captors are most likely taking them over one of the passes back into the province of Cauca.

  After what must be close to three hours, the vehicle stops. The engine shudders and then goes silent. The sudden quiet feels eerie. The rear door squeaks open. The weight of bundles on top of them disappears. ‘La bête’ shouts: "Get up, and don’t do anything silly."

  André tries to raise himself and barely manages to sit up. Somebody removes his hood. It seems as if he were looking through a murky mist, everything in shades of gray. The vehicle is parked on the verge of the road beside a grassy wasteland. In places, the cloud cover almost touches the ground. For a moment, he mistakes the hundreds of stout stems fading away into the distance as an army of men wearing wide hats — the man who stands two meters or so away from the door, a gun trained on him, one of them. It looks like the macabre battlefield scene in a black-and-white first-world-war movie. Then he recognizes the stems as the strange frailejones or tall friar trees found in the superpàramo, the high-elevations grasslands of the Cordilleras.

  ‘La bête’ removes their handcuffs. Strange as it may seem, André is grateful to the man and rubs his painful wrists. Although he labors, he seems unable to get enough oxygen. Bianca still lies next to him. She has not moved despite her hood having been removed. A sudden panic grips him. He shakes her, tries to raise her, to wake her, but he does not have the strength. She slips from his grip. Fear that she may already be beyond help takes hold of him.

  "Help her," he croaks. "Wake her up or she will die."

  ‘La bête’ nods to one of his fellow captors, and the two of them lift her out of the vehicle and put her down on the wet grass. He slaps her back several times.

  She opens her eyes. "Where am I?" she whispers in Italian, looking around confused, disoriented.

  A wave of relief chases André’s fear. "Give her something to drink," he begs. "And wrap the blanket around her."

  He reaches for the horse blanket that covered them, but the man with the gun pushes him aside. He stumbles and falls awkwardly onto the verge. ‘La bête’ brings Bianca’s expensive Gore-tex rain jacket from the vehicle and drapes it over her. Then he fetches a thermos bottle and helps her drink. André crawls over to her. The man also offers him the bottle. He barely manages to produce a hoarse thank-you and drinks, hoping that it is not laced with Burundanga. He lets Bianca drink some more. Somebody places his own rain jacket over his shoulders. Spontaneously, he drapes an arm around her, feeling protective. She leans into him.

  He wonders why they stopped, but knows that it is wiser not to ask. He is all the more surprised, when ‘la bête’ offers each of them a thick sandwich. His men also eat while standing idly around them, one still carrying an AK47. They occasionally exchange a few words. Their Spanish is staccato and heavily accented. He only catches the rare word that tells him little.

  "My bladder is bursting. I can’t hold it much longer," Bianca whispers. "What should I do?"

  André rises. The guy watching them immediately points the AK47 at him. He raises both hands above his head and says: "The señorita needs to relieve herself. Please, give her privacy to do it."

  The guy grins and tells her to go to the other side of the vehicle. He does not even bother staying close to her. There is really no way to escape in this open country. While she is away, André also empties his bladder.

  Time passes slowly. Day fades into dusk and dusk into night. He spots a small light slowly craw
ling closer. It occasionally dims and then turns bright again. After maybe a quarter of an hour, faint engine noise reaches them. Are we being transferred to another vehicle? he wonders. A few minutes later he gets his answer. When the vehicle is close enough for the light to separate into two, ‘la bête’ orders them up and tells them to put on their rain gear. He again clips on handcuffs, but to André’s great relieve with the hands in front this time.

  The vehicle turns out to be an old, dark-green, short-wheelbase Landrover. Several mountain backpacks are strapped to its roof rack. They are handed over to the new crew, this time of four men. None wears disguise. André reckons that three are in their early twenties, the fourth, who seems to be in command, is somewhat older and nastier looking — ‘le vilain’ suggests itself immediately. ‘La bête’ hands ‘le vilain’ several items. To his regret André notices that none of their valuables seem to be among them.

  He and Bianca are squeezed into the right-hand side bench of the back section of the vehicle. Two of the men occupy the opposite bench, one of them holding an AK47, the preferred weapon for both guerrillas and ex-paras. The Landrover turns and they proceed down the way it came up. The road is no better. They are thrown against each other. André fears that the gun, casually held by the guy, its muzzle pointing directly at his stomach, may accidentally go off at a particularly violent jolt.

  Although he told Bianca that their kidnappers could be FARC, he is by no means so certain of that anymore. Two facts speak against it. From what he read, FARC hostage taking, at least in the past, was generally of a political nature or business leaders. Secondly, from the reported accounts of kidnap victims, FARC operatives did not hide their faces. It was the paras who did that since they lived and operated in more populated areas. So their kidnappers could belong to one of the ex-paras splinter groups that has reverted to criminal activities. The fact that this new crew wears no balaclava only reinforces his apprehension. The payment of ransom does not mean release, but rather death. So their captors see no need to hide their faces.

  In parts, the road is steeply downhill. It is too dark to see any distinguishing features, once they enter forest. After a while, occasional harsh moonlight penetrates through the forest canopy, pointing to clear sky.

  From what he remembers of the geography, he figures that the first vehicle brought them to the pass situated between the two volcanoes, leading from the province of Huila into Cauca, while the second vehicle is now taking them back a different way toward San Agustin. He can only think of this as a diversionary tactic. He doubts that they hurt the driver of their Jeep. They might have immobilized his vehicle to delay him reporting the incidence, unless they scared him sufficiently to keep quiet or he was a collaborator.

  Sooner than he expected, they reach a sizable river flowing east, its surface shimmering almost white in the moonlight — the Magdalena, he guesses. They turn off the road into a narrow vehicle track. The foliage of the bushes and small trees brush against the windows of the Landrover. Where the track widens in an opening along the river, squeaking brakes bring the vehicle to a slow halt.

  ‘Le vilain’ jumps from the car and signals for them to get out. The cold light of a moon three-quarters full creates black shadows, giving the impression of standing in a set of an Italian opera night scene. While one guy watches them, AK47 ready, the other three remove the backpacks from the roof rack. ‘Le vilain’ puts the items he received from ‘la bête’ into one of the packs and then recovers a flask, fills a cup, and hands it to Bianca. "Drink this. There will be no more until morning."

  André almost calls out for her not to do it. He is certain that the drink is laced with Burundanga to render them docile and helpless, but then changes his mind. It may be easier on her if she is spaced out and does whatever she is told without hesitation. She may not even remember anything later on. But he is determined to avoid drinking the liquid himself.

  ‘Le vilain’ fills the cup once more and gives it to him. He takes it, turns a bit aside from the moonlight and pretends to drink, letting the liquid flow down his chin. Much ends up in his sleeve, the rest on the waterproof jacket, hidden by his raised arms and leaving no wet marks. He counts on the black shadows to hide what he is doing. It works. ‘Le vilain’ fails to notice anything. He hands the cup back, thanking. It takes but a few seconds before he gets confirmation that the drink has been laced. Bianca seems to relax, the usually vivid expression in her face turning vacant. He pretends a similar reaction. Told to hold out his arms, he does so without the slightest hesitation, hiding his surprise when ‘le vilain’ removes their handcuffs.

  ‘Le vilain’ and two others now hoist packs, while the fourth gets back into the Landrover. ‘Le vilain’ warns that any escape attempt will be fatal and instructs them to march single file behind him, with one guy — ‘le premier’ — between them and the other — ‘le second’ — making up the rear. All have their AK47 ready in their arms. He hears the vehicle drive off.

  Initially the track snakes alongside the river. It is easy walking. The moon sheds enough light to see any unevenness or stones on the track surface, but André cannot help noticing that Bianca walks like a zombie. She occasionally stumbles, each time quickly steadied by the guy behind her.

  Time crawls. It is difficult to know how far they have walked already. The track becomes steeper. When it veers up a small tributary, they abandon it and cross the shallow stream, getting their boots wet. ‘Le vilain’ calls a rest on the boulders along the stream edge. It is painful to watch Bianca follow each command like a marionette on a string. Although he sits down close to her, she never stirs or looks at him. Her gaze never strays from the ground in front of her. He unobtrusively scoops up several rounded palms of water and drinks it.

  After a quarter hour or so, they continue along the main river on a rough foot track just wide enough for people or pack animals. Twice the path abandons the river, joining it again after several steep switchbacks up and down. As they gain height, the air cools noticeably. He is glad for the warmth of his rain gear. At some point during the night, they leave the path and push a short stretch through dense undergrowth to a small clearing. At its far side he can barely make out the outlines of a primitive wooden shelter. They are handcuffed again and told to lie down on the floorboards. It feels almost like a blessing to be able to close his eyes and drift off, wiping the dread of what is to come.

  * * *

  It is daylight when André senses a shoe nudge his side. He opens his eyes and stares directly into the nostrils of ‘le vilain’s’ big nose. He is ordered up. It feels as if he has just fallen asleep minutes before, such is the fatigue in his bones. Bianca already sits on the floor, her eyes still spaced out. ‘Le vilain’ removes their handcuffs and shoves them outside. The sun is bathing the clearing with welcome warmth. ‘Le premier’ — the kindest looking of the trio — gives each a plastic bowl filled with hot soft corn mash. It tastes bland, but he welcomes the warmth spreading in his stomach. He observes that their guards eat the same stuff, relieved to see that the water they offer comes from the creek nearby and is drunk by everybody. No more Burundanga for the time being. In contrast to the first crew, this group hardly talks at all, except for the short orders given to him and Bianca.

  ‘Le premier’ rinses the empty bowls in the creek and shortly afterward they are on the move again. The track meanders through dense forest, slowly gaining elevation, at times high above narrow canyons before plunging again down to the river level. André silently curses each time when a hard slog uphill is undone by another steep descent. It is tough going.

  Bianca seems to be completely unaware of her surroundings. She places one foot in front of the other without ever raising her vacant eyes from the ground. Several times she bumps into ‘le vilain’ when for some reason he slows down or hesitates at an obstacle in the path. André feels for her. He would have liked to hold her, comfort her, make her smile again. He does not want any harm to come to her. Two days and she has crept under h
is skin to the point where she is constantly on his mind. Has he fallen in love, he wonders? And then he forcefully pushes that thought from his mind. Such a diversion is hardly appropriate in their current circumstances.

  In spite of having to pretend being drugged, he is able to take in the lush scenery; the abundance of exotic flowers on the forest floor or clinging precariously to trees; orchids he has never seen before. Birds of all sorts are their constant companions. He is particularly fascinated by the tiny hummingbirds that hover in the air, their long beaks inserted deep into the mouth of the flowers. Sometimes this gives the impression that the bird forms part of the flower. He has to remind himself several times not to show too much interest, to keep his eyes mostly to the ground and not give himself away. But even the forest floor is full of exotic plants.

  Although he feigns complete submission to their captors, in some sense he is waiting for the first real opportunity to escape. He is constantly on the lookout for the right conditions. He wants to get away before they reach a settlement or hideout where their captors intend to keep them prisoners. Once inside a building, incarcerated in a room and guarded, in all likelihood separated from Bianca and almost certainly chained to a bed at night, escape becomes more difficult, if not impossible. Oh, he has no intention of abandoning Bianca, but if he gets away, he will follow them, something they would hardly expect him to do, and then find some way to free her. Somehow his own freedom without hers is no true freedom, but a failure that he knows he would find hard to forgive himself for. So he will go after them. His tracking skills, acquired as part of a volunteer search and rescue service during his two-year stint in the Southern Alps of New Zealand, will stand him in good stead. There are plenty of edible plants and fish to survive, even if he has to eat them raw. He won’t rush it. He will scout things out thoroughly. Whatever he does to snatch Bianca from their captors has to work first time. There will be no second chance.