Kidnapped and a Daring Escape

by Gian Bordin

  "Approve of you? … Never … They will overwhelm you with love."

  As he speaks, her feelings go rapidly through three different emotions: apprehension, consternation, relief, followed by a delayed fit of temper that he is teasing her. She starts pummeling him with her fists, and they wrestle with each other. He tries to kiss her while she fights to avoid him until she lets him win and they end up making love once more.

  * * *

  Over dinner that night, André broaches the subject of their impending marriage once more.

  "If we get married without your parents’ approval, it will just be a simple civil ceremony, no big glamorous church wedding, no feature in the society page, no flood of gifts and presents from your extended family, just the two of us and a couple of your friends as witnesses."

  She is pleased that he again brings up the matter of their wedding. "Yes, I know, but I don’t really care about all the rest."

  "Are you sure? …Your father may also cut you off financially. My income only provides for a modest, but comfortable living."

  "André, I may have been a spoiled girl up to recently," she interrupts, irritated, "but I can easily adapt. I adapted without complaints to the primitive conditions during my captivity and our escape."

  "Yes, I know and I admired you for it. You never complained about physical discomfort. It made the whole ordeal that much easier."

  She feels reaffirmed. "Thank you, André, for saying that, and sorry, if I sounded miffed. I’m actually looking forward to a life of independence from my parents where not everything is handed to me on a silver platter. As soon as I have my degree, I want to find a job and earn my own money."

  "Any ideas what?"

  "I could teach classics at high school level, or maybe find a job in a museum —"

  "— or you could join me as an investigative journalist, traveling the world some more, before we settle down and have children."

  It comes as a complete surprise. Not even in her wildest dreams would this have occurred to her. "You think I could become a journalist?" she exclaims, full of excitement. "Work with you?" While she says that, she breaks off a piece of bread, dunks it in the olive oil, and start eating it.

  "Yes."

  "Oh, André that would be fantastic," she says, her mouth full of bread. "You really think so? But I have no experience. I wouldn’t even know where to begin."

  "You have all the attributes needed for it. You’re intelligent, you’re articulate, you’re curious, you’re capable of critical assessment, and I will guide you. We will work together."

  She stops chewing halfway through. "I want to kiss you," she exclaims.

  "But swallow first."

  For a second, she does not know whether she should laugh or cry over his remark. It is so unexpected. She swallows and says: "You have a knack for taking the wind out of somebody’s sails."

  "That’s an art, but do I get that kiss now?"

  13

  Both apprehensive of a last minute hitch and eager to get out of the country, they go to the airport early. The check-in queues are long and slow. They get window seats and immediately proceed to passport control. Both embassies provided them with an official note, certifying that their travel documents were replacements for passports stolen during their stay in Colombia. André presents the passports and letters to the officer. The latter puts the letters aside without looking at them and searches through André’s virgin passport. He leafs twice through it page by page and then looks up, saying with a grave expression: "Señor, how did you get into the country. There is no entry stamp."

  "These are newly issued passports, replacing the ones stolen from us. These letters explain it." He points to them.

  With visible annoyance, the officer takes the top letter, which happens to be the one from the Italian Embassy, reads it and then says: "You have a Swiss passport. This letter is from the Italian Embassy. This is highly suspicious."

  "The other letter is from the Swiss Embassy, señor."

  Frowning, the officer picks up the other letter and takes his time reading it. Then he neatly inserts each letter into its proper passport, announcing: "Señores, wait here," and walks away to an office at the far end of the hall.

  "What’s going on?" whispers Bianca with a worried face.

  "We are getting a demonstration of bureaucratic incompetence. Don’t worry, in time he’ll come back and stamp our passports."

  People behind them start muttering. Some voice their displeasure loudly and desert to other queues. After five minutes the man returns, none too fast. As he sits down, the two letters slide to the floor. He opens each passport in turn and stamps it, before handing them back.

  "Señor, the letters, please," asks André.

  The man looks at the counter and answers: "I don’t have them."

  "Sorry, señor, they dropped to the floor," André replies, wording his comment such that the officer cannot interpret it as an accusation, and pointing behind the man’s chair.

  For a moment, he fears the man may refuse to pick them up, but then he gets off his chair to fetches them.

  "Gracias," says André, as he takes them.

  When they are out of the officer’s hearing, Bianca questions exasperated: "How can you show such patience with people like this?"

  "Infinite patience is to only way to deal with them. You show the slightest sign of impatience and they’ll make you pay for it. They are in control and will take every opportunity to press that home."

  They pass through hand luggage X-ray and the metal scanner without further delay.

  "Are we now officially out of Colombia?"

  "Yes, for all intent and purposes, but the security police can still nab us even here. Let’s go eye-shopping through the duty-free shops."

  The first they approach is a bookshop with a newspaper stand at its entrance. An A3 size poster shows a photograph of three people with the fat headline underneath ‘Drug money donated to women’s refuge.’ It takes a moment to sink in. He has a second look at the picture. There they are in black and white — Maria Pasqua, he, and Bianca.

  Bianca suddenly grabs his arm and drops the regulatory cosmetics plastic bag she was holding in her hand. Her mouth is wide open. He picks up the bag, and takes her by the elbow. "Just look and behave natural. Let’s go over there into the travel accessories shop. You still may want to buy a handbag to put your things in."

  They go to the very back of the shop before he lets go of her elbow.

  "You think somebody will recognize us?" she asks anxiously.

  "I doubt it. Our faces are too small and not that clear in the photo. You look like a film star on it. Women will admire the fabulous dress we bought in Timbio, while men will drool over your equally fabulous figure. The rain jacket you wear now hides you well. I’m more likely to be recognized, but then I also count that few people will notice me in that photo. They’ll only have eyes for you."

  As he speaks, her uncertain mien slowly changes into a smile. "You are such a funny man. Your replies are always an unexpected surprise; but thanks, I think you helped me gained back my confidence." She grabs his hand and presses it.

  "Now, look for a handbag. They don’t carry Gucci, but you may find something more practical, albeit, less showy."

  She takes her time to inspect various handbags. In the end she is very pleased with her purchase. "This is more practical and so light," she comments, as she puts her regulation plastic bag inside and various other items she carried in her pockets.

  They wander through other shops and then find a partially obstructed corner in the departure lounge. There is a messed-up newspaper on a nearby seat. André picks it up and arranges it properly. The front page has their picture with the same headline. He scans through the article and is gratified by its accuracy as well as by the style of writing. It even reproduces his analysis pointing to criminal ex-paras as the likely kidnappers. It lists their names and nationality, but states that they have already left the country.


  * * *

  The flight to Caracas takes just over two hours. While waiting for take-off, they hold hands silently. Seeing Bianca’s new handbag under the seat in front reminds André of the Gucci bag with its likely content of cocaine. He questions her about Franco. "Did he sniff coke? Have you ever seen him?"

  "No, I haven’t and I don’t think he is addicted. I once heard him talk to another university lecturer about a party both attended where cocaine was freely available. I asked him about it, and he shrugged it off as nothing special."

  "Coke was very much part of the recreational drug scene in early 20th century aristocratic circles. However, the amount in that bag would last him for a lifetime. So I guess it wasn’t for personal use but for sale. Its cut street value may well be over 200,000 euros. Have you ever done coke?"

  "No, have you?"

  "Once, when I was twenty. I worked in Lugano in a hotel that summer — a desk job in the office. There was this woman from Milan. The naive twenty-year old that I was, I saw her as the image of a woman of the world, a woman in the know. I think she was associated with one of the Milan fashion houses. Fabulous clothes always —"

  "How old?"

  He smiles before responding. "Probably in her late thirties. I wasn’t yet an expert yet in judging a woman’s age. Anyway, she had a permanent room in the hotel and drove up most Friday nights in her flashy Porsche Carrera, and left Monday early morning. During the day she was usually sunbathing in a screened-off corner of the hotel’s roof garden. I saw her once. She lay there as God had made her, and he had made her well. Occasionally she brought a gigolo along. Once, when she came alone, she asked me to drive her to Campione with clear instructions not to drink any alcohol —"

  "Where is Campione?"

  "It’s the casino in the Italian enclave across the lake. She drank quite a bit and must have lost a thousand euros within one hour on the roulette wheel and then suddenly gained all of it back and more. At one point she disappeared for a few minutes. I presumed that she had gone to the toilet. Only later on did I guess the true reason because, back at the hotel, she took me up to her room and then set out several lines of coke on the glass top of her coffee table. She invited me to share it. I must admit that I was actually shit scared, but was not willing to show it. So I bravely snorted two lines. She did the remaining four. Then we just sat there on her leather lounge sofa in front of the open balcony door and looked into the night across the lake. I don’t think I really got a decent high. It was pleasant, lasted for fifteen, twenty minutes, but I get more out of good sex."

  "Did you not have sex with her?"

  "Yes, we did, but she was very lethargic. I think that was the last time I fucked a woman. After that, sex was always part of a steady relationship."

  "Have you been with many women?"

  "You want to know my entire sexual history?"

  "Yes."

  "I have never counted them, but the last five years I have only been in three relationships, not counting ours."

  "How did they end?"

  "The one in New Zealand, because I moved away. She wasn’t willing to follow me to Edinburgh. In Edinburgh it was a married woman and the last two years I had an off-again-on-again affair with the young wife of one of the local newspaper editors in Lausanne. He is twenty years older than she."

  "I don’t want you to ever have sex with another woman." Her face is endearingly serious.

  He kisses her and says: "Don’t worry; I’m not a wandering man. I only want you."

  "Good," she replies, putting her head on his shoulder.

  "So, that’s settled then."

  She lifts her head, her face a frown. "What is settled?"

  "My declaration of eternal faithfulness. I just gave it to you."

  "Oh, André, why does every serious discussion always end up in a joke with you."

  "But being faithful is no joke."

  "See, now you joke about the joke." She looks out the window.

  "Bianca, look at me, please." When she does, he says: "I may have mixed a bit of humor into a most serious thing. I really meant it, when I said I intend to be faithful to you."

  She locks eyes with him for several seconds. "I also pledge that I will be faithful to you."

  * * *

  On their flight from Caracas to Rome, they have a row of three seats for themselves. Bianca curls up after dinner, places her head on André’s thighs and promptly goes to sleep. He covers her with a blanket and then tries to get some sleep too. An hour prior to landing, they are served breakfast. It is well past nine before they finally retrieve their luggage and get into the arrival hall.

  A dozen reporters, paparazzi, and two TV crews immediately rush forward, cameras flashing. He expected reporters, but it nevertheless comes as a bit of a shock of how aggressively they surround them, all shouting questions and pointing their microphones into their faces. On the spur of the moment he decides to play a trick on them. He shoves the microphones in front of his mouth resolutely away, points at his left ear, shaking his head, and then opens his mouth while waving his left hand in a circle away from his mouth. He repeats this a second time, uttering a muffled "no".

  "He is a deaf-mute," one of the reporters cries, echoed by others.

  Bianca looks at him puzzled, sees him wink almost imperceptibly and catches on, her eyes lighting up in amusement.

  "Sorry, signori, André Villier cannot hear you. He cannot answer your questions."

  The gaggle of reporters now crowd around her, all shouting questions. She tries to answer, but her voice gets lost in the clamor of the reporters. André watches for a few second, fully enjoying the joke. Then he spots another young woman maybe a twenty feet away. Her resemblance to Bianca leaves no doubt that this is her sister, Gabriela. He raises his left hand in greeting, smiling at her. She seems unsure, searching behind her to see if the greeting is for somebody else. He shakes his head and raises his hand again, and now she responds, returning his smile.

  He grabs both suitcases and walks away from the reporters. A couple follows a few steps and then turn back. He sets the cases down next to her, holds out his hand, shakes hers and says in a low voice: "Ciao Gabriela, I’m André."

  This time she is utterly confused and it shows in her face.

  "No, I’m not deaf-mute."

  She raises her hand to her mouth, stifling her hilarity, not succeeding and turns her back to him, shaking with laughter. Recovered, she faces him again, her whole face still a picture of bemusement. When she wants to talk, he puts his index finger to his mouth, and she nods.

  He now walks back to Bianca, takes her hand, and pulls her out of the circle of reporters. When some protest, he makes some more signs he thinks could convey the meaning of ‘leaving by car’ — pretending to hold a steering wheel and guiding. A few try to follow. He turns back to them, holding both hands palms out in front of him. This gesture, underlined by the sternness of his face, and his athletic built leaves no doubt about its meaning. More cameras flash. In the meantime, Bianca is hugging Gabriela, laughing and crying at the same time. Again cameras flash from a discrete distance this time.

  André picks up the suitcases and whispers: "Let’s go."

  The two sisters let go of each other. Gabriela informs them that Antonio is waiting in the car. She leads the way. Several reporters follow them out to the car, taking more pictures.

  Antonio stows the two suitcases in the trunk of a huge black Mercedes, while André follows the two sisters into the back seat. Pulling the car door shut, he sighs: "Good riddance."

  As Antonio eases into the traffic, Bianca cannot hold back her laughter any longer. Her sister immediately joins her.

  "Oh André, this was priceless," she cries. "You really always do the unexpected. I almost gave you away before I caught on to what you were doing. Oh no." She explodes into renewed laughter.

  "It will now be all over the papers that your rescuer is deaf-mute," Gabriela says with apparent glee. "I can’t wait to see
the embarrassed faces when they find out that you had them on. Is he real, Bianca?"

  "He is more real than anybody I’ve ever met."

  "You know, today’s issue of Il Messaggero features your escape on the front page: ‘Bianca Pacelli escapes kidnappers,’ while La Repubblica has it on page 3: ‘Tycoon’s daughter freed.’ You have become famous."

  "See Bianca, I warned you this would happen if you escaped, but you insisted on doing it anyway," comments André, grinning.

  She boxes him. He tries to defend himself by hugging her.

  "You did no such thing. You were too busy stealing that money," she exclaims.

  "Didn’t I warn you? How remiss of me."

  "Did you really steal 100,000 dollars?" Gabriela asks. "And why did you give it all away rather than keep it?"

  "It had served its purpose, as Bianca will tell you one day, and I was sick of carrying that heavy bag around."

  Bianca turns to her sister: "Gabriela, watch out. André will pull your leg the moment you relax."

  Gabriela studies both critically for a moment, her eyes coming to rest on their clasped hands. "Is there something going on between you two that I should know?"

  "I like that expression — something going on between us two," repeats André, humming the words like the opening line in a song. "Very poetic, right, Bianca?" He brings her hand to his lips.

  She blushes.

  "Oh, oh, oh," Gabriela exclaims, "I see big trouble ahead. This will be interesting. You realize that mother summoned over a hundred people to a welcoming party and to celebrate your reunion with the professor?"

  It amuses André that her sister also refers to Franco as ‘the professor’. So he wasn’t the only one, although he stopped when he saw that it hurt Bianca.

  She presses her jaws together, the look in her eyes turning hard. "I will not marry Franco."

  "You will not marry the professor?" her sister mimics, turning it into a question.

  "Stop calling him that. And yes, you heard right."

  "And when will you drop that bombshell, dear sister?"