Kidnapped and a Daring Escape

by Gian Bordin

  He opens his mouth to interrupt her again. His face has turned red.

  Raising her voice she preempts him: "You either listen to me without interruption or I will ask Carlo to remove you from this room." She suddenly feels powerful. "I know that you paid the kidnappers 200,000 euros as an advance. I also know that the kidnappers would not have freed me after receiving the ransom and so do you. I’m only alive because André rescued me against all odds —"

  "Don’t you see that you are delusional to make such absurd accusations?"

  "Shut up," she shouts over his words. "You are delusional if you think that you will get away with it. But I’ll let you stew in your own mess. Our engagement is finished. You can ask the man at the Alcazar Bar with whom you made the final arrangement for the kidnapping to return the engagement ring he stole from me. I will never marry you. You will not touch a cent of whatever I may inherit. You are financially ruined and well so."

  "Your father will cut you off."

  Bianca laughs. "So what? It’s only people like you who need other people’s money to survive. And now, get out of my room. We are finished."

  She turns away from him. Although she feels strong, she is shaking inside. Carlo’s stern warning startles her: "Professore, don’t touch Bianca. She has asked you to leave and so do I. If you don’t I will call the local policeman to remove you from my pensione."

  "This is not the end, Bianca," she hears Franco. It is more a hiss than a normal voice. The door closes and the muffled sound of steps reach her from the staircase. She starts to breathe freely, filling her lungs to the full and exhaling slowly. Her trembling slowly ebbs away. Her heartbeat slows. She feels proud of herself. She knows, André would be proud of her. And now she even has a witness to Franco admitting that he was the one who filed the denuncia and that Farnese was the source in the Questura that advised them.

  A few minutes later she goes looking for Carlo. When he sees her he says: "Signorina Bianca, that was very brave how you confronted that man."

  "Thank you, Signor Carlo. Did you hear how he admitted that he made the denuncia?"

  "Yes, and that Commissario Farnese advised him to do it."

  "It may well be that I need you to testify on that."

  "You can count on me."

  * * *

  After breakfast, the guards herd them into the showers in small groups of ten people. The water turns out to be hot. The sharp spray feels good. André notices that both Fausto and Massimo are in his group. He is curious how they engineered that since their cell is on the opposite upstairs corridor. Is it another intimidating gesture?

  The morning passes slowly. He exercises again and then writes more in his diary. The failure of a lawyer showing up begins to worry him. The threats by Massimo he thinks he should be able to manage, but without representation he may be stuck on remand for weeks.

  Lunch comes. He queues up again. As he gets close to the counter, Massimo forces himself into the space behind him and hisses: "Got the dope, man?"

  "We must talk. See me in my cell," André murmurs, as he gets his plate filled.

  "No more talking. Pass the dope when we sit."

  André chooses an empty space toward the end of a table. Massimo wags his head, and the man on André’s left at the end of the table rises and finds another empty spot, while the tall fellow takes his seat.

  "Pass the money under the table," Massimo mouths from the corner of his mouth.

  "I have no money," André replies in a normal voice.

  Everybody looks at them, even the guards.

  "That’s too bad, man," hisses Massimo, while swiping André’s plate from the table. At the same time André feels a piercing pain in his left upper arm. A split second later his right hand swings out like a blade and hits Massimo’s throat. The man falls back without a sound, out cold. Fausto, a table over, shoots up, but a guard blocks his path.

  Two guards now approach André, their batons drawn. He rises slowly and raises his hands above his head. He sees the handle of a spoon sticking in his arm.

  One of the guards yells: "Come away from the table and keep walking to the door."

  André does as told. At the door, he is handcuffed, after which a guard rips out the spoon and pockets it.

  "I demand to see a nurse or a doctor," André says aloud so that everybody can hear it.

  "We decide what happens here," the guard shouts.

  "I will not take another step until I get medical attention."

  "Move!"

  When André remains standing, the guard hits him into the shoulder blades, shouting again: "Move!"

  Another blow hits his shoulder blades. He now pretends to faint, turning his eyes up to the ceiling, closing them with a shudder, and letting himself slowly collapse to the floor.

  "Shit, the guy fainted. Get a stretcher!" he hears the same guard shout.

  A short time later, he is lifted onto a stretcher. He makes sure his limbs and head flop around, keeping his eyes closed. Then he is carried away. Since the stretcher remains horizontal, he knows that he is not taken upstairs into his cell. The hollow sound of boots tells him that they carry him down a corridor and then he detects the smell of disinfectant. They are indeed taking me to a first-aid station, he figures. The stretcher is put down hard. André make use of the jolt to pretend coming to. He feels blood seeping from the wound in his arm.

  A male nurse orders the guard to remove the handcuffs. Then he helps André to strip off his top and inspects the wound. "What caused this?"

  "I don’t know. I didn’t see it," proclaims the guard who pocketed the spoon.

  André eyes him, and the guy glares back with an expression that says "Keep your mouth shut, or else."

  "I think it was a sharpened spoon," André answers, locking eyes with the guard.

  "Where is it?" the nurse demands.

  "I didn’t see. You have to ask the guards," replies André, his eyes still unmoving on the guard. The latter looks away.

  The nurse disregards his remark. He gets busy disinfecting the wound and puts an elastic plaster on it. "It’ll heal without stitches," he says. "When did you have your last tetanus shot?"

  "Two months ago."

  The nurse nods. "No need for another one then," he remarks while helping André slip on his top. Next, he fetches a sling for his arm.

  "Did the prisoner get his lunch?" he questions the guard.

  André does not give the guard time to lie and interjects. "No, my food was swept off the table by the guy who attacked me before I could start."

  "All right, guard, see to it that he gets his lunch."

  The two guards take him back to the mess hall. Few prisoners are still there. He gets a fresh plate. After the meal they accompany him up to his cell.

  The door has hardly been locked, when Pietro mutters: "They’ll kill you. It was a bad idea to hit Massimo. He doesn’t like being humiliated in front of everybody. It’s bad for business."

  "Has he recovered?"

  "Yes, he came too while you were gone. He has a badly swollen throat. Couldn’t swallow. They took him back to his cell," he says with a sneer, "and without food. That’s a first for him."

  "The guards are clearly in on their scheme. One of them pocketed the sharpened spoon and then claimed he did not know what happened."

  "You bet they are in on it, and they are not pleased either that you dared to defy Massimo. They want their cut."

  André says nothing. The wound starts throbbing and he decides to rest for a while. Later, he writes up the incident at lunch in his diary. He adds his apprehension of what is going to happen next day in the showers, the place where the two, possibly with the help of others, are mostly likely to make their move. Almost as an afterthought he questions whether provoking an incident that confines him to solitary might be the only way to remain safe while Commissario F persists with her softening-up strategy.

  He has just finished writing and is hiding the paper when a guard opens the spy hole and calls:
"Vigliere, stand by the door."

  The lawyer has come, flashes through his mind. He retrieves the paper from inside the cover of his pillow, folds it tightly up four times and hides it inside the sling of his left arm. The guard has already opened the door. André feigns difficulties climbing down from the bunk with his arm in a sling.

  "Hurry up," the guard shouts. "Your lawyer is waiting."

  He follows the guard down the corridor. Several heads poke out of open doors. The guard takes him to a sizable room and orders him to sit at one of two tables. Another guard remains standing by the door.

  A minute or so later, a flashy looking man in his thirties enters. He frowns when he discovers André’s left arm in a sling. Shaking hands, he says: "Ernesto Gallizio, but call me Ernesto. Bianca engaged me to represent you. What happened to your arm?"

  André instinctively feels that he can trust that man. "I was stabbed by another inmate who wanted ten euros a day protection money."

  "And the guards?"

  "They hit me after the incident."

  "And what did you do to the guy. From what Bianca told me, you are unlikely to just take it."

  "I floored him."

  "Hmm. Do you want some cash? I can give you fifty."

  "I doubt that this will be enough now. No I’ll just have to brave it out."

  Gallizio creases his eyebrows as if he does not like that prospect, but then says: "I guess you first want to know why it took me more than two days to come and see you."

  "Yes I was wondering at that. Is this part of Commissario Farnese’s softening up tactics?"

  "Ah, you already know about that. Yes, it is. I asked to get access to you Monday afternoon. They did not call back. Tuesday, I was told you were being transferred and not accessible until today. This morning I was again fobbed off until I threatened Farnese that I would lodge a complaint of obstruction with the Questore. That’s when she finally arranged for me to see you. Look, Bianca gave me a detailed account of what happened in Colombia, including your inferences. A priori, I cannot even fathom why they arrested you since they cannot have any evidence that would hold up in court —"

  "That’s what I also pointed out to the commissario, but she promised that they would leave no stone unturned to find it."

  "Did you? How did she take it?"

  André shrugs.

  "I also asked her who made the denuncia, which she refused to divulge as I expected. So I added that it was not difficult to guess that Professor Visconti had done it. I wanted to see her reaction. She fell for the trap. Her face clearly showed that my guess was right."

  "You know, you are really unlucky to have fallen on her."

  "Yes, a teenager in the holding cages told me that already on Monday. What are you planning to do to get me out of here before somebody kills me?"

  "Is it that serious?"

  "Yes, it is." He lowers his tone to a low whisper. "Place your hand on top of mine and take the paper I leave underneath." Then he continues at a normal voice. "Let Bianca know that I love her and that she should write her term paper for university. She might even get it published."

  Gallizio frowns, puzzled for a second, and then his eyes light up with a broad smile. "Courage man, I will tell her," he says, placing his hand briefly on André’s, and removes the paper, while continuing to talk: "But to come back to your question, I will apply for an immediate release on the basis of insufficient evidence. Farnese will obviously decide against it. But once she has, I can go to a higher authority, where I’m fairly certain she will be overruled. I guess you also realize that they try to frame this whole thing as a case of the Stockholm syndrome, which means Bianca will sooner or later have to submit to a psychological assessment. At this point I do not intend to disclose what Bianca told me about your discoveries. I will keep this in reserve should the case ever reach court. Do you agree with that?"

  "Yes, it is all circumstantial, and as Bianca may have told you, the only other witness got killed."

  "Yes, Bianca told me. You seem to be a man of many talents, not to be trifled with."

  "I may need more than just talents to survive here. I urge you to hurry to get me out. Bianca could help. Is there anything else you want to know?"

  "No, it can wait. Do you want me to talk to the prison superintendent and ask that you be put in isolation?"

  "Is he likely to heed such a request?"

  "I can’t tell. It usually takes more than one assault, and the guards are unlikely to report this one if it is against their own interests."

  "Then don’t bother. I will just have to be ready for them."

  * * *

  Early afternoon, a policeman from the Questura delivers a summons to Bianca to present herself to Commissario Farnese at three o’clock the following day, its purpose to arrange for a psychiatric assessment in connection with the kidnapping in Colombia. After Gallizio’s warning, she expected it, but it upsets her nevertheless. More than ever she misses André’s calming support. She phones the lawyer, but is told that he is out and will only be back late afternoon. So she leaves a message about the summons.

  She gets Gallizio’s call late afternoon while she tries without much success to compose some notes about her visit to Tierradentro. She tells him of the summons, and he requests that she meets him at Bocelli’s in half an hour, that he has important information for her, as well as an urgent task.

  He first tells her about André having been assaulted — her heart jumps into her throat — but then reassures her that he seems to be in excellent spirits. It helps calm her nerves.

  "That man of yours is quite a guy." He recounts the episode of passing the paper. "He told me to tell you that he loves you and that you should get on with your university work, maybe even publish it. I’m sure you get the drift of what he means, namely that you write this up immediately under his name and send it by e-mail to several newspapers for publication. I read it. When this hits the press, it will explode like a stink bomb, and I will have more ammunition to demand his immediate release. I have even thought of a suitable headline: Villier meets Italian Justice. And now, Bianca, get busy and then e-mail it to all the major Italian newspapers and a select few abroad."

  She wants to start reading the paper, but he interrupts her: "Read it while you type it into your computer. Don’t lose time now. I want it in print by tomorrow morning."

  He also tells her that he will take up the matter of the summons with Commissario Farnese and will report back to her tomorrow.

  Back in her room, she transcribes the material into an MS Word document during the next two hours. The handwriting is tiny with no paragraphs, just two slashes to signal them, as she discovers after some confusion. The style is staccato: ‘10:30 arrive at Foreign Affairs. Bianca Pacelli taken away for debriefing.//10.50 ordered to Questura by two policemen for questioning.//11.00 stand in front of Commissario F for two minutes gazing across Via Piacenza before she looks up and tells me to sit on a chair undoubtedly chosen for its extreme discomfort. Commissario F goes on a fishing expedition before she finally accuses me of having kidnapped Ms Pacelli and then pretended to rescue her. I trick her by her accusing Professore V, Bianca’s ex-fiancé, to have made the denuncia. Her facial expression gives her away … …’

  Its terse writing makes riveting reading. She cannot help smile occasionally, in spite of its grimness. It shows that its writer has not lost his humor. It is over three thousand words long.

  The letter containing André’s report as an attachment states that this material was smuggled out of prison. She finds e-mail addresses for editors of a dozen newspapers. By seven she has sent them all off. It is getting late for her dinner appointment with her paternal grandparents.

  * * *

  She arrives fifteen minutes late at her grandparents’ house. Her grandfather is not home yet, but her grandmother hugs her repeatedly. "You have been on my mind the whole time ever since we heard that you were taken hostage, and I was so happy and relieved when I heard that you
were free again. And now I hear that the young man who helped you escape has been arrested."

  Bianca fights the tears that threaten.

  "Oh, my poor child," her grandmother adds, patting her shoulder.

  "Franco Visconti and my father made a denuncia —"

  "Did they? How awful! My own son?"

  "Yes, papà admitted it. But it’s all lies what they claim. If it were not for André, I would be dead now. The kidnappers had not intention of setting me free even if the ransom was paid."

  "Oh dear. You have to tell me everything one of these days. You know, I had a good feeling about this young man the moment I saw him. The way he looked at you told me that he loves you dearly."

  "Yes, and I love him —"

  "Oh, I saw that too. You looked so beautiful when he said that you were getting married. I wanted to kiss and hug you. I don’t think I have ever seen anybody more happy than you were at that moment."

  "I was happy then. I still am, because I know that these accusations are all false and that he will be released soon. And then we will get married."

  "How did you meet him?"

  "He stayed at the same hotel and we shared a dance. Then next day he happened to be on the same day excursion to an archaeological site and got taken hostage with me. I think I would have lost my mind had it not been for his support and encouragement during the first few hours of captivity, and he was able to escape and then followed the kidnappers to rescue me."

  "Few people would have done that. Most would flee as far away as possible."