Sufficient Ransom

by Sylvia Sarno

  From the tone of the news reports it was clear that everyone believed Kika was a crazed kidnapper. What happened to that sweet little boy? And why do they suspect me? The answer came to Kika swiftly, like a slap in the face. She had accused Ann and Richard Olson of abusing their child, and she had threatened to remove Travis from his home. More, Kika had quit her job suddenly. Her resignation letter was one big rant against abusive parents and CPS’s inability to protect children. The whole world must have concluded that she had made good on her threat.

  But who would want to hurt the child? The answer sent Kika’s heart plummeting. She pictured Ann Olson screaming at her cowering child, the boy’s hands to his face trying to defend himself. “Mary, Mother of God,” she whispered, “please protect him.”

  On the way to San Diego, Kika stopped at a desert rest stop to use the facilities. After her initial suspicion that Ann Olson had done away with her son, Kika had calmed down enough to realize that maybe she was letting her emotions influence her objectivity.

  Clearly, Ann was a difficult woman with an anger problem. The fact that the police had been called to her house because she had lost her temper with her son proved it. More, Mrs. Olson had flat out refused to consider CPS services—services that could have helped her improve the way she interacted with her child. Her fancy lawyer had even threatened to sue Kika personally if she didn’t back off. But none of this actually proved that Ann had kidnapped—or worse—murdered her own child.

  Leaving the restroom, Kika spotted a bench under a shady tree. Sheltered from the sun’s glare, she pulled out her phone. Before resuming her journey north, she wanted to see if there were any new developments in the Olson case. Ann Olson’s name in Google returned hundreds of hits. She scrolled down to an account of the press conference the morning after Travis disappeared. A photograph of Ann Olson popped up. Kika studied Ann’s image. Gone was Ann’s haughtiness, gone was her anger. All that remained of the woman she despised was a look of uncomprehending terror. Kika felt a pang of pity.

  The next link set Kika’s heart beating faster. It was a video-clip of her nemesis, in her home, talking about her failed efforts to find her son. In the video, Ann admitted that she had made mistakes. “My husband tried to talk me out of Tijuana, but I wouldn’t listen,” Ann said. “It’s a pattern with me, I guess. I get an idea into my head and I go with it. Even…” Her voice breaking, she turned from the camera. “If it’s a little crazy.”

  A more reasonable Ann...

  Kika wondered, with sudden insight, whether she had let her own guilt in failing little Frankie Barton cloud her judgment about Ann. Tears came to her eyes. It was true. She had come down hard on the Olsons, to prove to herself that she was still capable of protecting a child.

  7:00 A.M.

  The sole illumination in the closet that was Ann’s prison was a thin band of light at the bottom of the metal door. The space was barely large enough for her and what appeared to be a stack of wooden crates piled to the low ceiling. Ann tried to loosen the thick ropes that held her wrists behind her back, but they were tied too tightly. Her legs bound at the knees, it was difficult to sit up.

  She remembered screaming for water after she was dragged through the six-foot-high tunnel and dumped in this dark closet. She was thirsty, her head ached, and she felt feverish. One of her jailers, a hairy brute with glistening arms, had doused her with a bucket of it. “Here’s your water!” he had bellowed before taping her mouth shut. Then he rifled through her pockets and removed her wallet and phone. “Just in case,” he smirked.

  Ann lay in the timeless darkness trying to connect everything she knew about her son and the missing children to the fact that she had apparently discovered a drug smuggling tunnel. Jesús Ramirez and his friends hung around this place. Could these men have captured him?

  And what about Kika Garcia? The social worker was in Mexico. Her boyfriend’s family was involved in the drug trade. The Valdez family lived close to the border. Their son, Pedro, disappeared after angering a passerby, a Latino man. The Valdez family seemed awash in cash. After the Azizs were robbed in Mexico, their daughter disappeared and their house was vandalized. Sabela Villarreal’s Mexican nanny had kidnapped her. All of these facts pointed to Mexico and its criminal underworld.

  The door to Ann’s prison swung open, startling her. The glare of her jailer’s flashlight hurt her eyes. The brute jerked Ann up and dragged her into the narrow passageway. Thick arms pulled her across the plywood flooring. The light from the flashlight under her captor’s arm bobbed at the crude tunnel walls. Her backside burned from being dragged across the splintered wood. Her jailer’s sour breath came in fitful bursts at her neck, as he strained under the weight of her. If it weren’t for the tape over her mouth Ann would have thrown up.

  Animal Man, as Ann came to think of him, pulled her down the narrow space, an offshoot of the wider tunnel she had first entered. Dropping her in front of a wide, dark curtain, he mumbled something in Spanish. A man’s voice on the other side of the curtain barked, “Ven adentro!” Animal Man heaved Ann into the space and threw her to the ground.

  On her belly, bound and taped, Ann managed to lift her head and look around. The well-lit room appeared to be a sort of office. A desk, a metal filing cabinet, and plastic folding chairs lined the walls. There were wide, scuffed doors at the back of the space. She turned her head to get a look at the man who had admitted them. She saw trousered legs moving behind her.

  Straining her head further, Ann glimpsed the edge of her captor’s face before he turned and walked to the other side of the room. He stopped at a makeshift bar wedged between two cabinets and poured himself a drink. The man’s left ear was missing. He was the same man in Blackmart’s gallery the night she was attacked.

  Earless Man swung around, his eyes slowly roving over Ann’s face, torn shirt, and muddied jeans. He signaled Animal Man to turn her over and remove the tape from her mouth. Animal Man flipped Ann onto her back with his booted foot then he reached down and ripped the heavy tape off. Thin pinpricks of blood beaded on her lips. Wincing, Ann licked them. The blood tasted like warm salt.

  Earless Man spoke sharply to Animal Man, apparently chastising him for his rough treatment of her. Ann closed her eyes, relieved that, at least for now, more physical pain was not likely. When she looked up, she saw Animal Man reaching for his knife. Before she could protest, he cut the ropes that bound her legs.

  Earless Man took a cloth handkerchief from the pocket of his sports jacket. Indicating a chair by the wooden desk at the wall, he said to Animal Man. “Ponla en esa silla y limpia la sangre de su boca.”

  Animal Man hoisted Ann up. Taking more care with her than he had before, he guided her to a sitting position. His face close to hers, he wiped the blood from her mouth.

  Her mouth clean and her legs free, Ann’s courage returned. “Could I have some water, please?”

  Earless Man nodded to the tray at his elbow. “Untie her arms and get her some water,” he said in English. He swung a chair in front of Ann and straddled it, his face inches from hers.

  Earless Man smelled like cigarettes and whiskey. His swarthy skin was dotted with large pores and black freckles and was loose, like stretched elastic that once released doesn’t regain its shape. His shadowy eyes looked her over again, this time with more interest. They lingered on her sweaty tee shirt clinging to her breasts, before moving on to her flat stomach. Ann hunched forward in a feeble attempt to ward off his disturbing gaze.

  Earless Man’s rubbery lips opened slightly. His eyes were softer. “Want more water?”

  She might not have a chance at water later. “Yes, please.” She gulped down her drink.

  Earless Man’s voice rang out, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  The water went down the wrong way. Ann coughed. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she took her time formulating her response. She concluded that telling the truth was less dangerous than lying. “My name is Ann Olson. I’m
looking for my son, Travis. He was taken from our home six days ago. Three of the missing kids are Mexican. You see, there’s this woman—”

  “Shut up!” Earless Man barked. “I saw you at Blackmart’s gallery the other night. Why are you following me around? Do you know what you’ve done, coming here? You’ve put us all at risk. Do you understand? How the hell did you find this place?”

  Ann started to tremble. “I just want my son. I’ll never mention this place. I swear. I don’t want to get involved in your business. I don’t care what you’re doing. I think drugs should be legalized.” She talked rapidly trying to get his darkening face to understand that she wouldn’t breathe a word of any if this if they would just—

  Earless Man stood up and kicked his chair. It fell into the metal cabinet with a loud clatter. “Damn your son! You know how many millions pass through this tunnel? Do you have any idea? Who else knows about this place?”

  If she told them that no one knew her whereabouts, they’d kill her right away. If Ann admitted that Marty Ramirez told her about the warehouse, she would be putting her at risk. “Tell me what you’ve done with Jesús Ramirez,” she said. “And then I’ll tell you how I came here.”

  Earless Man’s eyes widened with surprise. “You’ve got nothing to bargain with, gringa.” He waved at her body. “Nothing. Besides, I’m in charge here, not you!” He pulled a gun from his waistband. “You see this? I can blow your gringa brains out with my little finger. That’s what you mean to me, less than nothing. But before I do, I need to know how you found this place and why the devil you’re following me around!”

  Ann knew she was taking a chance, that at any moment this crazy drug dealer could do as he threatened. She swallowed hard. “I can be useful to you. If you’ll let me.”

  A ghost of a smile on his lips, Earless man waved her on.

  She sat up straighter. “No one would suspect me. I’ll make you money. But first I’ll need a shower and new clothes.” She glared at Animal Man, “He dumped water all over me. Look, I’m covered in dirt. That’s no way to treat a lady. And I want some food. I haven’t eaten in days.” She swallowed hard. Offering to sell drugs for these creeps made her sick.

  Earless man’s smile was shrewd and mocking. He seemed to know that Ann would say anything. The gun still in his hand, he crossed his arms and looked her over again, this time more carefully.

  Ann shrank back.

  Earless Man slipped his gun into his belt. Before she knew what was happening, Animal Man grabbed Ann’s arms from behind and started winding heavy rope around her wrists. Earless Man gripped Ann’s throat with one hand while he reached down and pulled at her shirt with the other. She tried to kick him away, but the beast had straddled her, pinning her legs to the chair. His leering face close to hers, he slipped his fingers through a hole in her shirt and worked his way into her bra.

  When he pinched her nipple, she screamed.

  Earless Man’s phone rang. Cursing, he stood up.

  Ann caught the Spanish words, night and guns.

  His conversation ended, Earless Man turned back to Ann, a pensive look on his face.

  When Animal Man started winding the rope around her legs, Ann tried to kick him away. His eyes glistening, Earless Man watched Animal Man jerk her swinging legs off the chair and onto the dirt floor.

  Ann felt her shirt riding up over her abdomen.

  Earless Man’s face broke into an evil grin.

  Horrified, Ann struggled to cover herself.

  Licking his lips, Earless Man reached for her.

  9:00 P.M.

  Kika returned to her home in La Jolla. She had spent the past eight hours at police headquarters, answering questions about her whereabouts, her CPS work on the Olson case, and more. The FBI man, Julian Fox—his last name suited him perfectly—seemed particularly annoyed that she had managed to elude his connection in Mexico. The agent was also surprised that she declined legal representation. Kika explained that she wished to be as helpful and non-confrontational as possible, having caused the Olsons so much trouble in the past. The police detective, who was also present at the interview, seemed to understand.

  Kika kicked off her shoes and lay down on her bed. Bits of the grueling interview at police headquarters swirled in her head as she reached for her ringing telephone. It was Max.

  “I finally got out of that place,” she said to her lover. “They asked me to take a lie detector test. Of course I passed. But that didn’t stop them from having me followed home. When I asked if the other missing children were related to the Olsons’ case, they were evasive. I know, Max. Five children missing this year alone is a lot of kids. I’m going to see Ann first thing in the morning to see how I can help. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She told Max she loved him and hung up the phone.

  Kika rested her head on her outstretched arm. Travis Olson’s situation reminded her of her own lonely childhood. Since she was six years old, every year on her birthday, Antonia had forced Kika to accompany her to Mexico City’s poorest neighborhoods where she served the homeless soup and bread at the churches that took them in. Kika remembered the pungent smell of the men’s unwashed bodies, their decayed teeth, and their brown sun-ravaged faces. When Antonia’s back was turned, the men would pinch Kika’s cheeks and pat her bottom. Kika grew to dread her birthday.

  As she grew older, Kika’s suffering increased. Antonia would, without warning, reach out and slap her. “Sour face, sour face!” she would say. “I’m sick of seeing your sour face. Little girls are supposed to smile. Where’s your smile?” To this day, Kika rarely smiled— the force of her mother’s hand on her cheek still smarted.

  In high school, Kika had mustered the courage to ask Antonia for a favor.

  “Oh Mother, the Fathers at the Virgin of Guadeloupe are planning a new festival. Some of the girls from school are going. Poor people from all over Mexico are coming to ask the sacred Virgin’s help with their children. There are so many sick children and runaways. I want to help these families. Oh please, mother, let me go.”

  Antonia’s fists went to her hips. “I decide where your duty is, Cristina. Shame on you for wanting something so badly.”

  Kika ignored the warning signs. “I just want to help, Mother. I want—”

  Antonia raised her arm.

  Kika’s hands flew up, ready to defend herself. When she realized what she was doing, she forced her hands away from her face. Antonia had her best interest at heart. It was Kika’s duty to obey, even when her mother was hard on her.

  When Kika woke up she realized that she was still lying in the same spot where she had fallen. She could hear mother in the kitchen eating her dinner. The sound of her masticating had filled Kika with revulsion.

  Kika reached for the tissue box on the nightstand. Please, Mary. Help me forgive Antonia. But forgiving was hard. Antonia’s hatred for her daughter had seemed to grow with time. When Kika was twenty, doctors removed plum-size growths from her ovaries; she had been cramping and bleeding for weeks prior. They told Kika that she had a severe case of endome-triosis and would likely never bear children. When Antonia heard the news she was smug. “So God does not wish you to have children? Poor Cristina.” Kika had wanted to kill her mother.

  That she would never conceive was the great tragedy of Kika’s life. Now Max, who wanted children as much as she did, was talking of marriage. For a girl who had once dreamed of entering a convent, the choice between Max and the Blessed Virgin had been tough. In the end, when she chose Max, Mary didn’t seem to mind.

  But the question of her infertility hung like a teetering roof over Kika’s future.

  10:30 P.M.

  Just when it seemed that Earless Man would have his way with her, Ann had heard shouts and pounding feet. After Earless Man had ordered Animal Man to remove Ann from the room, he jerked his gun free and left through the double doors. In his haste, Animal Man had forgotten to tape her mouth shut. It seemed like days ago.

  Now, back in her dark closet, Ann�
�s thoughts continued to drift downward. She knew she should be grateful the thugs hadn’t done more to her, but she was in no mood for gratitude. She had discovered their drug tunnel—they would be crazy to free her.

  Ann rolled onto her side and winced; her body was cut and bruised all over. She had been foolish. Instead of acting on reason, she was propelled by half-formed conclusions that she had insisted, in her ignorance, was fact. Tijuana and then the warehouse. Richard was right—she had rushed into things without thinking through the consequences. And now her child might pay the price for her rashness.

  Travis. Her heart aching, Ann remembered when her son was big enough to sit on his own. He would spend the longest time going through buckets of toys; shaking, banging, exploring each item with his mouth before moving on to the next thing. Travis loved playing in the backyard, rubbing dirt all over himself, splashing gleefully in his little pool. He would spend hours putting blocks together—gradually working his way up to building more complicated Lego structures. Those fun-filled days seemed to be part of another lifetime.

  As Travis had gotten older, and Ann grew restless, she started filling her need for more activity by re-arranging things in her house, buying more stuff, and especially with cleaning. Her cleaning obsession had first started when Ann was very young. Every Saturday, she and her mother would clean their whole house together. Ann’s reward when the work was done—a pizza and ice cream lunch. After her mother moved out, Ann’s father had offered to hire a maid, but Ann refused. Cleaning had become her way of restoring order and control in her life.

  Ann’s thoughts strayed to Kika. She realized that if she had tried to reason more with the social worker, instead of being so defensive, the situation might not have gotten so out of hand. Resolving to become a more patient, understanding person, Ann pleaded, “God, give me the strength to get through this.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Wednesday, October 10