I told Lloyd about Dan's and Jennifer's offer to help. To my surprise he seized on the idea. He said that he had already considered getting a Bolivian to play the schoolgirl role. He would talk over the plans with Dan and Jennifer after I got the passports on Monday. In the meantime, Lloyd gave me another assignment. After he left, I spent the rest of the morning drawing a detailed map of the school and schoolyard.
Just over the chain-link fence separating the apartment building from the school was the ramp sloping down from the front gate into the school-yard. At the bottom of the ramp twelve steps led at right angles into the basketball/soccer court. Just around the corner of the ramp was a girls' restroom. Large windows from the classrooms on both floors overlooked the schoolyard. If you kept going straight instead of going to the right at the bottom of the ramp, there were four steps leading up into a smaller courtyard raised some six feet above the basketball court. A storage shed stood against the fence that separated that court from the driveway of the apartment building. I drew the map to scale as best I could and then carefully labeled everything.
After lunch I lay down to rest. The lack of oxygen combined with my cold made me tired, and I slept. Sometime later I was awakened by the sounds of a Bolivian brass band. I went to the window and looked out. The school was having some kind of fiesta. Crepe-paper streamers were strung across the basketball court, and children and adults milled around refreshment stands. Quickly I scanned the crowd for Jane and Michael. They weren't there.
I sat idly watching the scene for a while, wondering about the occasion for the festivities. Then a familiar movement on the far side of the court caught my eye: a little boy and girl hugged each other, then the girl impatiently pulled away. I grabbed the back of the sofa and stared.
"My babies!" I whispered. Jane looked proper and ladylike in a long, dark dress and white stockings. Her long hair was cropped shorter, and it was neatly pulled back from her face. Michael seemed paler and a little taller. I spotted Federico behind them, helping out in one of the stands.
I watched them all afternoon, studying them for clues. Jane seemed more subdued, while Michael was wilder, uncontrolled. They didn't mingle, with the other kids and never strayed more than a few feet from Federico. With mixed feelings I watched him take them by the hand, smile down at them, buy them sodas. At least he was not the cold monster Lloyd and Bob had described. He was kind to them. They were loved. It was comforting to know that. Yet they seemed different somehow—as if they had lost some indefinable spark.
At one point they sat almost directly under my window. I could have called their names and they would have looked up and seen me. How I ached to run down and touch their hands through the fence! As it was, all I could do was to look down at them helplessly. I had to wait for just the right moment. There was no room for mistakes. I would have only this one chance.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday, April 25, 1988
The next morning at 8:15 I was stationed in the living room watching the school through the curtains, timing how long it took to walk up and down the ramp. Lloyd wanted me to clock it for both adults and children, and to note whether they were going at a normal pace or quickly. It took an adult about 45 seconds to walk up the ramp and 30 or 35 seconds to go down. If he or she was walking quickly, it took 35 and 25 seconds, respectively. A child took a few seconds longer. Lloyd had said this was a 30 second operation. We'd be cutting it close.
As the time neared for the morning bell to ring, the stream of children coming down the ramp thinned to a trickle. I still hadn't seen Jane or Michael. Then, just as the bell rang, they came trotting down the ramp, rounded the corner into the courtyard, and took their places in line. They looked so small and vulnerable in their little white uniforms. There were ten or twelve ragged lines of children, ranging from the smallest, the preschool class that Michael was in, on up to the high school kids. Jane stood alone at the end of her line. One little girl approached her and took her hand, but then quickly left to resume her place as the teachers began a kind of inspection, walking up and down the rows straightening the lines. Michael was having a shoving match with another little boy, and a nun jerked him smartly into line.
Then the teachers took their places at the head of the lines and led in the singing of the national anthem, followed by the school song. A whistle shrilled and they began filing into the building. Michael swung his lunch pail at the boy in front of him, stumbled, and fell. Then he jumped back to his feet. I smiled, but there was a huge lump in my throat. I watched until the last child disappeared inside.
I called the consulate to check on the children's passports and found out that they would not be ready until 4 P.M. that afternoon. I wandered through the apartment, wondering what to do for the rest of the day. Dan and Jennifer were at the FAI office, and I was alone again with time on my hands. I browsed through the bookshelf in the living room and read portions of travel books, mainly about the areas of Bolivia and Peru that we'd most likely go through if we went overland. I tried to memorize information: the names of towns in Peru with flights to Lima, where to buy tickets for the railroad. Lloyd should already know all this stuff, I thought. Still, it didn't hurt to be prepared.
I took a nap after lunch. I still had a cold, but even in the best of health, I became fatigued quickly in La Paz because of the thin air. By now my sunburn had progressed to the stage where it wasn't painful anymore, just ugly. I looked like some kind of shedding reptile. I was glad the climate here made it necessary to keep my legs and arms covered up.
Lloyd, Bob, and Guy arrived around 3:30. They were driving yet another rented Jeep—they changed vehicles every few days. Bob was wearing a wide-brimmed alpaca hat, the kind that tourists bought as souvenirs. As we drove up the steep street to the consulate, he tipped the hat cheerily to amused passersby. So much for keeping a low profile, I thought. Oh, well, that was how Bob operated. He had told me once that he had sprung people from prisons in Chile and Peru. How had he done it? Not from burrowing through secret tunnels or smuggling in tools—but by noisily and conspicuously visiting the prisoner until the guards quit paying attention to him. Then he could do whatever needed to be done without being watched. He was using the same strategy now at the kids' school.
Bob parked outside the consulate to wait for me. Inside, Alicia greeted me and told me she would bring the passports out in a few minutes. As I waited I studied the travel advisories posted on the bulletin board. Unfortunately, most of the warnings had to do with travel in Peru. I took out my little notebook and carefully noted the names of areas to avoid. It seemed that the main dangers were road bandits and, even worse, sporadic violence by the terrorist group Sendero Luminoso, "Shining Path", which was active in southern Peru, especially in the province of Arequipa.
Finally the passports were ready. Steven Dunlop came out to tell me good-bye.
"Have you decided what you're going to do yet?" he asked, his eyes searching mine.
"No," I hedged, "not yet. But I think I might go for it."
He nodded and began to scribble something on a piece of paper. "If you get in trouble, call. Here's my office number, and this is my home phone." He folded my hand in both of his and squeezed it. "Good luck."
I was touched by his kindness. Bob then drove me to Dr. Castillo's office.
"Catereen," he began in that regretful tone of voice I'd come to know well. "Mi amigo El Capitan is in Cuba! He had to accompany the Minister of Interior there, and he won't be back for a few days. I myself will be leaving for Sucre tomorrow, to get your papers signed."
He beamed across his desk at me.
"Good," I said. Good that he'd be out of the way when I made my move. No sense in him being implicated.
"Go ahead and take your children back, Catereen," he said. "You can do it without the assistance of El Capitan. And don't worry about your lawsuit for custody. I'll continue with that even if you have success in taking your children."
"Maybe I will try, then."
&nb
sp; He nodded, smiling. Then he asked me for a couple of favors: could I send him cassette tapes that taught English, and some price lists on Mace-type self-protection sprays, which he was interested in importing and selling in La Paz? I said I would. Before parting we gave each other a parting hug, the abrazo.
By the time I got back to the apartment, Dan and Jennifer had arrived. I told them that Lloyd wanted to talk with them. They almost jumped up and down with excitement.
When Lloyd arrived later in the evening, he brought with him a school uniform and Jennifer tried it on. She looked perfect for the part of the schoolgirl.
Then Lloyd went over the plan. Dan would wait by the fence. I would be across the driveway from him, just inside the parking garage. Bob would stroll up and down the sidewalk in front of the school, as he did every day. He'd signal the arrival of Federico's Jeep by putting on his alpaca hat. Dan in turn would signal to Jennifer. This roundabout procedure was necessary since neither Dan nor Jennifer had ever seen Federico or the kids, except from photographs, and they might not recognize them right away. Jennifer, dressed in the school uniform, was to go down the ramp just ahead of Jane and Michael. Then, as soon as Federico turned his back, she would take Jane and Michael by the hand and tell them that I was there. At that point I'd go to the fence and say something to them. Jennifer would lead them back up the ramp and out the gate and I would simply take their hands and walk to the getaway car. If Federico walked down the ramp with the children, then the plan would be aborted and we'd try again the next day.
After Lloyd left, Dan, Jennifer, and I were too excited to sleep. We were like high school kids before the big game. We stayed up playing cards and going over and over the plans. Around midnight, Bob came by to get the one small bag I'd be taking with me should we be successful. I would leave the rest of my clothes behind, along with my suitcase.
That night I slept fitfully. After all these months of waiting and planning, it was really about to happen.
We were up the following morning by six o'clock. Dan and Jennifer were too nervous to eat breakfast. I forced down a piece of bread to calm my stomach. I knew it might be a long time before my next meal.
We paced up and down the living room, waiting for the phone call telling us that Federico and the children were on their way. Lloyd would be watching for him from his room at the CrilIon. At about 8:15 the phone rang. We all jumped.
A moment later we were trotting down the three flights of outside stairs. Then we took up our positions. Dan leaned casually against the fence. With his backpack and camera he looked like a tourist waiting for a ride. Jennifer, wearing her white duster, continued up the driveway and dawdled, tying her shoe, at the top of the driveway. I slid out of sight in the shadows of the parking garage. About 40 seconds went by. My heart pounded, then stood still—Federico and the children came into view not thirty feet in front of me. He was walking them down the ramp. I flattened myself against the wall of the garage. If Federico had been looking in my direction, he would have seen me. Today's attempt would have to be aborted.
After a few moments Jennifer joined Dan and me, and we trudged back up the stairs to the apartment. The gardener eyed us curiously as we passed.
In a few minutes Bob rapped on the door. He rubbed his hands together and grinned, "That was only a dry run. Tomorrow we'll do it!" But Dan and Jennifer were a bit shaken. Dan thought someone across the street had been watching him through a window. We had aroused the suspicion of the gardener. But I felt calm, even confident. If Federico hadn't walked the kids down, it would have worked.
A rather subdued Dan and Jennifer left for work, and Lloyd, Guy, and Bob came over. Over bread and strong coffee, we discussed the morning's events, or rather, the lack of them. Lloyd agreed that it would have worked had circumstances been different. "In fact, it's the only plan with any hope of working," he said. "We'll try again tomorrow."
Later in the afternoon, a band was playing again at the school. I looked out the window to see what the commotion was about. The courtyard was surrounded by children, nuns, and parents. A group of children wearing regional costumes was dancing a Bolivian cueca, a folk dance, in the center of the courtyard. Behind them, other classes waited their turn, each wearing a different regional costume. A banner proclaimed the school's twenty-fifth anniversary.
I spotted Michael right away. He and the rest of his class were dressed in the traditional garb of Tarija, Federico's hometown. He looked so cute in his black pants, white shirt, and a hat that kept slipping off his head. One hand was clasped behind his back, and with the other he waved a handkerchief above his head. The little girls wore full skirts and peasant blouses. Each girl wore her hair in two neat braids, with a red rose tucked behind one ear. I watched as the children hopped around to the music in a snaky line. Jane appeared out of the crowd and threw confetti at Michael. Then I saw Federico too. He was taking pictures.
After the dancing came the speeches. I heard the same stock themes and phrases that seemed to be a part of every speech given for any occasion in Bolivia, just as they had performed the same dances, to the same music, and worn the same costumes that I'd seen in a dozen parades and festivals.
Jane and Michael were safe. They were living in an environment where life was slow, predictable, with little change over time. On the other hand, it was a narrower life than they would have in the States. In Bolivia they were hemmed in by traditions and expectations that could stifle creativity and individuality. This could be especially true for Jane. As a girl her role would be even more confining. She was bright; she could be anything she wanted to be. But if she stayed here those things might never occur to her, much less be encouraged.
After the program was over—Jane's class didn't perform, for some reason—it was announced that in observance of the school's twenty-fifth anniversary, there would be no classes the next day. Another long day of waiting lay ahead.
I watched Jane and Michael until they disappeared up the ramp with Federico. As I was blowing my nose and drying my eyes, I heard a key turn in the door. It was Dan, and he was with Roberto. Their somber expressions told me that something was wrong. Dan avoided my eyes. Roberto sat down and reluctantly began to speak. He explained that Dan and Jennifer had confided in him about my plans and their participation in them. They were worried about being caught and sent home in disgrace. They were also worried about implicating Food Aid International. Roberto fumbled for words.
"What you're trying to say is that they can't do it, right?" I asked.
He nodded. "It's not that we don't want to help you, Cassie. But we just can't risk FAI and all our work here."
All I could think was that my best hope for getting Jane and Michael back was being snatched away.
" Dan, I told you and Jennifer to think about it for those very reasons."
"Jennifer and I really do want to help," he said. "We think it's the Lord's will for you to get those children back." He turned to Roberto. "You know, it's really pretty unlikely that we'd get caught. After all, what could they say? I wouldn't be doing anything...just standing there. And afterward Jennifer would slip away and go straight to the office. Who in the world would be able to say she was the one who helped Cassie? Her description would fit every other girl at the school. How could they prove anything?"
"If the police investigated and found out that Cassie was staying in this apartment, they'd check you and Jennifer out pretty carefully," Roberto said. He was Bolivian. He should know.
"How would they find that out? Nobody knows she's here except you and us."
"I think Federico would tell the police about Russ. He knows they've been in touch. They could trace Cassie to this apartment."
"I wish there were some way to get hold of Russ. I think he would want us to help in any way we could," Dan said.
Finally Roberto relented. But I had a bad feeling about it. Later that night, Jennifer knocked softly on my door.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure."
She s
at by me on the bed and began. "Cassie, Dan and I have been talking about it. We've decided we can't help after all. There's just too much at stake. Before we came down here, we spent a year going to friends and churches to get pledges to support our work here. We can't let those people down. And we can't risk jeopardizing the whole organization. I hope you understand."
"I do," I said. I didn't want anyone to get in trouble on my account. I had plenty of that on my conscience already.
By now I had moved into the bedroom of Ben and Susanna, who were still in the countryside. After Jennifer left, I lay on the bed and looked out the window at the lights twinkling across the canyon. A neon 7-Up sign on one of the buildings blinked on and off, on and off. Everything was quiet except for the occasional swish of a car going down the canyon road.
I had never felt so terribly alone. A door had opened for an instant and I'd glimpsed a happy ending. Now it had swung shut. It was time for me to face facts, to face the possibility—no, the probability—that I would come away from Bolivia empty-handed. Before, in McAllen, I still had other options: the Bolivian courts, a resnatch. But if I failed now, there would be no other options.
I forced myself to contemplate life without Jane and Michael, without even the hope of watching them grow up. The reality of it was palpable in the darkened room, like some evil, invisible presence. The pain of it was crushing, suffocating. For hours I lay there unable to move, spiraling downward until at some point in the night, I hit bottom.
Along the way all false optimism was stripped away, all groundless assumptions that such a thing—sorrow without remedy—could not happen to me. It could happen. Chances were it would happen. Lloyd had as much as said so, and I'd ignored him. His words echoed: "marginal, very marginal"..."never seen so few options"..."this plan is the only one that can work.--"
As the long night wore on, I started to feel different. Along with the hopes, my fears had also been stripped away. Everything had melted down to one burning purpose: to fight with the last breath in my body to get Jane and Michael back. What was there left to lose? And if I failed, well, somehow I would go on, and Jane and Michael would be all right, too.
Where Are My Children? The True Story of a Mother Who Risked Her Life to Rescue Her Kidnapped Children Page 13
