Undercover (10 page)

“Felipe, are we okay?” He nodded, and the chef was still snoring in the backseat, unaware that they had stopped. “Should we try to drive through?” She looked worried, and the driver was watching the armed men intently but seemed unafraid.

“They'll shoot out the tires,” he said quietly. Two of the men moved next to the driver's window and gestured to him to roll down the window, which he didn't do, and without hesitating, the man standing in front of the car pointed his pistol at the driver's head, and shot him through the windshield. Felipe fell forward against the steering wheel as blood gushed everywhere, and Ariana screamed. Another man broke the window in her door, pulled up the lock, and yanked her out of the car before she knew what had happened to her, and they rapidly slipped a hood over her head, picked her up, and threw her into the back of the truck. They paid no attention to the chef in the backseat, who had woken up when Felipe was shot, and had seen Ariana be pulled out of the car and carried away with the hood over her head. Her arms were flailing, and she was trying to fight off the man who was carrying her, but they had dumped her in the truck and jumped in after her, and they were gone within minutes. The cook stared in shocked horror and watched the truck drive into the bushes at the side of the road and disappear. It all happened so quickly, and there was nothing he could have done. He had counted at least eight men around the car and more in the truck. All were bearded and wore helmets, and some had been wearing ski masks to conceal their faces. They were a faceless mass as they took Ariana. The cook sat shaking in the car for another five minutes, and then got out and pushed Felipe's body into the passenger's seat. The driver's seat was drenched with blood, and he drove the rest of the way to the
finca,
shaking so violently he could barely drive, and the moment he got to the property, he ran out screaming at the top of his lungs, as people came running to see what had happened. With the car door open, they could see Felipe's body, and blood everywhere, and sobbing hysterically, he told the staff and two guests who had already arrived what had happened to Ariana. Ariana's guests screamed when they saw Felipe's body in the car, and the crying cook covered with blood.

They called the local police. It was an hour before they came, and the cook described what had happened. They asked if her father the ambassador had been called, and no one had called him yet. What had happened was not an unusual occurrence—it had happened on that road before, but not recently to someone as important as Ariana. This was a serious matter, and the policemen who had come to the house called their local chief of police, who called the chief of police of Buenos Aires. The daughter of the American ambassador had been kidnapped, and her father had to be told.

The chief of police of Buenos Aires went to the embassy himself and asked to see the ambassador. He was asked to wait for a few minutes, and Robert Gregory came to meet him where he was waiting, and instantly thought that an American citizen in Buenos Aires had committed a serious crime. He held out a hand formally, as the chief of police nearly trembled at the prospect of telling this man the news. He was an important man.

“Excellency,” he said, still standing as he had when Robert came into the room, “it is my sad duty to inform you that your daughter has been kidnapped while traveling to your
finca.
The driver was killed, and an employee in the backseat was unharmed. Your daughter was not injured and she was alive when they took her. We will comb the countryside, and do everything in our power to get her back. I give you the promise of our government that we will do everything to return her to you unharmed.”

The room swam around Robert Gregory as he listened to the words. There was a terrible unreality to them. What the chief of police was saying was not possible. It couldn't be real. They couldn't have taken Ariana. He had sent her with a bodyguard, who was supposed to keep her safe. People went to their weekend homes all the time from Buenos Aires. Why had they taken her?

“Do you know who took her?” he said in a choked voice, taking a vial of pills from his pocket. They were nitroglycerin, and he had a terrible pain in his chest. He had had a pain like it once before. He slipped a pill under his tongue, and sat down, looking at the chief of police in shock and terror.

“We do not know yet,” the police chief said honestly, “but I will drive there myself. We will mobilize a search for her immediately. I believe it has already begun. Do you wish to go with me, sir?”

“Yes.” Robert nodded, feeling as though he were moving underwater. He had to get to her. He had to find her. They had to save her from whoever had taken her. He followed the chief of police blindly out of the embassy and got in his car. The chief had a driver and another man with him, and the men spoke softly as they drove to the
finca,
along the same route Ariana and Felipe had traveled. Robert Gregory said not a word on the way. He was in shock.

The local police were waiting for them at the house, after the chief of police of Buenos Aires had sent word that he was on the way. The cook who had watched it all from the backseat told his story more calmly this time. And the police told Robert that they had no idea yet who had taken her. There were so many groups of bandits along the roads, it was impossible to know. And they felt certain that a demand for ransom would come shortly, which would give them an idea who had her. But until then, they just had to wait.

“I'll pay them whatever they want,” Robert said in a shaking voice. His face had been gray and his hands trembling since he'd heard the news. It was like a very, very bad movie.

“We will put it on the news immediately,” the police chief said, “in case anyone sees her anywhere. We need a photograph of her.”

“If you send someone to the embassy, they'll give you whatever you need.” Robert was slumped in a chair, and one of Ariana's friends was trying to comfort him, to no avail. He looked suddenly very old and very sick. The others had started to arrive by then, had been told the story, and could still see the inside of the car covered with blood. Police were everywhere, and Ariana's friends were crying, knowing that often stories like this had a terrible end, and even paying ransom to bandits like this didn't always mean you got the person back. Or you got the body back, after they'd been killed.

Both chiefs of police stayed with Robert Gregory for over an hour, trying to reassure him that the entire government of Argentina would do everything in their power to get his daughter back. And as Robert looked at them, rivers of tears ran down his cheeks.

“Please,” he said, looking desperate, “please…she's all I have….”

The man who dragged Ariana out of the car and carried her had done it so quickly that she hardly had time to react. She tried to fight with him and free herself, but he had her in a viselike grip, and before she could get any power into it, he had thrown her onto the floor of the truck, and two men put their full weight on her with their boots, so she couldn't move an inch. She had a hood over her head that made it hard to breathe, and they tied her wrists and legs with rough ropes that cut into her skin. She had been wearing a light summer dress, which was already filthy from the floor of the truck and their boots. She could hear rough Spanish spoken and tried to listen to what they were saying. They were speaking some kind of dialect, and the heavy hood, made from a rough blanket, muffled their words. She had no idea where they were taking her or who they were. They were talking about a man named Jorge, and were calling her “La Rica,” the rich one, when they referred to her. She was sure that they just assumed they had picked up some girl from a rich family, and had no idea they had taken the daughter of the American ambassador. She wondered if it would make a difference or only make things worse. She could guess that she'd been kidnapped for ransom, and not as a political prisoner.

She was trying to fight back panic, with the men's boots pressing her down, the ropes cutting into her hands and legs, and the suffocating hood over her face. They were driving over rough terrain, and her head kept bumping on the floor of the truck as they bounced along at a steady speed. She nearly passed out a couple of times, and would have cried, but she didn't dare. All she wanted was to come out of this alive, and she was trying to keep her wits about her, and hear what they said. One of the men kicked her with the toe of his boot a couple of times, and she let out a sharp sound, and was sure he had broken a rib. She wondered what her father was doing by then, and if he already knew, and if a search for her had begun yet. She was praying police would stop them, but no one did. She had never been as frightened in her life and was fighting to stay calm. She knew panic wouldn't help her, and she was trying to be brave.

It had been noon when they left Buenos Aires, and they'd been on the road for almost two hours when she was dragged from the car, but she had no sense what time it was now. She could feel her heart pounding for most of the trip. And it felt like many hours later when the truck finally stopped, and she could hear men's voices shouting inside and outside the truck, and the sound of people running, and then she was lifted up and dropped hard on the ground. It knocked the wind out of her, and she couldn't make a sound. She just lay there unable to move with the ropes binding her, her head throbbing. One of the men pushed her hard with his boot, and she heard the name Jorge again. And she could feel that she had lost her shoes in the truck.

She heard a sound of gunfire then nearby, and wondered if they were going to shoot her like Felipe, but through a haze of fear and pain, she realized that she was more valuable to them alive. She was desperately thirsty by then, and had dirt from the hood in her mouth, and could still barely breathe from the thickness of it, but suddenly there was silence all around her, and she could hear one man's voice shouting orders.

His Spanish was different from theirs. It was a Spanish she recognized, like that of the people she knew, and he was telling them to put her in the box. She had no idea what that meant, and then felt herself lifted off the ground again, and carried a short distance, and then dumped into a constrained space. They had to push her to fit her into it. She heard a sound of a heavy lid being dropped on top of the space where she lay. She could hardly breathe, and it was hot. She could move no part of her and wondered if she would die there. And then slowly, in the heat and the misery and the pain of the ropes and her rib, she had an overwhelming urge to sleep. All she wanted was release from the terror and the pain. She drifted in and out of consciousness as she lay in the darkness with the hood still over her head, barely able to breathe, and then—she had no idea when, a long time later—she heard voices, and the top of the box being removed again, and felt cool air. It woke her up, and she was sorry that it had. She just wanted to drift away in sleep.

She could hear men shouting again, and then one voice next to her, giving orders. It was the same voice she'd heard before. Then the ropes on her wrists and legs were cut. She could feel the knife slide past her skin, and she was released from her bonds, but she couldn't move. Her whole body was frozen into place and stiff. The voice told them to take her out and stand her up, and as soon as they did, she fell to the ground—her legs were too weak and stiff to hold her up. As she lay on the ground, she was too terrified to move. The same voice told them to take her inside, and she could hear heavy footsteps on gravel, as someone carried her. She just hung there like a broken doll, and then she was dumped into a chair, as the group of footsteps retreated again. She was no longer bound, but didn't move, with the hood still over her head. The only part of her moving was her heart pounding in her chest. She sat very still, wondering if she was waiting to be killed. She could sense someone close to her and hear his breathing, and she didn't know if he had a gun pointed at her head. And then, ever so slowly, she felt the hood removed and closed her eyes, afraid of what she'd see.

“Don't be afraid,” a voice said softly next to her, but she didn't believe a word he said, and she kept her eyes closed. “I'm not going to hurt you. I want you alive,” he said quietly in what sounded like an educated voice to her. He spoke to her in Spanish, which made her wonder again if he knew who she was, or if he cared. If he had kidnapped her for ransom, anyone would do, and being an ambassador's daughter would only increase the price on her head. “My God, you're a pretty one,” he said, looking at her. Her face was dirty, and her dress filthy and torn. She was barefoot with marks from the ropes, but he hadn't expected to see her blond beauty or the young aristocratic face. “Don't be afraid,” he said again, “you can open your eyes. I won't hurt you.” She found that hard to believe, given everything they'd done to her so far.

But something in his voice told her he was their leader. And slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at him. She found herself staring at a man with a deep tan, and a long, narrow, chiseled face. He had electric blue eyes, jet-black hair, and a cleft chin, and he hadn't shaved in several days. He was wearing a green military jacket, fatigue pants, and military boots. But he had an aura of power about him, and a pistol in his belt. She hadn't said a word to him so far, as their eyes met, and he reached out and touched her face. There was a bruise on her cheek from where she fell when they had dropped her on the floor of the truck, and nasty cuts on her wrists and legs from the ropes.

“I'm sorry they did that to you,” he said gently, as though he were allied with her. “They're savages, they don't know the difference between a lady and one of their pigs.” She didn't smile at him, and her eyes never left his face. “Can you walk?” he asked her quietly, and she didn't answer. She had no idea if she could. Her legs had pins and needles, and every inch of her body ached. It was dark by then, and there was a gentle breeze. The air felt cool. She had the feeling they were in the foothills or the mountains, but she had no idea where. All she could see was that they were in a tent.

He helped her out of the chair then, and she wondered where he was taking her, if he was going to rape her, or kill her, or torture her. She still hadn't said a word.

He led her out of his tent, and she found herself walking stiffly along beside him. She knew there was no point trying to run away. She couldn't have gotten far on her stiff legs, and one of them might have shot her. He walked her to a little hut then, and pointed to it. She realized it was an outhouse, and he waited outside until she was finished, and took her back to his tent. He poured her a glass of water, and handed it to her. She didn't thank him. She had nothing to say, and was still too shaken to find her words.

“Are you hungry? Do you want food?” She shook her head and drank the glass of water. Her whole mouth was parched, and the water felt good going down. “What's your name?” She didn't answer him, and he asked her again. She didn't want to anger him, so she finally spoke in a voice that came out as a hoarse croak after everything she'd been through that day.

“Ariana,” she said softly.

“Beautiful name, for a beautiful girl. Your family will want you back soon. As soon as they pay us, we'll take you home. I'm sorry to do this to you, but we need the money. Trust me, it's for a good cause.” A cause that led them to kill people, and kidnap women for ransom. She distrusted everything he said, even though he was being kind to her. “I won't let the men hurt you again.” He ran a gentle finger over the bruise on her cheek again. He sat talking to her for a while then about things needing to change, and said sometimes the only way to catch people's attention was to do things they didn't like. He made it sound like he was fighting a holy war for the good of the people. It would have sounded like ranting, except that some of what he said made sense. He talked about the poverty and how the whole country was being run into the ground. And in some ways, she knew it was true. “Your people need to change their ways,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. It told her that he had no idea who she was, or that he had actually taken an ambassador's daughter and kidnapped her for ransom. He continued talking for some time, and then he signaled to one of his men, and told him to take her away. “Carefully, this time,” he reminded him. And she heard him tell two of his men to put her back in the box. They reached for the hood, and he yanked it away from them with a smile at her, as though reminding her that he would let nothing bad happen to her. “No ropes,” he said to them as they led her away. “Just put the lid on the box.”

They pushed her and forced her back into the box—she had to pull her legs up to fit into it—and then they lowered the lid back on it again. Without the hood, she could see that there were air holes in the lid, and in the corner a little tube that gave her some more air. She lay in the darkness, trying not to panic, and finally, praying that her father would rescue her soon, she fell asleep.

She woke the next morning to the sound of their dragging the lid off the box again. They pulled her roughly to her feet and took her back to their leader's tent. He was sitting at a table, writing in a journal, as Ariana blinked in the bright sun. “One day, the world will read my words, and understand what we're all about, and know that we were right.” He looked her over again, and handed her a stack of clothes. There was an army shirt and a man's T-shirt, a pair of rough cotton pants, and a pair of boots that looked like they might be almost the right size. She went to the outhouse to put them on, and saw that her dress was torn in a dozen places, and there were bruises all over her. And she could feel that her long blond hair was a tangled mass. She smelled of sweat and terror, but the men smelled no better, except for their leader. She could see that he had shaved. “We'll take you down to the river later,” he said quietly, “so you can bathe.” He told them to bring her something to eat, and they brought her some indistinguishable meat and a plate of rice. He poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her. He still hadn't heard her speak except to say her name.

“How soon are you going to send me back?” she asked him after she ate the meat and rice. She didn't want to, but she was starving. She hadn't eaten since before she was kidnapped. It was the first time she had spoken to him, and he looked surprised.

“As soon as they pay. Where are you from?” He could tell that her Spanish wasn't Argentine, although she spoke Spanish well. “You're American?” It had never dawned on him that she might not be one of them, but suddenly he looked pleased. She nodded in answer to his question. “That's even better. Now our message will be heard by the entire world.”

“You can't teach anyone lessons by killing people, and using violence to spread your words,” she was bold enough to say to him, and he smiled.

“Sometimes violence is the only way people will listen. You have to get their attention first. What are you doing in Argentina?”

“I live here,” she said simply, afraid that knowing she was the ambassador's daughter would make things worse for her. They had heard none of the radio broadcasts announcing that the American ambassador's daughter had been kidnapped.

“You're a rich American,” he said, his eyes angry for a minute, and then he calmed down. “Don't you ever question how you live, how many people are starving while you eat, how many people die for you every day?”

“And if I die for them, it won't help them. Killing people won't change anything.”

“This is a holy war, Ariana, a war for the starving, dying people that rich people like you use and throw away.” She didn't answer him, and a little while later, he walked her through the forest to a river, and stood watching her while she bathed. She turned her back to him, and came out of the river feeling clean and refreshed. He walked her back to his men, who put her back in the coffinlike box again, and she lay sweltering there all day.

She nearly fainted when he finally came himself to get her out that night. His men were always the ones to punish her, and he was always the one to rescue her, order her taken out of the box, feed her, and give her cool water. And when they returned to his tent, as she stumbled along beside him, dizzy from the heat all day, she saw his journal on the table again. He handed her a glass of cool water, and she emptied it, as he waved her to a chair.

“When you come to trust me, I won't put you in the box anymore.” She wanted to tell him she trusted him so he wouldn't put her back in it.