Why had they been traumatized like this? What were the assailants after?
She avoided making eye contact with the angry men who shoved them down the dirt path to a street behind Dumont Hall. In the dark she stumbled, but she never gave the men a reason to punish her. She had to stay with the children. And judging by the behavior of the other hostages, she knew they understood the importance of sticking together and the gravity of falling behind.
One of the armed men grunted and pushed them, the international language of intimidation. They appeared to have limited English and no French. The weapons in their hands spoke for them.
“Where are they taking us?” one of her missionaries asked.
“Do as they say. And don’t ask questions,” Kate kept her voice low. She hated to deny the woman an answer, but now was not the time. If they survived, they’d have to play it smart.
“My little girl…I don’t see her,” the woman cried, clinging to her husband. “Where is she?”
Once they got to the dirt-covered street, the men led them toward two dark vans and a couple of sedans. Neither van had windows. And three more armed men stood watch over the vehicles. When they approached, the men opened the van doors, and the hostages were separated into two groups. Her fellow teachers and members of the generous Port de Paix community who supported her school were taken from her sight.
They were led to the second vehicle, leaving Kate to face her fate with those nearest her. Without ceremony, they were shoved inside the first van. And almost from the start Kate realized they wouldn’t all fit, but she didn’t want to think about what the men would do if that was the case.
“Please, Lord…have mercy,” she offered a hushed prayer and drew the children close to her, putting them first. If anyone were forced to stay behind, she vowed it would be her.
“My wife is inside. I gotta be with her.” A man dressed in a suit nudged Sister Kate aside and crawled into the van ahead of her kids.
Kate made the sign of the cross for the desperate man. Fear made people do terrible things they wouldn’t normally do. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, hoping that he hadn’t thought about what would happen to those left behind. Judging by the shamed look on his face, she knew better. The man knew exactly what he’d done.
From inside the dark van, hands reached out for the children. One by one they were lifted inside and squeezed into every spot. In the end, two adults remained standing outside the van, with no room remaining— Sister Kate and an elderly woman from town.
Kate clenched her teeth and prepared herself for what would happen, but the other woman cried and tugged at the shirtsleeve of the nearest armed gunman.
“Please…I won’t take up much room,” she begged. “I can fit. Please let me try.” The woman was pleading to stay with them.
Kate shut her eyes and filled her mind with prayer. Her lips trembled with the effort and her heart pounded. Two other men came forward and laughed, amused by the older woman’s begging. They exchanged words that Kate didn’t understand, and time slowed to a painstaking crawl while she waited to see what the men would decide.
In her heart, Kate had a feeling the news wouldn’t be good.
The little blond girl hadn’t spoken. She only clung tight to his neck as he looked for a safe place for her. Off the stone courtyard, Kinkaid saw a dim streetlamp below where he crouched. He used the light to guide him through terraced patches of ground, the foundation used for a series of shanties made of stucco. The glow from the street lit a side door to a shack. The house wasn’t much, but he noticed that a torn window curtain moved.
Someone was inside.
He wasn’t sure he should risk investigating the match-box-sized shanty, yet he had to try. Whoever was inside might be scared, and he couldn’t blame them. If they kept the girl from harm, at least long enough for him to help the others, it might be worth the gamble. Avoiding the light, he crept through the shadows near the back of the house. He approached the window where he’d seen the curtain move and spoke in French.
“Please…I know you’re in there. A little girl needs your help,” he pleaded. “Please open the door.”
He wouldn’t leave the kid if the people in the shanty didn’t look trustworthy. The only way to find out was to get them to open the door. He reasoned with them in French and in English until the door at the side of the house opened with the creak of rusty hinges. Kinkaid gripped his weapon, ready to use it.
What he heard next caused him to stop.
“Mr. Kinkaid,” a woman’s voice whispered. “It’s me. Susan Winters. I have my husband and my kids in here.”
At first Kinkaid couldn’t place the voice, yet the woman’s name brought back a memory. He had met her with Sister Kate at the school. Susan Winters was one of Kate’s missionary administrators.
“Thanks for speaking up. That took guts,” he said.
Kinkaid carried the girl inside and shut the door behind him. In the dark room, with only the pale light of the moon shining through the curtains, he saw the silhouettes of Susan and her family.
“I have to get back out there. Can you take her?” he asked. “I don’t know who or where her parents are. And she hasn’t said a word, not even her name.”
“Sure. We can take her.” Susan reached for the little girl, but the kid wouldn’t let go of him. He lowered her to the floor and knelt beside her.
“I need to find Sister Kate, honey. I have to help her and the others. Can you be brave for a little longer?”
He could tell that the kid wanted to cry. She touched his hand, and said, “My name is…Caitlyn.”
Kinkaid smiled. He reached for her tiny fingers and kissed them. Her hand felt so small in his. “You’ve been a very brave girl, Caitlyn. Susan will take care of you now.”
The girl nodded and took a step back, clinging to Susan’s leg. A part of him—the man he used to be—was sad to let her go. Kinkaid took a deep breath and stood. He touched Susan’s shoulder and looked at her husband, who stood beside her.
“Stay put,” he told them. “Even until daylight if you have to. And keep watch. Trade off on guard duty.”
After they both nodded, he headed out the door in search of Sister Kate. And in the stillness of the night, he heard voices dead ahead. Kinkaid gritted his teeth to fight the pain as he navigated through the dark. It had to be them.
In a move Kate didn’t expect, one of the armed men shoved her and the older woman aside to haul out the man who barged into the van to be with his wife. Both the man and his wife were removed and stood next to Kate. The man’s mix of fear and indignation had vanished.
“Please…what are you doing?” the man asked. “Don’t…please don’t do this. I’ve got money. You don’t need to do this.”
“George, I’m scared. What’s happening?” His wife reached for his arm, but one of the masked men yanked both elbows behind her, holding her in place.
Kate watched as one of the armed men came forward, the one who had given the order to remove George from the van. The hooded man walked with the assurance of a leader, and his amusement with the situation gave him away. Kate thought she’d play a hunch.
“Why are you doing this?” She watched the man, and he gave her nothing. Under the hood, his dark eyes were a chilling blank slate. She held her breath and stood firm.
When he turned to a comrade and spoke in his own language, Kate fixed her eyes on his, and interrupted, “Your fly is open. Better zip up.”
The masked man looked down at his pants before he realized that he’d given himself away. He spoke English. And now everyone knew.
“You speak English?” George’s voice cracked as he touched the arm of his wife. “Let me do the talking, Joanna.”
“No, you do enough talking.” The leader glared at Kate as he spoke, but eventually turned his full attention to
