A King's ransom

naturally would like to know if there’s any hope of getting paid.”

“There’s no hope for a big hit, if that’s what they’re wondering. The policy limit is three million. Most plaintiff’s attorneys would want a cut of the cash recovery, but in this case the entire amount has to go to the payment of the ransom. That’s the main problem I had in talking to other lawyers.”

“You talked to other lawyers?”

My foot was squarely in my mouth. “Yes. But only because I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“That’s okay. I didn’t think I’d say yes either.”

We exchanged a little smile, and then she turned serious. “My partners will be happy with whatever fee the court awards over and above the damages recovered. That’s if we win, of course. They’re more concerned about what happens if we lose.”

“I’ll pay your hourly rate, but you’ll have to give me terms. Say, six months to pay it off?”

“Nick, I’m not going to charge you.”

“That’s crazy.”

“That’s my decision.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s not your decision. Like I said on the phone, I’m doing this for your dad. I owe him that much.”

“You owe him?”

She lowered her eyes, the way she always did when touched by emotion. “When my father died last year, I was devastated.”

“I remember.”

“It was the worst thing I’d ever gone through. There were days when I wondered if I was ever going to be myself again. Now, of course, I realize I was just fortunate to have been that close to him.”

“That’s true.”

“But I was also lucky to have someone like your father to talk to.”

“My dad?”

“He was wonderful. That was such a dark time, and he filled a void for me. Just to have someone to turn to for fatherly advice was important to me. That’s something I’m truly indebted to him for.”

“I never knew that.”

“That’s the kind of person your father is. He works quietly.”

I smiled wanly. “Thank you for telling me. I feel better.”

“About what?”

“Honestly, it hurt me at first, the way you stressed that you weren’t doing this for me but only for my dad. Now that you’ve explained, it’s nice to hear that someone loves him.”

“Everyone loves your dad.”

“That’s what I always thought. But there have been some strange goings-on since the kidnapping. Even his own mother has been saying horrible things about him.”

“Doesn’t she have Alzheimer’s?”

“Yeah. But it still bothers me, the way she treats me. She thinks I’m my father. The last two times I visited her, she threw me out of the house. Screamed at me, called me a lousy son. She even made stuff up about a sister that my father never even had, as if to suggest that my dad had somehow mistreated her.”

“I don’t know about the mistreating part. But your father did have a sister.”

I did a double take. “He did?”

“Yeah. He mentioned her in a conversation we had right before my father’s funeral. My mother wanted an open casket, and I didn’t want to see him that way. Your dad said he felt the same way when his sister died. Didn’t want to see her dead. Of course, he was only six or something like that at the time.”

“How did she die?”

“He didn’t say. He didn’t really want to talk about it, and I suppose I was too wrapped up in my own grief to probe.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

“I guess I figured you knew.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, with too much edge.

“I’m sorry. But that isn’t my fault.”

I took a step back, mindful that I’d been coming on too strong. “You’re right. It’s not your fault.”

“Forget it. I know you’re under a lot of pressure.”

“Pressure isn’t the half of it. It seems like I learn something new about my dad every day.”

“You need to stay focused. Is any of it really all that important?”

I glanced toward the bar across the street, the lights playing tricks with swirls of cigar and cigarette smoke inside. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s important anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

I looked her in the eye and said, “Do you think you could hold down the legal fort a few days if I went away?”

“Sure. What do you have in mind?”

“If we’re going to bring my father home, the first thing I’d better do is maybe find out who he is.”

“Where do you plan to do that?”

She seemed amused, but I was completely serious. “I’ll start in Nicaragua.”

PART THREE 38

It looked dead. Perfectly still, milky green, no sign of life, Lake Managua stretched for miles below me. As the commercial jet turned to make its final descent, I noticed a lone fishing boat below, no lines cast. I doubted that anything edible could be pulled from these waters.

I’d done a little homework for my trip, enough to know that Nicaragua was the largest country in Central America and one of the poorest. Tourism was virtually nonexistent, though extreme hikers liked to explore its extensive rain forests in the north-central mountains and along the eastern coast. Ninety percent of the population lived in the Pacific lowlands to the west, mainly in the capital city of Managua, tens of thousands surviving in open- air, tin-roofed shacks like the ones around Sandino International Airport. The lake was the repository of all things to be expected from a city with too many people and too little infrastructure.

My flight was an hour late. We taxied down the runway, past the old machine-gun stands that had defended the airport during the bloody Contra-Sandinista war of another decade. Nicaragua was at peace now, but with my father kidnapped by so-called revolutionaries in Colombia, I had to wonder what those former Contras were doing these days with all the leftover guns and ammunition that my own country had so freely provided.

“Bienvenido,” said the customs agent. “Welcome.” I passed without a search. No one seemed to care what I was bringing into the country. It was what people took out that raised eyebrows.

“Senor Rey?”

I turned to see a young man holding a cardboard sign with my name on it. “I’m your driver,” he said in English.

My first instinct was to thank him and hand him my bag, but I remembered Alex’s words of caution in Colombia. I couldn’t take anything for granted. “Who sent you?”

“Senor Guillermo Cruz.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ignacio.”

That was the name Guillermo had given to me in the previous night’s telephone conversation. Satisfied, I followed Ignacio outside and loaded my bags into the new Mitsubishi Montero waiting at the curb. Ignacio drove us to downtown Managua.

Last night I’d told Guillermo very little about the purpose of my visit. I’d simply said that some business and