safety payment?”
“I’ve seen it before,” said Alex. “Especially when a prisoner violates a rule or gets in some kind of trouble. From the looks of that gash on the side of Matthew’s head, he’s probably been more trouble than his kidnappers bargained for.”
“This is absurd,” I said. “They expect us to hand over a quarter million dollars for nothing?”
“It’s not for nothing,” said Alex. “They’ll kill him if you don’t.”
My mother looked at me, her face etched in fear. “What do we do?”
The room was spinning, I was so upset. I went to the window and looked out at the yard. “What choice do we have?” I said quietly.
47
Sunday came too soon. Even with my father’s life hanging in the balance, pulling together a quarter million dollars had proven more difficult than expected.
My parents had poured their life savings into the seafood company, and with my suspicion of Guillermo still running high, he was the last person I wanted to be beholden to for money. I considered trying to borrow against the insurance policy, but Quality’s allegations of fraud made that worthless as collateral. I ended up taking a second mortgage on my house in the Grove. J. C. gave me ten thousand of his own money-a true lifelong pal-and Jenna loaned me another thirty. Cash advances from credit cards filled in another nineteen. Financially speaking, I was about as liquid as dried cement.
And we were still fifty thousand dollars short.
Physically getting all that cash out of the country was a logistical and legal problem in itself. The money was wired to a Colombian bank, which by law could give us only pesos. Alex had “sources” in Bogota who could change the pesos back into dollars. I didn’t ask how it would work. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“Was it this cold the last time?” I asked.
It was almost 5:00 A.M. Alex and I were huddled at the same picnic table that we’d used for the last shortwave communication with the kidnappers, behind the old church atop Monserrate. It was damp but not raining, though the fog was so thick I couldn’t even see the city lights of Bogota nearly six hundred meters below us.
“It was even colder. You just don’t remember.”
She was probably right. Who could blame me for having blocked that experience out of my mind?
I paced for nearly twenty minutes. Last time we’d spotted a half dozen sightseers at this same hour. This morning offered no views, however, and the hikers had stayed home. The observation deck near the old church was empty, itself nearly invisible in the fog. Even the moon and stars found the blanket of fog impenetrable. Flashlights were our only source of light.
The shortwave radio rested on the picnic table, emitting only static and garbled noises. Alex listened for any signs of reception. Finally a hint of dawn filtered through the clouds, just enough to make the floating mist glisten. The faint light of morning gave the fog an eerie density, slowly changing the mountaintop from a black, claustrophobic place to a swirling, mystical setting within the clouds.
It was sunrise, and as if on cue, the radio crackled. The familiar voice was back, the man who called himself “Joaquin.”
“Good morning, Rey family,” he said in Spanish. “Are you there, Alex?”
She grabbed the microphone. “We’re here. Go ahead.”
“You received my tape, no?”
“Yes. Very nice work. I think there’s a future in music videos for you.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I have the son here with me. His Spanish is good, but he wants to be sure he doesn’t miss anything. So if you want your money, we’re going to do this in English this time.”
“Very well,” he said, switching to English. “But I hope you are as cooperative as I am. Do you have the money?”
“It’s in the city.”
“Don’t give me that,” he said harshly. “The videotape was very clear. It must be paid today.”
“You didn’t expect us to bring it all the way here, did you?”
“I warned you, no more delays.”
“Don’t sweat it. You can have it today. A hundred thousand dollars.”
“A hundred? I said two-fifty!”
My heart was in my throat. I knew we were going to have to do a little horse trading when I’d come up fifty thousand dollars short on his original demand, but the simple fact was, we weren’t talking about horses.
“This is not a wealthy family,” said Alex. “We have a hundred thousand dollars, and we had to scrape to get it. Come on, Joaquin. You’re a smart guy. You know as well as I do that nobody pays two-fifty for a mere guarantee of safety.”
He didn’t answer right away. Alex and I exchanged anxious glances, and I wondered if her counteroffer of a hundred grand was pushing too hard, with double that in our war chest. The silence was insufferable; at this juncture even the slightest pause made my stomach flop. Finally the radio crackled with a response.
“Go to Hotel Los Andes on Carrera Seis. One block over from Plaza de Bolivar.”
I could breathe again. Alex gave me a thumbs-up, then spoke into the microphone. “That’s in La Candelaria, no? Lots of inexpensive hotels in that area.”
“Correct. This one is small and has no private baths. There’s a shared bath in back, right next to the rear entrance to the restaurant. At three o’clock take the money into the men’s room. Enter the third stall and check behind the toilet. You’ll find a note that tells you what to do. Is that clear?”
“Yes, clear.”
“That’s all for now, then.”
“Hold on,” said Alex. “We need something in return.”
“You’re getting plenty. The prisoner’s safety is guaranteed.”
“We need a date. When will he be released?”
“He’s not being released for anywhere near a hundred thousand dollars.”
“
He laughed. “Alex,
“I told you before, we aren’t going to pay three million.”
“You’ll pay,” he said, losing his chuckle. “Unless the widow prefers to have her husband’s heart hand- delivered in a plastic bag.”
“Don’t threaten us.”
“Then don’t con me,” he said angrily. “I’m letting you off cheap here, but the ransom is firm. We know he has insurance. It’s three million dollars, not a penny less.”
A sick feeling washed over me. We’d suspected that they knew, but this was the first time he’d come right out and said it.
“It’s not as clear-cut as you think,” said Alex.
“It is for me. The final exchange will be very soon. The details will be in the note you pick up this afternoon. That’s all I have to say.”
“Wait, one more thing. We need proof that he’s alive.”
“We just sent you a video.”
“We want proof he’s alive
“
“Put the proof in the note that you leave in the bathroom.”
“What proof?”
“We want a proof-of-life question answered.”
He groaned, then said, “All right, what is it?”
“Just one second.” She looked at me and asked, “You know any secrets about your dad?”
