Kidnapped and a Daring Escape

by Gian Bordin

  Some time later, the third man goes back to the middle house. Could he be the guard and their hostage be held there?

  A nagging feeling in his stomach prompts André to eat a row of chocolate and two dried figs. Although he is tempted to have more, he reminds himself that this may be the only food he and Bianca may have to share for their lunches. The water in the trough makes him wish to have a drink too.

  Late afternoon he sees the dogs raise their heads, all alert. One gets up and both look down the track. The reason becomes clear shortly. ‘Le premier’ and another man are carrying a body on an improvised stretcher. The two dogs trail after them. They set the stretcher down near the trough. Both men take a long drink and splatter their faces. The dogs sniff around the body. Shouting, ‘le premier’ shoes them away and then goes into the house through the kitchen. A minute or two later, he comes out again, this time accompanied by ‘le vilain’ and the one André saw with him at noon. They bend over the body. ‘Le vilain’ checks the man’s pockets. The only item he finds is the wallet. He clearly seems upset and gesticulates wildly. The occasional indistinct word drifts up. André would have liked to hear what they say. Do they suspect that he got away alive? They might see the empty pockets of the dead man and the missing pack and AK47 as suspicious. Leaving everything with the dead man would have allayed that. They might then have assumed that his own body was swept away by the river. However, regrets now don’t change a thing, and he needed both the pack and the weapon. He had no choice but to take them.

  The four stand around the body, talking, after a while joined by ‘la bonne’ and the man in the middle house. So his count was right. There are six of them. ‘Le premier’ fetches a shovel and starts to dig a grave a bit below the houses. The guy who accompanied him takes over after a few minutes and they alternate. They wrap the body in a tattered blanket and lower him into the hole. Then all six men form a circle around the grave, heads lowered, hands held in prayer, while ‘le vilain’ speaks. When he is finished, each crosses himself. ‘Le vilain’ and ‘la bonne’ leave for the main house. Another returns to the middle house — again André wonders whether he is Bianca’s guard. Two go to the third house, leaving ‘le premier’ alone at the grave. He shovels the earth back in and then remains there for several minutes longer, crossing himself at the end. He too ambles to the third house. It seems to be the one occupied by the ‘foot soldiers’, André guesses.

  The goat finally makes an appearance. It is grazing close to the grave, a rope around the neck, attached to the closest derelict house.

  The sun has disappeared behind the mountains to the west, when André finally gets confirmation as to where Bianca is kept. ‘La bonne’ carries a steaming bowl and a cup of liquid to the middle house. At the steps, he picks up the bucket. The bucket for Bianca to relieve herself, André figures. Watching the small windows for movement, he sees somebody go past the first. Half a minute later the movement is in the other direction, and ‘la bonne’ comes out again, empty-handed. The light is fading when he returns half an hour later. André observes the same short movements behind the window, before the young man comes out again with the empty bowl and cup. There is no more doubt that Bianca is being held in the back room of that house. Its little window is too high up for him to reach and is probably nailed shut. The front is the only way in.

  The two dogs have positioned themselves near the wooden gate of the yard behind the kitchen, looking expectantly to its door. A short time later they are rewarded. ‘La bonne’ brings out two bowls. Dry dog food? André wonders. It makes sense. It is lighter to carry in and what meat is available is most likely reserved for the humans. One of the dogs finishes quickly and, after licking his bowl, approaches the other, but is promptly chased away by a vicious snarl. He goes back to licking his own bowl some more. When the other dog starts wandering down the track, the first licks that one’s bowl clean before finally returning to their resting place.

  Lights switch on, first in the kitchen and the front room of the main house, then in the third house, but none in the middle one. Shortly afterward, everybody assembles again at the big house. It is time for dinner. André eats a couple of figs and then slowly savors another two squares of the rather rough chocolate, wishing it was good Swiss one. Still hungry, he knows that he will have to remain here for quite a while longer to observe what happens at night.

  The moon is out when four of the men leave the big house, one entering the middle one but not the same as during the day, the other three going to the last house, the dogs trailing behind them. They again stretch out where André saw them when he arrived. So they are in fact left to roam outside. A second light appears in the window next to the front room of the big house. A bedroom? he wonders. A few minutes later the lights go out one by one. It is time to make his way back to his own hideaway, have a hot meal and drink, and figure out how to free Bianca.

  While lying on a patch of soft grass, protected by the plastic sheet hung over the rope strung between two trees, he reviews in his mind the observations he made. If he finds a means to neutralize the dogs, he is confident that he would be able to enter the middle house, overwhelm the possibly sleeping guard without causing any noise, get Bianca out and then flee with her. The kidnappers would expect them to try to return to San Agustin. To fool them, he would leave in the opposite direction, go deeper into the mountains and over into the Caqueta valley. But everything hinges on him being able to neutralize the dogs or else their barking will wake the whole camp. The obvious ploy is to feed them meaty bones. That would occupy them. Maybe he can kill an animal, but he hasn’t seen any rabbits or one of the Andean tapirs or a spectacled bear. From what he read, the former prefer the high grasslands, the latter the warmer jungle forests. A hawk or two might do, but again he can hardly shoot them with his AK47. Not only would it be difficult to hit a soaring bird with this clumsy and inaccurate weapon, but the report of shots might easily be heard up in the settlement. The goat tethered on the terrace is the only readily available source of meat. The problem of how to get it to the dogs without them raising the alarm though still remains. He racks his brain in vain for a solution until sleep carries him away.

  At dawn next day, he knows the perfect solution — the dead man’s spare clothing. The lingering smell in them and the pack itself should fool the dogs into mistaking him for Rinaldo. At least he hopes this to be the case. He quickly rises and puts his nose into the garments. There is still a strong smell. He wraps them inside the plastic sheet to conserve it.

  "I have an important date tonight," he murmurs to himself, smiling. He will try to catch another fish in the river and rest much of the day in preparation for the coming night’s work.

  5

  It seems to Bianca that by the third day at the camp her life in captivity has already settled into a routine. With the first rays of the sun, the young man brings her a cup of water and a bowl of hot corn mash. While she is eating, he returns with a plastic pail of water for washing. Half an hour later, he comes back once more, pours the water from the pail into the bucket of night soil, and takes everything away. She spends the first hour or so of the morning sitting or standing in the sun, shifting position with the rays, until it rises too high into the sky to reach the window. Then she does her walking exercise — a thousand times diagonally between two corners of the room, roughly three miles. The time that passes seems more important than the exercise itself. In the afternoon she rests on the mattress, her thoughts invariably circling about what is going to happen, how long she will be incarcerated like this, fighting the anguish that is always hovering to swamp her mind. She takes refuge in daydreaming. She misses not getting any lunch and by the time the bowl of beans arrives in the evening, together with the rinsed out bucket, she is ravenous. Then she lies down again, trying to find sleep that refuses to come.

  * * *

  The sun is disappearing behind the steep slopes to the west of André’s hideaway. Its last dying rays have almost dried his skin. He
hopes the vigorous wash with soap will temporarily reduce his own body odor. After lunch, he even washed his underpants and socks and let them dry in the sun — anything to disguise his scent. He struggles into the dirty shirt, pullover, and pants of the dead man. The garments are far too small for his tall frame. They are restrictive and feel unpleasant. Even he can smell the rancid odor of the previous owner. After tying his boots he puts on the man’s camouflage parka and stuffs the dirty socks and underwear into its sleeves. The man’s bandanna and gloves he will only put on once he is in position near the camp. His own outer clothing, wrapped in the plastic sheet, is inside the pack.

  Within half an hour, the short dusk will plunge the area into deep darkness with only the night sky as a guide, provided clouds do not obscure even that source of light. The moon will only rise well after dark, lighting the way in time for fleeing with Bianca, if everything goes to plan.

  "It’s time to move," he tells himself. It will be easier to get close to the hamlet while he has still sufficient visibility. He counts on none of the six men venturing away from their hideout this late in the day.

  A quarter hour later, he reaches the place from where he can see the houses. Dusk is falling quickly. Scanning the area systematically, he gets a glimpse of the two dogs lying in front of the closest unoccupied house. Suddenly, one rises, looking in his direction. For a moment André is afraid that he might have become aware of him. But then the animal stretches, yawns, and meanders up the path through the houses, disappearing from view. The other follows him. Dinnertime, flashes through his mind. They will be occupied for the next ten minutes or so. He counted on this. It will make it easier for him to get close to the houses.

  Just before the last bend in the path some forty yards from the closest house, he hides in the undergrowth and makes himself comfortable. He knows that he will be in for a wait of several hours until the six men complete their evening ritual and turn in. A short time later, the dogs trot back to their resting place. They look around, sniffing the air, but then lie down again. A good sign, he figures. Whatever they smell does not alarm them.

  Weak lights appear in the big house and the one occupied by the foot soldiers. A bit later, three guys come out and walk up the path to the big house. One of them briefly enters into the middle house, the one he figures Bianca is locked in. A fourth man follows him out. Dinnertime. Last night, it took them almost two hours before they were finished.

  André’s plan is to wait until everybody is asleep, before throwing the goat to the dogs. While they are occupied, he is going to overpower the guard by rendering him temporarily unconscious, gag and tie him up, and then flee with Bianca. For a moment he is tempted to take advantage of the guard’s absence and free her right away, but then discards the idea. Coming away from dinner, the men are likely to see and possibly hear the dogs ripping into the goat. They would suspect foul play and check on their hostage. It would not give Bianca and him a sufficient head start. It is better to stick to the original plan. But he might as well find out if the dogs will mistake him for the dead man. If they don’t, he will have no choice but to kill them and hope that in the resulting shoot out with the six men, he will come out on top. Having them all together in the big house is to his advantage. If he plays it right, he might be able to take out several as they come rushing from the big house. He keeps his fingers crossed that the AK47 will function properly.

  The very thought of ending up killing several men provokes a nauseating feeling in his guts. He fervently hopes that it does not have to come to that, but he also knows that if the dogs attack, he will not hesitate to do whatever is needed to get Bianca away safely. None of these men would hesitate to kill him and Bianca, he reminds himself.

  He wraps the bandanna around his face. The thick material will then filter his breath. He pulls the smelly socks partially from his sleeves and dons the dead man’s woolen gloves. Holding the AK47 firmly to his torso under the right arm, his hand on the trigger, he walks noiselessly the short distance to the first house. Both dogs rise, one growling. He senses that the growl is uncertain, confused. When he is about fifteen feet away, one issues a low bark. André now stretches his left gloved hand in which he has the dead man’s dirty underpants toward the pair, holding his breath, willing them to come and sniff, his heart pounding madly. Both approach, briefly sniffing, their tails wagging. He scratches each at the neck and then walks past them. One follows for a few steps. He motions with his left hand for the dog to go back. The animal continues to wag the tail, but then joins the other and both lie down again.

  So far, so good. The goat is next. Earlier, while he waited, he heard the occasional bleating from the grassy area below the houses. At first, he cannot spot the animal in the darkness. Yesterday, it was on a long rope fixed to the far corner of unoccupied house below the big one. He finds the rope, follows it, and almost stumbles over the animal, which has sought shelter in the open space underneath the house.

  The perky goat rises and snatches the underpants from his left hand. He puts down the pack and gun. He hates what he now has to do. While the animal eagerly chews on the cloth, he straddles it, takes a good hold of its horns, and then sharply twists it head. The snapping of vertebrae sends a shiver up his spine. The animal goes limp without a sound. He undoes the rope and slips it off.

  Sitting below the far corner where he can see the big house, he resigns himself to another long wait for the men to finish their dinner, the AK47 ready. After what must be more than an hour, he hears laughter. Three people come out of the big house. He flits noiselessly to the other corner to check where they are going. One of the dogs stands on the path, looking down between the two derelict houses. Has he spotted me? André wonders. As the three men walk past, the dog starts down toward him. For a split second, he is in a quandary of what to do. He does not want the dog near him or the dead goat. One of the men might also come down to investigate what attracts the dog.

  Next, he hears a loud call: "Brutus, come here."

  One of the men reappears at the top of the path. He calls again. The dog stops halfway down, looking up to the caller.

  "Brutus, here!"

  The dog hesitates and then scampers farther down. André retreats just inside the dark shadow of the open space underneath the house. His concern is not so much the dog — he was friendly before — but the man. If he is discovered now, it will scuttle all his plans. Even if he gets away, it will make further rescue attempts almost impossible. Hence, should the man follow the dog, he has to overpower him silently before he can raise the alarm — much more difficult to do in the dark.

  The dog, a black silhouette, appears at the open space, barely three feet away.

  "Brutus, here!" comes the renewed call from the man, while at the same time André hears footsteps pounding down from the path.

  The dogs stops, sniffs the air, and then turns his head toward André — he has my scent, he realizes. Before the dog can move, a hand grabs him by the collar, followed by the black shadow of the man. André tenses, ready to jump and grab the man by the throat.

  "After the goat, are you, you scoundrel," the man chuckles, and drags the dog away. André hears the noise of boots scrambling up the steep path. He sends a silent thank-you. But this close encounter tells him something more, namely that these people feel so secure in their hideout that they have become careless. They aren’t even watching the signals given by the dogs.

  Since all three men went past the middle house, none of those is on duty tonight, he concludes. The guard must still be in the big house. He quickly returns to the far corner from where he has a clear view toward it.

  A few minutes later, the fourth comes out, but leaves the door open, its light illuminating the steps up to the house. He intends to go back in again, figures André. That is different from the night before. Why? Again he moves back to the other corner and watches the man enter the middle house. A minute or two later he reappears, holding Bianca by an elbow, his flashlight fixed on the stair
. He guides her down the steps and then pulls her up the path. What’s going on? He pushes her up the stair into the big house, closes the door, and returns to the middle house.

  Trouble, flashes through André’s mind. No time to lose!

  * * *

  Loud footsteps startle Bianca from a state of half-slumber. She sits up, her heart pounding. What’s going on? She hears the scraping of the bolt. The door opens and the sharp beam of a flashlight blinds her. She blinks, trying to avoid the painful glare.

  "Get up, señorita. Put on your boots. Quick! El commandante wants to talk to you," a rough voice orders.

  It takes her a moment to recognize that it is not the young man who has brought her food up to now, but a man she has never seen. It raises her apprehension. What does el commandante want from her? She rises, adjusts her clothing, and slips into her boots. Her hands are shaking.

  The man grabs her elbow firmly and drags her out. In the front room, she sees another mattress. For a guard, she questions silently? He leads her up the path toward the light that issues from an open door of another house. He pushes her up the stair into a sizable room. The door closes behind her. The man, she recognizes as the leader, sits at a big table that dominates the space. A single kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling above the table barely lights the room. They are alone. He is holding a glass with a dark liquid in it while looking her up and down. It feels like being undressed. An empty glass and a bottle are on the table in front of him. She remains by the door, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to expect next.

  " Señorita, come sit with me and share a glass of wine. I want to talk to you." He points to the chair next to his, trying to smile, but it turns into a leer, his eyes coming to rest on her breasts.

  She notices that in contrast to previous times he talks slowly, pronouncing every word carefully. She has no trouble understanding him. She is also keenly aware that she is completely at his mercy. It only fuels her anxiety about what he may want from her. There is no way to refuse, and she sits as ordered.