At least these guys seemed focused on contacting his company and getting money. While he could understand their conversations, he would never let on that he could speak their language. He knew he’d learn more that way.
He soaked the towel again. The cold water was helping a little bit. He just hoped he could hold down the swelling. He finally shuffled back to the bed, lay down and listened to the TV blaring the sports scores.
He thought about Samantha and how the last time he had been on a bed, it had been with her. He thought about how he had held her and run his fingers through all that glorious hair. Damn. Not the time to be day dreaming, he told himself. He wished he could get his hands on his cell. He knew they had it in the other room, but he couldn’t get that far, couldn’t send a message to Samantha or Victor or Godfrey or anybody. He lay there and listened.
There was a commercial and then another newscast. This time the announcer said they had pictures of el presidente giving an important speech. He was returning to St. Anne’s Chapel to announce a new program of food coupons for the poor. There was some sort of religious festival going on in connection with the Christmas season, and the president was expecting a big crowd.
Tripp looked down at his hands and counted his fingers. Then he listened to the president’s speech. What else could he do?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WASHINGTON, D.C.–SUNDAY AFTERNOON
“What do you mean your people have no idea who these thugs are?” Godfrey bellowed into the phone. “You’ve got a driver and bodyguard murdered, two back-up security guards wounded, and Tripp Adams kidnapped for God’s sake. And you have no clue who took him? What kind of an operation are you running down there anyway?” Victor Aguilar was speaking on a secure line from GeoGlobal’s office in Caracas. “I know this is the worst possible thing, but I was almost killed myself. The men in the truck, they all had machine guns, there were two trucks and after the first one took Tripp away, the men in the other truck held me hostage all day. They must have wanted to be sure that the others got away safely before I had a chance to talk to anybody.”
Godfrey took a deep breath and softened his tone. “All right, Victor. I realize you went through hell. But didn’t you get a good look at the guys or at their truck? Have you called in the police or gotten in touch with the authorities down there?”
Victor hesitated. “That’s just it. We’re having a conference here. Everyone is in today, even on a Sunday, trying to figure out how to handle this. When I first met Tripp at the airport and we were driving back, there was a sign that said POLICE DETOUR, and there were men in police uniforms. That was the trap. Don’t you see? You can’t trust anybody in this city. We all know that. There have been other kidnappings down here. Not as many as FARC has pulled off in Colombia, but still there have been some. And, as you know, this happens all the time in Mexico. At last count there were maybe two dozen people, Americans, who have disappeared in Mexico and are presumably held for ransom.”
“I know that, and look what happens. Some are never heard from again. As for Venezuela, what’s happened most recently?” Godfrey pressed.
“Companies paid a ransom, and most of the people were returned. At least in this country. That’s not the case in Colombia, I’m afraid. And if FARC is involved here, we have a much bigger problem than finding money for a ransom. They’ve been known to keep people for years. Well, you know that.”
“Has anybody heard anything? Any contact? Any messages? Phone calls? Anything?”
“No, of course not or I would have told you right away. We are here in our conference room analyzing our best contacts. We’ve even brought in our negotiator.”
“Tripp’s the best negotiator GeoGlobal’s got. That’s why he flew down there.”
“I mean the insurance negotiator for our K and R.”
“You’ve got one of our top vice presidents being held by a bunch of crazy thugs who want we don’t know what, and you’re thinking about Kidnap and Ransom insurance? I don’t believe this,” Godfrey said.
“Down here it’s company policy. We have the insurance. They have a negotiator who deals with the gangs. They pay the ransom, or at least they try to negotiate a fair price, and we get people back. Hopefully in one piece.”
“So now you’re telling me you’re going to send some God-damned negotiator to deal with narco-terrorists or whoever they are to try and lower the asking price for Tripp’s life?” Godfrey almost yelled into the phone.
“Look, Godfrey, we’re with you. We know how you feel.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, we do. We’ve seen this happening down here. This country is full of lawlessness, payoffs, bribes, corruption. We’ve got the highest murder rate in South America. It wasn’t always this way, but under this crazy dictator, now it is. So we’re here figuring out who our best contacts in the underground might be, who we might be able to deal with, how we might learn something. Believe me, we’ve got our entire security team working on this.”
Godfrey leaned forward into the mouthpiece. “Okay, you do that. But I’m going to the State Department. I can’t just sit here while my boss, and I might add, my good friend, is being held by some gang of terrorists or hoodlums or drug dealers or …”
“Maybe State can help, but I doubt it. We’ve already contacted our embassy here. They’re scouring their sources as well. All I can say is that I will keep you completely informed of every development. Oh, and right now, we think it’s best to keep this under wraps. No publicity. We have to wait and see what they want. So, no press right now.”
Godfrey heaved a sigh and sat back in his desk chair, still holding the receiver to his ear. “Okay. Fine. You stay on it with your people. It’s just that this is such a horrible crime. This, in addition to everything else we’re dealing with up here.”
“We know. The gas line attacks. Is there anything new on that front?” Victor asked.
“No. I’m afraid not. Congress is up in arms, prices have gone crazy, and the Dow is in the tank. There’ll be hearings this week. That’s all we need right now.”
“I can imagine. Let us know every development. And in the meanwhile, we want you to know that we have staffed a war room down here with all of our best people. We’ll find him, Godfrey.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He hung up the phone and wished he had that kind of confidence in their South American operation. The fact was, he had no confidence at all. He checked a number on his computer and dialed the watch officer at the Department of State.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE WHITE HOUSE–MONDAY MORNING
Samantha pulled into her parking place on West Exec, took her purse and leather folder from the seat and headed to her office. She barely noticed the agent at the door, the two staffers huddled in the West Wing basement reception area studying a new set of presidential photos being hung on the walls, and she almost bumped into Ken Cosgrove as he was coming down the stairs.
“Oh, excuse me, Ken,” she said absentmindedly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“No problem, Samantha. Busy day today. Well, every day,” he said as he hurried on by. She hadn’t slept much last night. Just like all the other nights. She kept thinking about Tripp and wondering why he hadn’t been in touch with her. Even if his cell didn’t work in Caracas, he could at least have found a telephone.
When she had analyzed the entire previous week, a week of dinners, phone calls, and passionate nights, she wondered, was it all just too fast for him? Out of sight, out of mind and all of that? She was upset, depressed, and was beginning to question her own judgment. But wait. She had always been a good judge of people. People, bosses, co-workers. And that kind of talent didn’t suddenly evaporate when Tripp Adams waltzed into her life. No. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.
She walked past Joan Tillman’s desk and could barely manage a polite, “Good morning.”
“Hey, what’s up, Samantha? You look like you just lost your best friend or somethi
ng.”
“Funny you should mention,” Samantha said. “Maybe I have.”
“What do you mean? Say, want some coffee. We’ve got fresh.”
“Maybe. I mean, yes, that would be nice. Thanks.” She went into her cubicle of an office and tossed her coat on the rack. She slumped down in her chair, pulled out her cell and stared at it again. How many times had she done that in the last forty-eight hours hoping for some sort of word from Tripp? Ten times? Twenty? She had lost count long ago. Surely he could have had his own cell charged by how. Okay, so he was in meetings and yes, this was an important mission for GeoGlobal. But how long did it take to send a text? Or … was something really wrong? Maybe he was sick. Maybe he got food poisoning on the flight. Maybe …
“Here’s your coffee,” Joan said, handing Samantha a mug. “Now, want to talk about it?”
Samantha took a sip of the steaming brew. “Something’s wrong. I haven’t heard from Tripp since he left for Venezuela Friday night.”
Joan leaned against the door jam and cocked her head. “He’s probably in meetings. Didn’t you say he went down there because they were nationalizing GeoGlobal’s facilities? I mean, that’s pretty heavy stuff, you know. And it was a weekend. They probably had all kinds of things planned. You know, dinners, meetings with all the top people. Stuff like that.”
“No. It’s more than that. It has to be. I’m going to call his office.”
“You’re going to call GeoGlobal on a personal matter?” Jane asked, raising her eyebrows.
“I know what you’re thinking. But no, this isn’t just personal. I’ve got a feeling, and it’s not a very good feeling right now.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s only 7:30. I wonder what time those people get in?”
Joan shrugged. “Probably nine. I don’t think I’ve seen a K Street office open at dawn or burn the midnight oil like we do in this place.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll wait a while and then try to get hold of somebody who can tell me what’s going on.”
Samantha felt like a zombie as she sat through their usual morning staff meeting. Greg was now more focused on the pipeline issue. Well, thank God for small favors, she thought. They were sending more DHS people out to coordinate with local law enforcement in various states.
The president was scheduled for a major press conference and he wanted answers, wanted to be able to tell the American people that his administration was all over this issue and was taking steps to halt the steep rise in gas and oil prices.
Greg was droning on about wanting her shop to provide talking points on this issue because Greg would be going on Fox News right after the press conference to bolster whatever points the president was able to make. She knew he’d be asked about making up for the loss of natural gas by increasing our reliance on alternative fuels and especially emphasizing conservation. But with the economy and the population expanding, that never works.
Certain reporters would likely bring up hydroelectric and wind power. But she knew that all the good dam sites were already taken and still it only gave us about ten percent of our energy supply. As for wind, well, that’s completely unpredictable and last she heard, there was a shortage of windmills. She made some notes but couldn’t concentrate.
She checked her watch. She wanted this meeting to end. She wanted to call GeoGlobal.
“Joan, can you get GeoGlobal for me now? Get anybody in charge over there, would you please?”
“Sure thing.”
Samantha waited, tapping her fingers on the top of her desk. She had a stack of memos in front of her along with the president’s schedule and a summary of their inter-agency efforts on the pipelines. But at this very moment it had to take a backseat to her first concern. Tripp Adams. Where was he?
“I’ve got Godfrey Nims on line two,” Joan announced.
Samantha picked up. “Good morning, Mr. Nims. Samantha Reid here.”
“Yes, I’ve heard a lot about you, Ms. Reid.”
“Please, it’s Samantha. I wanted to give you a call because I haven’t heard from Tripp Adams.” She hesitated. She didn’t know how much this man knew about her relationship with Tripp. “I mean, you might have heard that we’ve been meeting about the pipeline explosions and all …”
“I know. Tripp told me. Look, Ms … uh … Samantha … I don’t know how to tell you this, but we have a situation down in Caracas …”
“A situation?” Samantha started to feel uneasy as she heard the tension in Godfrey’s voice.
“Yes. I don’t want to say too much on this line.”
“What is it?”
“Let’s just hope that it’s okay to communicate by phone here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Tripp has been taken?”
“Taken?” Samantha bolted upright in her chair. “What do you mean taken? Do you mean he’s been kidnapped? In Venezuela?” She felt her mouth go dry.
“That’s exactly what I mean. A gang of some sort ambushed his car on the way back from the airport, killed the driver and the security guard, took Tripp off in a truck somewhere, and our president, Victor Aguilar, was held hostage until yesterday. They finally let him go, and he made his way back to our headquarters in Caracas. They’ve got a war room set up, and they’re working with our Embassy down there.”
“But …”
“And I’ve already been in touch with our State Department.
I’m not sure how much they can do except to contact the Venezuelan government, and we all know that they’re not likely to give us much cooperation.”
Samantha was stunned. She was speechless and realized she was also terrified. She hesitated as Godfrey went on.
“I’m sorry to be telling you this. We don’t want any publicity on the situation which is why I’m reluctant to go into any more details over the phone. But considering your position over there, any help you could give us would be greatly appreciated. As I said, State is on it, but there’s only so much they can do.”
Samantha took a deep breath and asked, “Have you heard anything from the kidnappers? Any demands? Anything?”
“Nope. Not a word. But we’ve been through this drill before with some of our people in other countries. It usually takes a while until they figure out a way to contact us. But believe me, we’ve got our entire security force in Venezuela working on this.”
“My God! Let me think.” She reached over for her coffee mug and took a sip, trying to quiet her nerves. The coffee was cold, but she drank some anyway. “I’m going to talk to our people here and see what we can do on our end. Now, I want you to have my home number and my cell in case you hear anything. Anything at all.” She rattled off the information and wrote down his personal contact numbers as well.
“Thanks, Samantha. As you can imagine, with all that’s going on here in the states, to have this happen to one of our own vice presidents … to Tripp … he’s a good friend, you know … let me just say that all hell is breaking loose … all over the place.”
Samantha hung up the phone and put her head in her hands. Tripp. Why Tripp? What are they doing to him? Is he hurt? Where did they take him? What do they want? And who are these guys anyway? Is it just some petty street gang out for a few bucks? Or could they be part of some larger movement? I’ve got to find out. Got to get help. She reached for the phone again and dialed a number.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CARACAS–MONDAY MORNING
The club came down with such force that the student screamed out and blood began to soak his T-shirt. Five other students ran to help, but were held back by an entire phalanx of police armed with clubs and shields. The massive protest in the streets outside the Palacio de Miraflores was rapidly getting out of hand. Groups of students locked arms and chanted, “Elections, yes, el presidente, no.”
A dozen were quickly surrounded and herded into waiting police vans where a pair of officers waving their guns at another group advancing from the left, slammed the back door shut, got in
the front seat and roared off to the new prison at the outskirts of town.
Despite the arrests, the clubs and the guns, more and more students poured into the streets, singing and chanting. “They can’t take us all,” one shouted. “We want him out,” another yelled, waving his fist at the palace guards standing at attention by the entry. Police sirens wailed as three more vans crowded toward the front of the building, almost running over a young woman waving a sign that read, FRENTE RENOVADORA on one side and RENEWAL FRONT FOR FREEDOM on the other. More FR signs appeared, and a trio of cameramen recorded the scene, rushing for a close-up of blood running down the side of the face of another student who had been hit and was now being dragged away.
“Get the cameras out of there,” bellowed el presidente as he watched the chaos from his second floor window. His secretary raised troubled violet eyes and made a dash for the phone. “More police,” he yelled after her. “I want more police, more troops. I want all of this shut down. Now!”
The woman relayed his orders into the phone and rushed back to his side. “They say they already have the entire force that’s available either out there now or on its way.”
The president stared as he saw another hundred or so students crowding in from a side street. “Where do they all come from?”
“There is no school today, sir. A teacher’s holiday. You ordered time off for the teachers, remember?”
“Well, cancel it,” he barked. “And start organizing a counter rally of peasants who will show their support of all I am doing for them.” She once again went to her desk and made a call.
“And get me Rossi,” he yelled over his shoulder.
“I called him already. He was at his satellite office, but when he got word of the demonstration, he said he would come in. He should be here shortly. That is if he can get through the crowd.”
“He knows the back way,” the president muttered. “I don’t care if we fill up the entire new jailhouse. I want those students stopped. They say they want an election. Well, I have already announced an election. Right after Christmas. Are they satisfied? No. After this display, if we keep them locked up, they won’t be able to vote. So there goes their precious election. Our people will vote, and they’ll see our candidates will be elected once more for another term. Then we will continue to carry out the people’s business.”
Final Finesse Page 15