Chip was going through a similar experience, although he was in a different group of prisoners than Eric. Chip could tell that Michael was the person behind him as they marched through the forest because he would land on him every time they fell.
“Just follow my lead,” Chip said. “We’ll get through this.” He didn’t get a response from Michael. He helped Michael to his feet several times after they had fallen. Chip could also tell that it was a woman in front of him in their group, but he had no idea who she was.
“Pare de andar!” came the yell as they moved into what seemed to be a clearing. They came to an abrupt stop as someone pulled on the rope sending them all tumbling to the ground. As he lay on the ground, Eric could feel the ropes around his hands being untied. He was dragged to his feet and pushed forward. When the hood over his head was removed, he saw three men with bandanas over their faces. They waved their rifles as they directed him to move forward toward a large canopy that was surrounded with barbed wire.
When Chip’s group of prisoners were halted, Maria was the first to have her hood removed. “Don’t try to fight them,” Maria whispered to Chip. “They have guns and they will shoot you.”
Chip’s hood was removed next, followed by Michael’s. Michael seemed completely disoriented and looked like he was going to fall down. As he swayed from side to side, he leaned into Chip who supported him with his shoulder to keep him on his feet.
When Greg’s hood was removed, he panicked when he saw the masked men with their rifles. He started to make a run for it, not realizing that he was still tied to the rest of the prisoners in his group. As he started to run, he sent the rest of them flying to the ground. Chip let out a piercing yell as he dragged into the barbed wire fence, slicing his leg open in the process.
Although he couldn’t see him, Eric recognized his brother’s voice immediately. “Chip!” Eric yelled. Once again, he was hit across the side of the head with the butt end of a rifle. This time, he was knocked out cold.
*** Chapter 1 3 ***
“Are you okay?” Maria asked Eric as she cradled his head. “You were out for quite a while.”
Eric tried to get up, but the pain and dizziness in his head quickly told him it was too soon for that. “Where’s my brother?”
“I don’t know,” Maria said. “There’s a bunch of us being held here, but I don’t know which one is your brother.”
Eric tried to get up again and this time he fought through the pain and dizziness until he was up on his feet. They were being held under what looked like a huge tent and it felt like it was about a thousand degrees under the tarp. There were bodies strewn everywhere, but Eric quickly focused in on his brother.
“Chip,” he yelled as he staggered over to him. When he got to him, Eric could see that Chip was in even worse shape than he was. He was awake, but Eric could see a huge gash in his leg and he had lost a lot of blood.
“We need some water and a doctor!” Eric yelled as he headed toward one of the gunmen.
He was greeted with a rifle pointed straight at his head. “Pare ali mesmo ou eu vou filmar você!” yelled the gunman.
“He needs a doctor,” Eric pleaded. Eric heard the rifle being cocked.
Maria grabbed Eric’s arm and pulled him back from the gunman. “He’s going to kill you if you don’t back off.”
“But I can’t just let my brother die,” Eric pleaded.
Maria slowly walked toward the guard. “Por favor, precisamos de alguma água para limpar sua ferida e precisamos de um médico ou outra coisa, ele vai morrer. Por favor.”
The gunman stared at Maria, then turned to one of the other gunmen and yelled. “Dê-lhes um pouco de água.”
A few minutes later, two of the guards appeared carrying a large bucket of water which they placed in the middle of the complex. Maria tore a strip off of the bottom of her dress, dipped it in the water and took it over to Eric who started to clean the huge gash in Chip’s leg. Chip moaned every time Eric touched him, but it had to be done. After the wound had been cleaned, it looked a lot better but Eric was pretty sure it was infected.
Eric and Maria surveyed the rest of the prisoners. It felt like they were in a MASH unit, doing triage on wounded soldiers. When Maria saw Greg, she found him huddled on the ground almost in a fetal position. “Greg, are you okay?” she asked.
“Just leave me alone,” Greg said as he turned away from her. “Are these guys friends of yours? Is that why you lured me onto the tour bus?” Maria didn’t know how to respond.
“Maria,” someone called from behind her. She turned to see that it was Sylvia Girard. “Can you help us?” she asked. Maria could see that Mr. Girard wasn’t in very good shape at all. He was holding his arm as if he had a separated shoulder and he looked like he was in a lot of pain.
“I’m okay,” he said bravely. “I guess I shouldn’t have tried to fight them off, but they were hurting Sylvia.” Sylvia was holding onto her husband for dear life.
“I’m sure we’ll all be okay,” Maria said to them. Mr. Girard smiled at Maria. He knew that Maria was just telling his wife what she wanted, maybe needed, to hear.
As Eric walked around the camp, he saw a German couple and the two guys from Australia that had been on the tour. They all had numerous cuts and bruises on them from their trek through the forest, but appeared to be in pretty good shape. He also saw four Japanese men huddled together. They were all removing their watches and other jewelry and burying them in a small hole they had dug in the ground. “These guys are interested in more than your jewelry,” Eric thought to himself.
“Michael, are you alright?” Eric asked when he found Michael on the ground, leaning up against one of the poles that held up the tent. He didn’t get a response. Eric knelt down beside him. He didn’t have any obvious injuries, but his eyes were glazed over. Eric was pretty sure he was in shock.
“I think everyone who was on the tour bus is here, with the exception of the bus driver and the tour guide,” Maria said to Eric. They had all seen the bus driver get shot, but had no idea what had happened to the tour guide. “Everybody here is injured and a few of them are in shock, but I think most will be okay.” She paused before continuing. “Except for your brother.”
“We’ve got to get him a doctor,” Eric said as he started over toward the gunmen.
“Let me,” Maria said, pulling him back.
She walked slowly toward the gunmen with her hands held up to her side. “Por quanto tempo você está indo para nos manter aqui?”
“Você vai ser lançado quando nós receber o nosso dinheiro!,” replied one of the gunmen.
“Assim você não vai conseguir algum dinheiro para um homem morto,” Maria said. “Ele precisa de um médico.”
“I don’t speak Spanish,” Eric said when she returned. “What did they say?”
“It’s not Spanish, it’s Portuguese,” Maria said. “I asked them when we would be released and they said we would be released when they get their money. They’re obviously holding us for ransom. I told them they won’t get any ransom money for a dead man and that your brother needs a doctor.”
About two hours later, one of the guards arrived with a first aid kit and threw it in Maria’s direction. It was a small plastic box that had the logo of the tour company on the top. The guard had obviously retrieved it from the tour bus. Maria opened the kit, but quickly realized it contained only basic materials. Still, it was better than nothing.
She found a small bottle of alcohol in the kit. “I’m going to need your help,” Maria said to Eric. “This is going to hurt like hell so you’re going to have to hold him still.”
Chip was only half conscious, which was probably a good thing considering what she was about to do. She quickly poured the alcohol onto the open wound and Chip let out an enormous scream. Eric tried to hold his brother still and Maria held onto his wounded leg so he couldn’t do any more damage to it. Chip passed out within a few seconds due to the pain.
Maria carefully
wrapped Chip’s leg in some gauze she found in the first aid kit, pulling it tightly to try to close the wound. “That’s about all I can do,” she said to Eric. “He really needs stitches.”
Maria then went to the other prisoners and applied whatever first aid she could. It wasn’t very long until all of the supplies in the first aid kit were gone. She came back and sat beside Eric, who was standing vigil beside his brother. The rest of the prisoners were now sleeping. It was now almost completely dark which in some ways was a blessing because it reduced the temperature from being impossibly hot to just unbearably hot. The only light came from a camping lantern the guards had.
“Are you a nurse?” Eric whispered to Maria.
“No. I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but never a nurse,” Maria whispered back.
“Well you did a great job treating everyone’s wounds. Where did you learn to do that?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Well, you’ve obviously seen some medical procedures done before. Was your father or your mother a doctor?”
Maria laughed. She wasn’t sure how much information to share with Eric. But then she thought she probably wasn’t going to make it out of this situation alive anyway, so what the hell.
“I’m a fraud,” Maria confessed. “I’m not rich like the rest of you or come from a rich family. I snuck onto the tour bus. I live in the favela, the one the tour bus drove by today. My father was a drug dealer and a gang leader, or was until he was killed. My mother now runs the business. I’ve seen my share of people stitched up after being stabbed or shot. People don’t go to the hospital where I come from, the surgery takes place right on the kitchen table.”
Eric didn’t know how to respond. “Well you probably saved some lives here today,” he finally said. “I know you saved mine. I’m pretty sure they would have shot me if you hadn’t intervened.”
“Yeah, well I wouldn’t say I saved your life just yet. I may have just delayed the execution.”
*** Chapter 1 4 ***
Brian had just boarded the airplane in Houston for the second leg of his journey back to Toronto. He was extremely tired as once again he had failed to get much sleep on the long overnight flight from Rio de Janeiro to Houston. To make matters worse, the Houston airport was bustling with activity and he hadn’t found a quiet place to rest while waiting for the connecting flight. For some reason, he had an uneasy feeling that he couldn’t seem to shake.
“Attention passengers,” announced the stewardess from the front of the plane. “If passenger Brian Baxter is on board, could he kindly identify himself to one of the attendants by pressing the call button.”
Brian gave a heavy sigh. “Great,” he thought to himself, “they’re going to tell me that they lost my luggage on the flight from Rio to Houston.” He raised his hand and pressed the button and the stewardess smiled and came toward him.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Baxter, but could you follow me to the front of the plane?” she asked politely.
“What’s this about?” Brian asked.
“Just follow me,” she said, “and we’ll explain everything when we get to the front. Please bring your carry-on baggage.”
Brian grabbed his carry-on bag from the overhead bin and followed her to the front. Several passengers looked at him suspiciously as he made his way up the aisle. He could tell they were wondering if he was some kind of a criminal who had just been caught trying to sneak out of the country.
When he reached the front of the plane, he found two men in suits waiting for him.
“Mr. Baxter, Mr. Brian Baxter?” one of the men asked.
“Yes, I’m Brian Baxter. What is this about?”
“There’s been an incident. Please come with us and we’ll explain.”
Brian followed the two men down the passenger walkway from the plane back towards the terminal. When they reached the terminal, the two men steered Brian off to the side. “I’m Detective Gosling and this is Detective Westbrook. We’re with the FBI. We’ve been advised that there has been an incident in Brazil concerning your sons. We’ve been asked to bring you to FBI headquarters in Houston so you can be apprised of all of the details.”
Brian’s heart stopped. “Have they been in an accident? Are they hurt?”
“I’m sorry sir,” Detective Gosling said. “We don’t know any of the details, but it will all be explained to you at FBI headquarters. Is this all of your luggage?” The detectives had already arranged to have his luggage pulled from the plane.
“Yes, I think so,” Brian said. He could hardly catch his breath as he imagined all of the worst scenarios. The officers led Brian out of the airport terminal to where their car was waiting. The car quickly weaved its way through traffic and pulled into the basement parking garage of a large building. As soon as the car stopped, his car door was opened by another agent who escorted him into the elevator and up to the eighth floor. Brian was led into a large room with multiple big-screen TV monitors on the wall, several computers scattered on three large tables and a multitude of telephones.
“Mr. Baxter,” said one of the men who was waiting in the room. “I’m Detective Steve Mitchell. I’m the lead agent on this case and this is Detective Ryan Johnson who is second in command. If you’ll join the others, we’ll explain the situation.”
Detective Mitchell appeared to be middle-aged or older, based on the bald spot on the top of his head that looked like it had been there for several years. The stress of working for the FBI for over twenty years was shown by the worry lines around his eyes. Detective Johnson was quite a bit younger and his baby-faced complexion indicated he was relatively new to this line of work.
Brian sat down at one of the tables and saw several other people sitting at the tables around the room. One of the ladies at the next table was crying and her husband was trying to console her. The others just looked in shock.
Suddenly another man burst into the room. “I’m General William Davis,” the man said. “Who’s in charge here?”
Detective Mitchell headed over to speak to him. “I’m Detective Steve Mitchell. I’m heading up this case.”
“I’ve been advised that my kids have been kidnapped in Brazil,” the General said. “What are you doing to get them back safely?” Suddenly, Brian had a sickening feeling as to why he was sitting in this room with all of the others.
The detective looked a little intimidated by the General, but steeled himself. “Please sir, if you could join the others, we’ll explain everything.” The General paused, then stepped back a few paces to the side. It was obvious he was not going to just sit down with the others. He looked ready to take over the situation if he didn’t like what he heard.
Detective Mitchell began his update on the situation. “At approximately 3:00 p.m. yesterday, a tour bus carrying your loved ones and members of your family was intercepted by persons unknown and taken deep into the rainforest in Brazil. About four hours ago, we received notification that they are demanding a ransom of $1 million for the release of each of the victims to be paid by midnight on Saturday, just under seven days from now.”
There was a deadly silence, as if all of the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Finally, one of the men asked in a quivering voice. “Do we know if they are still alive?”
“We believe so,” said Detective Mitchell, “but we’ve asked for proof of life for each and every person.”
“Do you know who the kidnappers are?” someone else asked.
“We believe the kidnappers are members of a group who have staged several similar kidnappings in Brazil over the last few years. The Brazilian police are continuing to investigate. Since this is an international incident involving people from several different countries, there are multiple police agencies involved. The FBI is coordinating activities with the RCMP in North America and we’re in continuous communications with other police forces around the world so we have a consistent approach. At this point, we believe we have victims from the Uni
ted States, Canada, Germany, Japan and Australia.”
“Are you recommending that we pay the ransom?” Brian asked.
“At this point, we are not recommending any payment of a ransom because we have no proof of life. If and when we obtain proof of life, it is the policy of the Brazilian government, the United States and the FBI that ransoms not be paid, but the final decision will be left up to each individual.”
“If a ransom is paid, who do we pay it to?” someone asked.
“They haven’t provided those details yet. Any payment of a ransom should be coordinated through us, or through the respective police force. In similar incidents in the past, the money is transferred to a foreign account which is only active for a short period of time. The funds are normally withdrawn quite quickly after they are transferred which limits our ability to recover or trace the funds.”
“What do you think the chances are of them being rescued before the deadline?” Brian asked.
“We can’t say for sure,” Detective Mitchell said. “We don’t have jurisdiction so we are somewhat dependent on the Brazilian police. But we are providing them with whatever assistance we can.”
Detective Mitchell paused to see if there were any more questions. “Thank you for your attention,” he said to the people in the room. “We’ll provide you with any updates as soon as we receive them.”
“Well, I’m not going to wait for the fucking Brazilian police,” General Davis said as he started to leave the room.
“Please General, we do not have jurisdiction in Brazil,” Detective Mitchell said, trying to reason with him.
“I don’t care about jurisdiction. I’m going to get my kids back,” General Davis said as he stormed by him.
The lady who had been sobbing before was now into a full-scale wail and was rocking back and forth in her chair. Her husband was desperately trying to comfort her.
The Legacy Page 7