“Wait? And do nothing? Are you serious? They’re going to kill him. We need to do something now. Every minute counts.” He turned to Noah. “Isn’t that what they always say with kidnappings? Every minute counts?”
How could I tell him? “Chris, you don’t understand. With a kidnapping—”
“Oh, I understand.” He threw up his hands. “You’d move a mountain to save a squirrel, but you won’t go after my boyfriend. I can’t believe this.”
He stomped off. I wasn’t sure if it was to get his suitcase or go after the kidnappers himself.
Noah took me by the arm. “He’s just upset. Give him a minute.”
“I don’t know what he expects me to do.”
A grin crept across his face. “He obviously thinks you can move mountains.”
“Maybe if I had $500,000.” I sighed. “Wait. Do you have $500,000?”
“Well,” he hesitated. “Not liquid.”
“But you could get it?”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“So how do they know it’s even possible? I mean, when they kidnap someone, how do they research? How do they know who is most likely to pay and what they can actually afford? The average tourist could never come up with that much money, so why ask for it?”
“Probably to scare the hell out of you. I suppose they can always come down on the price.”
“I guess that makes sense. Mr. Strix said some people hire a negotiator.”
“I don’t know how we’d find one. Or if we even have time.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Chris is right about one thing. We can’t sit back and hope for the best.”
“This is way more dangerous than a few marauding hueveros. These men are organized. They’re violent.”
“Yeah.”
I waited.
“They’ve got Doug.”
I sighed. Yeah. They’ve got Doug.
“So what are we going to do about it?”
My stomach clenched. I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Mr. Strix gave me a name. A man in the local police department. He said he’s clean.”
“But the note said not to—”
“I know. But what else can we do? The guy probably knows exactly who has Doug.”
He looked over at Chris, then back to me. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Yeah, well, do you have a better one?”
He shook his head. “If you talk to him, you need to be very careful.”
“I don’t like it either. But it’s all we’ve got.”
“I mean, if Officer Ramón is involved in all this, he can’t know you went.”
“That’s why you’re coming with me.”
“What?” He shifted on the step to turn and look at me. “But he knows me. That doesn’t work at all.”
“I wouldn’t recognize him. Yeah, he was here yesterday. But I saw him from a distance. I saw the uniform. I’m not sure I’d know him again. I need you to go with me and confirm when he leaves the station. Get my cell phone out of the safe. It should work in town, right?”
He nodded.
“You’ll camp out nearby with the satellite phone, keeping watch for him to come back. If he does, call me. Meanwhile, I’ll go in and talk to this Comandante Garcia.”
“And say what?”
“I’m going to, you know, talk to him.” I gnashed my teeth together. “I’ll figure it out.”
Chapter Eight
Against my better judgement, I let Chris come along. Well, to be honest, I don’t think I could have kept him away. Besides, I couldn’t leave him alone out at the turtle camp.
We took the Jeep the thirty-some miles to town. I wasn’t looking forward to going back. It hadn’t exactly felt like a welcoming place. But I had to give it a try.
Parking right out front of the station was not a good idea. If they were watching—whoever they were—we’d give ourselves away. I dropped Noah off on one end of town and parked down a side street on the other side of town. Noah’s directive: identify Officer Ramón’s cruiser, alert us when he left. I wanted to stay well away from the police station until we were sure he was gone.
Chris and I left the Jeep near the little grocery store and walked behind the building, through the bushes, and down a footpath toward the police station.
As we approached, I found a good, out-of-the-way spot to hunker down and wait.
Chris paced in a tiny circle. “I don’t know. I don’t know about this.”
“Sit down,” I told him. “We don’t want to attract attention.”
He dropped to the ground and brought his knees up to his chest. “They said not to go to the police. This isn’t good.”
“I know you’re nervous, but we talked about this. We’re trusting the intel of the U.S. Government.”
He gnawed at his thumbnail. “Yeah, but—I don’t know.”
A thought still niggled at my brain. This seemed like a good time to bring it up. “Are Doug and Noah pretty good friends?” I asked.
Chris yanked the thumb from his teeth, eyed me. “Why?”
“I’m just trying to sort this out.”
“But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, Doug asked Noah to come here. Not the other way around. He must have known about the threat.”
“Yeah?”
“Did Doug say anything to you about it? About talking with Officer Ramón?”
His face fell. “No. Not a word.”
“But we can assume that Doug knew what Noah knew. About the threat.”
His eyes turned watery and he nodded. “He told me to run, to hide. He knew. He was protecting me.”
I took his hand in mine. “We’re going to get him back.”
His eyes met mine, wracked with determination. “We have to. You have to find a way. Because there’s no way I can come up with that kind of money.”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking it over. “They asked for an awful lot of money.”
His face turned sour. “What are you saying? My Doug isn’t worth that much?”
I squeezed his hand. “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant. It’s just—” It’s business. It’s all about who’s willing to pay and how much.
My phone buzzed. It was Noah. I picked up. “What do you know?”
“He just left in his cruiser. It’s now or never.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Stay where you are. Text me if he comes back.”
“Roger that,” he said and disconnected.
“Let’s go,” I said to Chris and headed for the door.
The front half of the building was the office, which consisted of one large desk, several old, metal filing cabinets pushed against the wall, a smaller desk in the corner where a young woman plunked at a typewriter, and two plastic chairs for visitors. Down a hall, I assumed, was the jail.
A man sat behind the big desk, his uniform neatly pressed. He must have been at least sixty, but he looked like he could hold his own. He had a husky build and a face pocked with acne scars. The slick of his hair came from a jar.
He had to be the Comandante.
He rose when he saw me, shoving shirttails back into his pants and adjusting his pant waist. His brow furrowed as his eyes ran up and down me. This far from the city, I’m sure he didn’t get many tourists stopping by.
“What brings you in today?” he asked in English, his eyes locked on me, a look of amusement in them.
I shot a quick glance at the only other person in the room, the young woman at the typewriter. Certainly she wasn’t involved with the kidnappers. Right? But what if she were? Would she have been alerted to watch for us? If so, the whole thing was blown already anyway. Or it could be that she was simply instructed to keep watch for anyone reporting a kidnapping? If that were the case, I might have some room to work.
My eyes came back around to the man in front of me. “I’m looking for Comandante Garcia.”
“Well.” He rocked back on his heels, cocked his head to the side. “I’m Comandante Garcia. How can I help you?”
I started to speak, then felt a sudden reluctance. Was this the best way to handle this? What if the intel was bad? What if he wasn’t the same man? Garcia is a common surname. Could happen. This was risky. But if we left now, we had nothing. Hand over the money and hope for the best. Even then, a fifty-fifty chance, according to Mr. Strix.
I needed to get a feel for this man first.
“I just need some information, if you have a moment.” I offered my hand and said in a whisper, “It’s of a rather delicate nature.”
There was an ever-so slight pause in the steady plunking of the typewriter, then it continued.
Chris jittered like a jackrabbit, ready to bolt at the slightest movement.
The Comandante shook our hands, then took his chair again, gesturing for Chris and me to sit as well.
An officer came around the corner from the hall that led to the jail. Chris drew in a short breath. It wasn’t Officer Ramón. This guy was too big around.
Comandante Garcia held up a finger and gave us a regretful sigh. “Please excuse me one moment.”
He placed both hands on the armrests of the chair and made the effort to lift himself up and out again. He turned his back on us and spoke in a hushed tone to the Officer.
Chris dug into me with his eyes, pleading to go.
I shook my head. We had to try. But I needed to get the Comandante alone, somehow. The odds of him telling me anything significant with anyone else around to hear were slim to none. And I couldn’t give him away either.
The Officer disappeared down the hall from where he had come and the Comandante swung back around. “Please excuse me. Now, what can I do for you?”
“My wife here went and got her purse stolen,” Chris blurted, in a hokey version of an Arkansas accent. “Right down the road there at that there Tee-kee bar. I kept telling her to mind her business, but did she listen? No. And now, it’s gone. Had her passport, our credit cards, all our money in it. I just don’t know what we’re gonna do.”
I placed my hand on Chris’s hand and gave it a squeeze, plastered a smile on my face. What are you doing?
“Are you aware of what’s going on down there at that bar? Thieves and pickpockets. That’s what you’ve got there. We were just having ourselves a drink, enjoying the sunshine and the ocean breeze, and next thing you know, we been robbed. It was broad daylight.”
The Comandante’s eyes bore into Chris. I couldn’t tell if he was insulted by his suggestions of rampant criminal activity in his jurisdiction or if it was something else.
Okay, Chris, shut up now.
“I want to file a report,” Chris went on.
The Comandante sat back in his chair and laced his fingers together across his belly, his pinky finger sticking up, a big, fat gold ring attached. His eyes shifted back around to mine, a look on his face as though the purse story wasn’t what he’d expected at all. “Unfortunately, a missing passport could cause a real hassle in your travel plans. I suggest you call the U.S. Embassy in Mexico City right away to report it.”
Chris inched to the edge of his seat. “Right, but—right.” His demeanor changed, as though he realized his error. He didn’t want to stick around to file a fake report. This was his out. He turned to me. “Daisy, we need to get on that right away.”
Daisy? I shook my head. A report was a great idea. I could write something down. Pass him a note.
“We will, dear,” I said with a loving smile, adding a hint of his ridiculous accent. “But we need to leave our contact information with the Officer here. So he can get ahold of us if he finds my purse.” I turned to the Comandante. “Do you have a pen?”
Again, he looked at me with amusement, leaned forward and handed me a pen.
I scribbled out a quick note on the blank sheet of paper he passed across his desk. Our friend has been kidnapped. Can you help? They threatened to kill him if we go to the police.
I held my breath as I slid the paper back across the desk.
He glanced at the note, read it, then sat back upright. As he did, he shot a quick glance at the typist. “You know. I have a man in holding who I suspect is a purse thief. Came in last night. Perhaps you’d recognize his face. From the bar.” He rose from the chair, this time with ease. “Why don’t we take a look.”
Good. He was trying to get us out of earshot of the secretary.
Chris and I followed him around the corner and down the short hall to the jail cell. As soon as I rounded the corner, the smell of urine and body odor hit me, full in the face. Glad I didn’t end up here for the night.
The Comandante came to a halt in front of the single cell and reached for the ring of keys at his belt. A man lay on the bench inside the cell, curled up into a ball, asleep. In a low voice, the Comandante said, “I wish I had better news. But there’s not much I can do in these situations. When someone has the bad luck of getting kidnapped, they pay the money and get on with their lives. There’s really no other option.”
He stuck a key in the lock, turned it to click.
“What if you can’t pay?” Chris said, his voice a higher pitch than normal. “What if the dollar amount they’re asking for is outrageous? Then what?”
“I understand,” I said to the Comandante, turning to go. He wasn’t going to be any help. If so, he would have said so first thing. We needed to get out of here before we were seen. “Thanks though.”
Chris planted his feet. “But that’s it? Pay the money? What if you don’t have the money?”
The back door swung open and the other Officer came back in. The Comandante froze in place.
“Well, thank you for your time, sir,” I said in a loud, clear voice. “It’s a comfort to know you’re here. We’ll be sure to be more careful next time.”
I looped my arm in Chris’s, spun him around, pushed him down the hall, and scurried out the door. The Comandante’s eyes followed us out.
As soon as we got back to the car, I turned to Chris. “Daisy? Seriously? You decided to just make up personas for us on the fly? And an entirely different story? I knew I shouldn’t have let you go.”
“Let me? Let me! This is my boyfriend we’re talking about, my man who’s in trouble.”
“Exactly. You’re way too emotionally involved.”
“Well you’re too blasé about it. I bet that woman is connected. The typist. And you were going to blab, right in front of her.”
I took a deep breath. “I wasn’t. I was well aware of her presence and the possibility of her as a lookout.”
He wasn’t hearing me. “She’s probably running to alert the kidnappers right now that we were there.”
“We don’t know that.”
“And that guy, that Comandante fella, he was shifty. We shouldn’t have said anything. We should’ve left right away.”
“You’re upset and you’re seeing things that aren’t there. We didn’t have any reason to suspect—”
“I don’t care what your teacher back home said. We can’t trust anyone. We shouldn’t have gone in there.”
“Chris, I know we took a big risk, but—”
“I trusted you. And what did we get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He rested his hands on the top of his head and spun around. “We probably just got him killed!” I thought he was going to burst into tears, but he plopped into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.
I stood there, stunned. Could it be true? Had I missed something? Did I just get Doug killed? And for what? Chris was right.
Chris leaned over. “Are we going or what?”
Chris didn’t speak another word on the ride back, nor during the ten minute walk from the parking area. He went straight down to the edge of the water and stared out to sea.
Lucky greeted us with happy yips. I sat down in the sand to pet her. Noah plopped down next to me.
“What in the world happened in there?”
he asked.
“Nothing. We did talk to the Comandante, but…”
He turned to face me. “But?”
“He was, I don’t know. I was cautious, but there was a woman in the office, a clerk or something and I got this feeling. I’m worried that if she’s somehow connected…” I bit my lip. My hands started to shake. “Oh my god, Noah, what if I screwed up by going there? What if they kill him?”
Noah took my hand in his. “Listen to me. You can’t do this to yourself. You’re doing the best you can. You gotta trust your gut.”
I nodded, trying to convince myself he was right. But could I? I’d never dealt with a kidnapping before, never even been trained for one. Especially when the person kidnapped was a friend. This was way out of my league.
“Chris expects me to fix it. I don’t know how.” Tears threatened to burst from my eyes.
“You and I both know the odds here and that there’s not much we can do but wait. What Chris needs is your strength. He needs to think you’re in control. Okay?”
I nodded. My eyes went to my best friend. “I’m worried about him. He almost lost it in there, then blamed me afterward. He’s gonna explode at any moment.”
“Wouldn’t you if you were in his shoes?”
Maybe. If Dalton had been taken captive… “We can’t have him here. He’s going to make it worse.”
“Well, don’t look at me,” Noah said. “If he won’t listen to you, I don’t know what I could say.”
I rubbed my temples. “Did you happen to learn anything watching Officer Ramón?”
“Nada.”
“Noah, what are we going to do?” The uncertainty loomed like a circling vulture, waiting to swoop down for its kill.
He stared at the sand at his feet. “I could try to get money wired, maybe a few thousand to give them, ask for more time. But this is Mexico. The banking is—”
“Exactly. This whole thing makes no sense. There must be more to it, more that you know, that maybe you don’t realize you know. Some thread we could follow.”
“I’ve been wracking my brain, but I’ve got nothing.”
“It’s just like with my dad, when he—” I sat up straight. I had something. “Hear me out. Why didn’t they take the girls? Two beautiful young women. I hate to say it, but they were worth a lot on the sex trafficking market. Instead they took Doug. Why? It has to be about the poaching. Maybe they’re trying to scare us away.”
Operation Turtle Ransom: A suspenseful, wild-ride-of-an-adventure on a tropical beach in Mexico (Poppy McVie Mysteries Book 4) Page 10