Sufficient Ransom

by Sylvia Sarno

  Travis’s eyes were wide with terror.

  Ann rubbed her son’s back. “Tell the nice policeman your name, honey.”

  Travis shook his head.

  Ann looked at Officer Wilson then back at Travis. The policeman’s brow was furrowed with concern. She realized that her son’s behavior had alarmed the man.

  Officer Wilson’s voice was peremptory. “Mind if I look around?”

  “Nothing’s happened, Officer,” she said, a little too urgently. “My son poured water all over my laptop. I got a little upset, that’s all. We’re all good, aren’t we, sweetie? In fact, we were just on our way to Legoland.”

  When Travis started to cry, Ann realized that he was crying because he thought that he was in trouble with the police over her ruined her laptop. Kneeling, she said, “Travis, honey, you’re not in trouble. Everything’s okay.”

  Travis cried more loudly. The strain of the morning had apparently been too much for him.

  Chet was saying, “It was Pastor Todd’s idea. It’d be a good way to get more publicity and more people out searching for Travis. Thousands of people in one place, at night, with the candles.”

  Pastor Todd was co-founder of New Way Evangelical Church and an old friend of Nora and her late husband. Ann looked to Richard for an explanation.

  “New Way wants to organize a candlelight vigil for Travis and for other missing kids,” Richard said.

  A curious fire illuminated Chet’s eyes. “We want to help you, Ann.”

  Her heart filled with gratitude at the pastor’s kindness and his eagerness to help them. “Thank you, Chet. We’ll take all the help we can get. The Villarreals?” she asked. “Do they have any leads on their daughter?”

  Chet spread his hands in a questioning gesture. “They stopped coming to church. They’re not returning calls. I went by their place in Point Loma to see if there was anything more we could do. The shades were drawn. Old newspapers were scattered over the driveway. I don’t know what to make of it.”

  Ann imagined that the Villarreals would want publicity for their daughter, not shun it. She made a mental note to ask Tom Long about the other families and what they were doing to find their children.

  After a few more minutes of general conversation, Chet stood up and shook Richard’s hand. “I have to get back to New Way. I’ll let you know about the vigil.”

  Ann accompanied Chet to the front door. “The police said they would be bringing the FBI by to talk to us. After they leave, we’ll come by the search center. I want to thank the volunteers. And thank you Chet, for everything.”

  “I’ll pray for you, Ann.”

  After Chet left, Ann met her husband in the kitchen. “Maybe Chet’s trying to make up for being such a jerk all those other times,” she said. “Or maybe the situation with the Villarreal girl has made him more sensitive to others.” Sadly, sometimes it took a tragedy for people to change.

  “He was very sweet just now. He made me feel more hopeful.” She added, “I feel kind of sorry for him.”

  “Why?” Richard asked.

  “Anyone who judges decent people as severely as he had judged me and his own mother couldn’t be very happy.”

  “Didn’t you once say he divorced his wife because he didn’t approve of the way she was raising his stepdaughter?” Richard asked.

  Ann nodded. “Nora said according to Chet, his ex-wife wasn’t religious enough. She wasn’t this or that enough.” Despite Chet’s kindness today, Ann sensed that the pastor was a hard man to get along with. “It’s sweet of him to pray for us—don’t you think?”

  Richard shrugged. “It’s a waste of time.”

  “Maybe there’s something to it.”

  Ann felt her husband staring at her. Richard, who did not have a mystical bone in his body, couldn’t understand that, for the first time in her life she could see how religion might be useful. Unwilling to go into it with him, for fear of being challenged, she changed the subject. “Do you think it’s strange he wants to help us after he accused me of leading his mother astray?”

  “Who knows what’s on the mind of an evangelical?” Richard said, shaking his head. “Those people take the Bible literally.”

  “Why’re you being so mean?”

  “I’m trying to prepare you not to expect much from Chet. He thinks the world was made in six days. Not to mention the evangelicals’ stance on evolution. I wonder what other weird ideas those people hold.”

  Ann’s tone was gently admonishing. “The New Way people are going out of their way to help us, Richard.”

  “I’m sure there are some nice people in the church,” Richard said. “But their ideology is vile.”

  “What does any of this have to do with him helping us find Travis?” Ann asked.

  Her husband shrugged. “I worry the pastor’s more interested in converting you than anything else.”

  3:30 P.M.

  FBI Field Agent Julian Fox came to the Olsons’ house with Detective Tom Long to talk about their son’s disappearance. “With the Mexican angle,” Tom Long explained, “We’ll need the FBI’s international expertise. Agent Fox has his own questions and will be leading the interview.”

  The group sat in the Olsons’ formal dining room on white leather chairs around a long glass table. Winter scenes framed in heavy gold looked out on the flower-draped gazebo in the backyard. With the French doors to the living room shut, the air felt stuffy and warm.

  Though he wasn’t especially tall or muscular, Julian Fox’s physical presence made an impression on Ann. Maybe it was his longish, red-blond hair and deep tan. Or his chiseled face and hawkish blue eyes. Whatever the case, Fox looked more like a male model than a highly skilled agent for the FBI. After talking with him for a few minutes, Ann concluded that Agent Fox might know something about his craft, though she could see straight away that there would be clashes between them.

  Julian Fox questioned her and Richard as if they were the criminals who had absconded with her son, peppering them with questions about their relationship with Travis, the boy’s attributes, his temperament. “He’s a normal, active, little boy,” Ann said. “Of course he acts up. What six-year-old boy doesn’t?”

  Fox handed Ann a thick packet of documents and asked her and Richard to explain in their own words what had given rise to CPS’s investigation.

  Ann jabbed her finger at the bundle. “Kika is the key to this whole thing. Find her and you’ll find Travis.” When she looked to Tom Long for support she noticed that the detective’s gaze was directed at the floor, as if he were purposely avoiding her eyes.

  “You’re so certain Kika Garcia kidnapped your son,” Julian Fox said in a quiet voice.

  Ann shrugged off Richard’s warning hand. “You seem to think we have something to do with this.”

  Julian’s lips curved up slightly. “I’m just after the facts, Mrs. Olson. Three other children have disappeared.” He ticked their names off his fingers. “Pedro Valdez, Hanna Aziz, and Sabela Villarreal. It’s possible your son’s case is related to these others.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Ann said.

  “Why?”

  Ann pushed the CPS folder across the table. “Kika Garcia accused us of unspeakable acts and she threatened to take Travis. Not to mention that her boyfriend, Max Ruiz, came into my gallery. We told Tom this already. Ruiz was very interested in Travis. Are you even trying to find him?”

  “How did you know Ruiz was Ms. Garcia’s boyfriend?” Julian asked in that quiet way of his that Ann was quickly learning to hate.

  “My friend, Nora March, told me.” Ann turned to the detective. “Tom. Didn’t you debrief Agent Fox on this?”

  Tom Long looked apologetic. “He just wants to hear the information directly.”

  Julian joined his hands and tapped his thumbs together. “Our liaison in Tijuana’s looking into things with this Ruiz character. He’ll get back to us as soon as he knows something.”

  At least they were considering that Ki
ka could be involved with Travis’s disappearance.

  Julian Fox remained silent. Then he said, “I understand you’ve had some trouble at your gallery.”

  Ann looked to her husband and back to the agent. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Your assistant told Detective Long you’ve been getting a lot of hostile emails over something you wrote on your blog. What’s that about?”

  Ann’s eyebrows lifted. “My post on Chuck Blackmart? Part of what I do on my website,” she explained, “is review what the museums are buying. I usually keep silent on the installation art. But when Blackmart unveiled The Dummies, I couldn’t hold back. It’s such an abomination. I had to say something.”

  “I see.” Julian looked thoughtful. “You only have one child then. Travis?”

  His hand over hers, Richard answered for both of them. “Yes.”

  The agent’s impassive gaze remained on Ann. “You must have been real angry when your son destroyed your laptop. I mean for your neighbor to call the police.”

  He wants to bait me.

  Richard squeezed Ann’s hand in warning. Glancing at her husband, she saw that he was calm. She would take his lead. “Mr. Fox, do you have children of your own?”

  A guarded glimmer hit Julian Fox’s eyes. It passed, but Ann had glimpsed enough of his soul to know that he did not have children, because he didn’t like children.

  For the first time, she noticed the agent’s purple button-down shirt. The silver Patek Philippe watch at his slender wrist. His long hair was carefully combed and jelled. This was a man, like the many gay men she encountered in her career as an international art dealer, with more refined sensibilities and tastes than their counterparts in the hetero world. Ann had always felt a kinship with homosexual men. Like her, many of them appreciated the good things in life. But she could see right away that Julian Fox, with his superior attitude, could be never be a friend.

  Julian Fox shook his head. “Nope. No kids.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Fox’s eyebrows lifted.

  “Because if you had children,” Ann said, her mouth trembling. “You would know they can be difficult.” She felt compelled to explain, but she could see that Agent Fox, with his cool eyes and bored face, didn’t give a damn.

  5:00 P.M.

  The FBI agent’s suspicious treatment felt like a badly needed kick in the pants. When Ann finally stopped ranting about the injustice of it to her husband, she resolved to take matters into her own hands.

  “We can’t trust the police or the FBI, Richard. Not when they’re so depraved to think we had something to do with this,” she said.

  “It’s not fair to lump Tom and Will in with the FBI, Ann. They don’t suspect us.”

  “I want to talk to Max Ruiz myself,” Ann said. “I bet he knows where his girlfriend is.”

  “The FBI’s taking care of that,” Richard said. “The drug cartels are fighting each other in the streets of Tijuana. It’s all over the papers, Annie. You can’t go down there.”

  She had already made up her mind. “If the police haven’t found Travis by the end of today, I’m going to Tijuana first thing in the morning. I already called Ruiz’s factory to see if I can talk to him. His secretary won’t even put me through. I have to try to see him in person.”

  “You’ve never been to Tijuana,” Richard said. “How’re you going to find him?”

  “There’s all kind of stuff on the Internet,” Ann said. “Including the name of his factory and the address. I’ll just map it out on my phone.”

  Richard’s face was grim. “I’ll go instead.”

  “You should stay in San Diego,” Ann said. “You’re better at dealing with the police than I am.”

  Richard’s voice took on an urgent tone. “No one will bother me. With your light hair and skin, you’re a walking target.”

  Tears came to Ann’s eyes. “I can’t wait around for someone to bring us news. You don’t understand, Richard. I have to do this.”

  His arms around her, Ann felt her husband’s chest heave. She tried to sound positive. “Ruiz can’t be all bad. He gives money to orphanages.”

  When they separated, her husband looked exasperated. “If Kika sent him into your gallery to take a look at Travis, as you put it, why would he help you and not her?”

  “I don’t know. But right now he’s our only lead. Yes, he might laugh in my face. Or, when he realizes what a terrible mistake’s been made, he could help us. Our son is missing because of his girlfriend. Only a monster would turn me away.”

  “There’s no way you’re going to Tijuana, Annie,” Richard said, shaking his head. “So just drop it.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Thursday, October 4

  6:00 A.M.

  Ann patted her front jean pockets to reassure herself the money she had stuffed in was still there. Carrying lots of cash in Mexico was not the wisest thing to do. But then again, she reasoned, it might buy her valuable information.

  She and her husband had been up since dawn arguing. Neither had slept more than a few hours. “I’m tired of fighting about this, Richard.”

  He grabbed a pile of papers off the kitchen table. “How many times do I have to tell you? Fifty thousand people have been killed in the last six years!” He slapped the pages to emphasize his point. “Beheadings. Acid vats filled with half decomposed bodies. Four young Americans found strangled in their car. Just the other day, several drug dealers were found swinging from a bridge. What don’t you understand about this?”

  Ann whipped the papers from her husband’s hand and threw them in the trashcan. “No need to go over that again. The FBI hasn’t been able to reach Ruiz. I have to go.”

  A hopeful gleam lit Richard’s eyes. “If the police get wind of this, you could be arrested.”

  Her heart beat a little faster. Neither the police nor the FBI had expressly forbidden her or Richard to leave San Diego, though an investigation, in which they were apparently suspect, was underway. “I have to go before law enforcement orders us to stay put,” she countered.

  “For all we know the FBI could have notified border agents already,” Richard said.

  Her anxiety mounting, Ann started re-checking her pant pockets. She had her driver’s license, her passport, and photos of Travis. She had downloaded a photo of Kika to her phone. She had directions to Max’s factory. Her—

  “Are you listening?”

  She continued looking through her pockets. “I heard everything you said.”

  “And if you get yourself killed and then we find Travis?” Richard said. “How smart is that?”

  “Please try to understand,” she said. “I’ll never forgive myself, if I don’t go. Even when we get Travis back.” She refused to concede that they might never.

  Her husband’s eyes were deep pools of sorrow. Ann knew deep down he could never really understand. Richard was whole, and always had been. She had no doubt that like her, he would gladly give his own life to save their child—his love for Travis knew no bounds. She, on the other hand, had so much to atone for. She steadied her voice. “I have to do this.”

  Richard’s voice was low. “It’s as bad as that, Annie?”

  She couldn’t answer him; the lump in her throat was so big.

  “Even so,” he said, “there’s no way I’m letting you go to Tijuana.”

  9:30 A.M.

  Ann parked her car at the international border crossing in San Ysidro and walked the length of the parking lot toward the caged sky-bridge that led into Tijuana. Getting the necessary Mexican car insurance, alone, would have been a hassle, not to mention trying to find her way around a strange city in her Lexus, bedecked with California plates.

  Her husband’s determination to keep her from going to Tijuana had nearly stymied Ann’s plan. To her relief, he had agreed to pick up some groceries at the store. Neither of them had eaten much in the past two days, so the ruse had worked. She felt bad tricking Richard and the police; for she was sure t
hat the police too would not have approved her actions. In the end, she felt that she had no choice. She would do anything to find Travis and bring him home.

  Walking the enclosed footbridge from San Diego into Mexico, Ann kept looking over her shoulder to see if she was being followed. Thankfully there was no sign of her husband or law enforcement.

  Her joints ached with nervous tension. Despite downing several cups of Chinese tea before leaving home, Ann felt lethargic. Struggling to remain positive, she repeated over and over, “He will help me. He will help me.”

  A hundred or so yards into her cross-border walk, the solid walls of the sky-bridge had given way to a ten-foot high metal fence. Ann felt like she had entered a floating prison. The concrete sprawl of northern Tijuana below, visible through the thick bars in the fence, reminded her of a prison courtyard, photos of which she had seen years ago in a magazine. She glanced over her shoulder at the border lookout tower. Its massive concrete walls, topped with long rectangular windows, resembled a prison guard post.

  Ann tried to bolster her sagging spirit with brave thoughts. Kika took Travis. Ruiz knows where to find her. He will help me.

  For the past twelve years Ann had lived just twenty-five miles north of Tijuana, but she had never once crossed the border. Her life had been so insulated, so obliviously unaware of how the poor lived—and she knew there were many in this city—before Travis disappeared.

  Entering the floor-to-ceiling turnstile that was the final gateway into Mexico, Ann’s feeling of foreboding deepened. Though her mind told her returning to San Diego would be a relatively simple matter, her heart felt that it would not be so. She remembered Richard’s warning about the bodies found recently, hanging from a bridge. More than fifty thousand people killed in the drug wars. Her mind flooding with images of violent death, she leaned against the turnstile and pushed hard.

  What if Travis is dead? Ann pressed her hand to her mouth to hold back a wave of nausea. Until now, she had refused to let that word into her consciousness. In a rational world, one she had always believed she lived in, such a thing as that was not possible, ever. Not to her son, the little boy who was her life. Straightening her back, Ann moved forward determined to find her son and bring him home.