by Jim Plautz
“Georges, this is Lamar. I’m at Romas and the guy we have been looking for just walked in and ordered a beer. Should I grab him?”
It had now been two months since the kidnapping, and this was their first break. They had been staking out the Tapas bars with undercover agents and they finally found the man that was so interested in Bill’s company and the value of the IPO. Georges didn’t want to blow it. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“Yep, the bartender remembers him.”
“We are sending backup. Don’t touch him unless he tries to leave. Give us 15 minutes.”
Ten minutes later Georges and another officer walked into the Tapas Bar and took a table. Two other officers were stationed outside of both doors. They made eye contact indicating everyone was in position.
Lamar got up and walked over to the man at the other end of the bar. “Excuse me, Mr. Cruz, may we have a word with you outside? The two large gentlemen behind me are police officers.”
“What’s this all about? What have I done?”
Cruz vaguely remembered the conversation with the Americans, but swore he didn’t know anything about a kidnapping. “This American couple kept buying us drinks and asking questions about the Basque. We see tourists like that in here all the time.”
“Did they talk about money?”
“Now I remember. The guy kept telling us how much his company was worth and how they were going to be rich. I just figured they were blowing smoke, but Emanuel and his friend kept asking him questions.”
Cruz provided an address for Emanuel and two hours later the police had the name of the person Emanuel passed the information to. By morning they had what they wanted. Bill was being held in a small farmhouse in the French Pyrenees.
Lt. Caron knew time was of the essence. They must act before the local Basque sympathizers became aware that two of their members were missing. Georges planned on raiding the farm the next evening, but needed French cooperation. Ten years ago it would have been impossible, but cooperation between the two countries had improved tremendously since the wave of terrorist attacks in the 90’s, most of them attributed to the Basques although many were in fact done by Al-Qaeda sympathizers. Georges called his counterparts in France and the joint Spanish-French rescue operation was scheduled for the next morning at 2:00 AM. They were to meet in San Sebastian at 11:00 P.M.
Bill had fallen asleep early that evening after another day of routine and boredom. In two months he had lost 20 pounds and had grown a full beard and mustache. He discovered quickly it was difficult to shave without a razor, mirror or hot water. What would he give for a hot shower? He had not been harmed but yearned for human contact. The old couple fed him twice a day and allowed him to clean his commode when the smell got to bad. They spoke little and when they did, it was a language Bill couldn’t understand, probably Basque Euskadi or Castillian Spanish. The two guards that took turns outside never spoke. Bill had heard the woman call one of the guards Raul, one of the men that had taken him from the hotel. Gee, that seemed like a long time ago.
Bill was worried for himself, but also worried about Susan. Her life must be turned upside down due to his own stupidity. He was sure that he had been kidnapped because of his ego-trip at the Tapas bar. What a fool he had been.
Pete had two great weeks of practice leading up to his second tournament. Playing against the adults at the club had given him confidence. He had lost to both men the first week, but split sets the 2nd time they played. He knew he would have won the 3rd set, but it didn’t matter, he was improving.
“Did Clint really say that?” Mary asked Gregg as they sat watching Pete warm up for his first match. Jim was in Mexico on business and despite his efforts, hadn’t made it back in time for Pete’s first-round match at Innsbrook.
“Yeah, both he and Dave were pretty impressed. They couldn’t believe how fast Petie caught on to their games. The first day Pete couldn’t handle Dave’s lefty serve, but the 2nd time Pete adjusted and was drilling his returns. They won’t want to play him in a couple years.”
“Let’s see if the competition helps him here. This kid looks pretty good.”
“He’s the # 3seed, but I really think Pete will overpower him, at least I hope so. I don’t think Pete can beat him from the baseline, the kid’s too fast.”
Gregg was right. Pete won most of the points when he got to the net, but too often he chose to stay back. Pete’s serve was good but he only managed to break the other boy’s serve twice in 3 sets. Pete lost 6-2, 3-6, 7-5 in a well-played match.
“You played great,” Mary said as she gave him a hug. “I am proud of you.”
“Nice match” Gregg added. “Your volleys were awesome today.”
“Thanks. I should have come in more, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. I’ll do better next match.” Fortunately for Pete, there was a feed-in consolation division where losers in the first three rounds dropped into the consolation bracket.
Pete was right. He won his first match in the consolation round and both matches on Sunday, beating a Bollettieri kid from Georgia in the finals. Pete jumped for joy when the match ended.
“My first trophy, Mom. Where should I put it?”
“I slept with the first trophy I won Pete, but eventually I put it in my room.”
“I’ll sleep with it tonight, Mom, and then next week maybe Dad and I can build a trophy case.”
“Raul, answer your phone. It’s been ringing forever,” the woman shouted as she shook Raul’s shoulders, angry at having been awakened in the middle of the night. For the 10th time that day she regretted ever getting involved in this, but they needed the money.
Raul thought he was dreaming and couldn’t open his eyes. It was a combination of the wine at dinner and the fact he had only a couple hours sleep. He would be glad when he left this hellhole.
“Hello,” Raul whispered sleepily as he finally answered the phone.
“Get out of there, they are coming.”
“What are you talking about, who is this?” Raul asked. He was having trouble thinking. Raul was never a fast thinker to begin with, and the headache wasn’t helping.
“The police are coming. Get the prisoner and get out of there. Hurry!”
The message finally got through and Raul bolted into action. “Open the door,” he shouted, “I need to take him,” he yelled at the old woman, as he hurriedly got dressed.
The woman unlocked the prisoner’s door and Raul barged in and pulled Bill upright. “Get up,” he yelled, “We’re getting out of here, now!”
Bill looked up and recognized the guard. For a fleeting moment he thought he was being rescued. He was shoved towards the door still dressed only in his shorts and T-shirt. What’s going on he wondered?
Raul pushed him out the front door and headed for the woods. They were 40 meters from the trees when the floodlights hit them square in the face. “Halt,” someone shouted, “we have you surrounded. Throw down your gun.”
Bill felt Raul grab him and pull him close. “Get back, or I will kill the prisoner,” he demanded. Bill felt something hard against the side of his head.
“Throw down your gun! You don’t have a chance,” a voice shouted from the darkness.
It might have been the two months of humiliation he had suffered, or it might have been his regret at not trying to escape in the parking garage, but something in Bill made him brave. He shoved an elbow into Raul’s solar plexus and dove to the ground. Without a hostage, Raul would have to surrender.
Raul was scared and would have been happy to surrender, but the blow to his stomach caused him to tighten his finger and accidentally fire a shot that buried harmlessly into the ground. Suddenly, the field erupted in a torrent of gunfire from the dozen police officers that surrounded him. Raul felt a bullet hit his arm and another in his right leg, and thought how lucky he was that the shots were not fatal. Another shot hit him in the chest and he knew then he was going to die. His gun went off once more as he fell to the ground.
Bill was lying flat on the ground as bullets whizzing around him. He was relieved when the gunfire ended. He knew he was rescued and soon he would be home with Susan. Bill started to look up when he heard Raul’s final gunshot, and then everything went dark.
Lt. Georges Caron had been looking forward to calling Mrs. Peterson for the past month, ever since Susan went back to the States. They had been together for several weeks and had become good friends while they waited word from the kidnappers. Georges dreamed about providing Susan with the good news. In his dreams, the conversation was always the same; “Susan, this is Georges. I have great news for you. We rescued your husband and he is safe. Would you like to talk with him?” He envisioned handing the phone to Bill and sharing in their happiness.
Georges made the call. “Susan, is that you? This is Lieutenant Caron. I’m sorry but I have terrible news.”
Anton got the word a little after 7:00 AM and knew he would have to move fast. The elderly couple would talk. He packed and was out of the house in 30 minutes, less than an hour before the Spanish militia raided his house. He was wanted on both sides of the border and needed a place to hide.
Four hours later Anton caught an overseas flight from Lisbon to Mexico City where the ETA had a strong network of support. He had time for only one call. “Agbu, Raul is dead. The police murdered him during the raid.”
“Oh no,” cried Agbu as the import of Anton’s words became clear. “What are you going to do?” Agbu managed to ask.
“I’m flying to Mexico tonight until this quiets down. I’ll write when I can. Agbu, listen to me. The police will question you because we’re brothers. Be ready. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid, Anton, but I will miss you and Raul.” Agbu tried not to cry. Raul had been a good friend and brother. He made a promise to himself that someday, he would avenge Raul’s murder.
Chapter 9
The Basque Separatists