Undercover (11 page)

“I want to go home,” she said sadly, looking at him. He seemed like someone she could reason with. He wasn't a goon like the others. He told her that night that he had gone to school in Spain, and studied with the Jesuits, and he had come back to Argentina to free his people and change the world. He saw himself as the champion of the underdog and the savior of the poor. He justified that he had to kidnap rich people to further his cause and fancied himself some kind of Robin Hood. He talked to her for a while and then put her back in the box and told her how sorry he was to do it. It was the second night she had spent in his camp. And as his men put the lid back on the box, she hoped her father was okay. She was trying to be brave, but she lay in the box that night and sobbed.

Her father had gone back to Buenos Aires, where the chief of police continued to assure him that they would find his daughter soon. No request for ransom had been made. Her photograph was everywhere on TV, and Ariana's kidnapping had made world news. President Armstrong had called him that afternoon, deeply grieved by the terrible news, and he promised the help of the CIA. He said they were already on the way, and six agents flew in that night, and asked to see Robert immediately. The embassy chef was interrogated again and told them everything he knew. He described the men who had taken her, the truck, and everything they'd done. They didn't learn anything new.

“It could be one of several groups. One of the drug cartels could have sent someone over from Colombia, to seek revenge on the United States for the damage we've done them, but honestly, they've got bigger fish to fry than to kidnap an ambassador's daughter. To put it bluntly, they're businessmen and have more sense than that. And you've never been involved in a fight with them. They have no reason to hurt you,” Sam Adams, the head CIA man, told Robert after hearing what the chef had to say. “It could be just a group of local bandits, but you'd probably have heard from them by now. The operation sounds a lot smoother than something they'd do.

“There's another possibility. There's a revolutionary called Jorge, who thinks he's going to change the world. He thinks he's a modern-day Che Guevara. He's kidnapped a number of people. He moves his camp around in the foothills of the Andes Mountains, and he's looking for ways to bring his message to the world. An ambassador's daughter might be just the vehicle he wants to spread the message. His men may not even have known who they were taking, but now that he has her, he may try to hang on to her for a while. Most of the other local small-time groups want their money faster than this.” They were taking their time asking for the ransom.

“Do you know where his camp is?” Robert asked him. His face had been the color of concrete for the past two days.

“We've tracked him a number of times, but he moves too fast. He has a small group of followers, and they don't stay anywhere for long. We're asking around the area, to see if anyone will talk. The locals are afraid of him. He's not doing business dealing drugs, so although we know about him, we've left him alone. It takes too much manpower to keep track of him. And revolutionaries aren't our problem. Drug dealers are. He's not a drug dealer. He's more of a holy man, preaching against ‘corruption' and the sins of the rich.”

“Who kidnaps women, and kills others. He doesn't sound holy to me,” Robert said, angry again. He had bounced between rage and terror for two days.

“He's not. He just thinks he is,” Sam Adams said in a dry voice. They had brought in a special task force to try and find Ariana, but so far they had turned up nothing. It was going to take time. Sam just hoped they kept her alive, and didn't kill her as an example of capitalist corruption. He didn't try explaining it to her father, and they were working closely with the Argentine government and the police. They were doing the best they could, but it was difficult because their
finca
was close to rough mountainous terrain filled with jungles and forests where anyone could hide.

The search for Ariana went on for days, with no sign of anything that turned up. And still no request for ransom had been made.

Several days after her capture, Jorge left the camp for a day, and they put her in the box to swelter in the heat of the day. No one knew where he'd gone. But when he came back and rescued her from the box, he knew who she was. He had gone to the city, to see if there was word of a missing American woman. Her photograph was in every newspaper and on TV. He smiled when he saw her. She was a prize of a magnitude he had never expected.

“So, you're an ambassador's daughter,” he said with a broad smile. “Your government will do anything to get you back. Advise me, Ariana. You set the price. How much should I ask?”

“Whatever you think is right. The government won't pay to get me back. I'm only important to my father and no one else,” she said quietly, and set down an empty glass. He was the only one who fed her and gave her water. The others gave her nothing and left her in the coffin until he got back. “And my father can only pay so much.”

“He must love you very much,” Jorge said, toying with her. “How much do you think he loves you? Is he a businessman?” She nodded. “How many people do you think have died at his hands?”

“No one has ever died because of my father,” she said solemnly. “He's an honest man.”

“That's what my brother says about himself. He's high up in the government. But he's a rich man. Rich men are never honest. One day he'll carry our message. He is already starting to help us. He knows I'm right. One day he'll take over our sick, dying government and make it healthy again, and turn it over to the people who deserve to be in power, and will finally care for the feeble and sick, and feed the poor.” She could tell that he believed what he said, and she would have been more impressed by his message if she weren't his prisoner. “Ariana, what are you worth to your father? Ten million? Twenty million? Only five?”

“I don't know,” she said quietly, wishing that he would set the ransom and ask for it, so she could go home.

“Your photograph is all over the TV in Buenos Aires. You must be worth a lot.” As he said it, he called out to one of his men, and told him to bring her a plate of food. And in the flash of an instant, she realized that dressed in the same military garb, she looked like one of them. If their camp was raided, while the authorities looked for her, they might kill her. She was trapped between two worlds. And he was rapidly becoming both her captor and her savior, since all bounty came from him. But she was not confused. He had kidnapped her, and now he was setting the price on her head. She knew her father would pay whatever it took, his entire fortune if he had to. He would bring her home at any price.

Two members of the Argentine government came to visit Robert Gregory at the embassy that night. One was a quiet, soft-spoken younger man, who promised all the help his government could provide them. The other was an older, slick-looking politician who smelled heavily of cologne, was wearing an expensive suit, and wanted to convince the American ambassador that he had done all he could to facilitate the search for his daughter. He reeked of corruption even more than his perfume. The younger man had had Communist leanings in his youth but had seen the light and was powerful in the government. According to Sam Adams, he had aspirations of running the country one day. He was a man of the people who had done well, and he spoke with deep compassion for the ambassador's pain, and vowed his help as well. Robert didn't trust either of them, and said as much to Sam when they left.

“Julio Marcos is full of hot air, and as ineffective as he looks. Luis Muñoz could be dangerous one day. He has powerful connections, he's smart and ambitious, and some people think he will go far. I think they were both just trying to impress you with what good guys they are. I'm not sure that either of them will really try to help us.” Sam had much more faith in the CIA and their own informants than in the local government, which was famous for its inadequate assistance in cases like this. Robert didn't disagree with him. Every embassy in the diplomatic community had offered their help as well, and seemed more sincere. Robert was putting all his faith in the CIA agents who hadn't left his side since Ariana had disappeared.

The nightmare went on relentlessly with no word from the kidnappers, and Robert was afraid Ariana was dead. It was a possibility, but the CIA were combing the countryside and the foothills and hoping that wasn't the case. But no one had seen Ariana, or was aware of a group like the one the police described. The CIA were still convinced it was Jorge who had kidnapped her, and that they were hiding in the forest in the foothills of the mountains, but they had found no trace of him yet.

And then finally, two weeks after she'd been taken, an untraceable number in Buenos Aires called a local television station, and asked for twenty million U.S. dollars, in unmarked bills, in cash. The drop-off was to be determined later, but they had set the amount. And when the CIA and local authorities finally traced the call, they found that it had come from a pay phone in a government building. The call could have been placed by anyone. But at least now they had set the amount, and Robert could take action to free his daughter and meet their demand for ransom. It gave him hope that she was still alive.

Jorge moved his camp deeper into the forest two days before the ransom call was made. This time Jorge sat beside her himself in the truck. She wore no hood, and they didn't tie her up. He had become her protector, and kept her with him at all times in their new camp. There was no place for her to run—she would have been lost in the forest instantly, and died trying to get out. Her only hope of salvation was staying close to him.

“You know I'm right,” he said to her that night, as he handed her her dinner of rice and beans. He was eating the same meal as she did, and afterward took a cigar from a battered aluminum box sitting on the table. He kept his journals in it too, and told her it was an aviator's box he had found in the jungle, after a small plane crashed, running drugs from Ecuador. “We took the drugs, and buried the pilot and the remains of the plane. I've used the box ever since. The money from the drugs gave us what we needed to start our movement. We lived on it for a long time.”

“And now you support it by kidnapping women for ransom,” she said with a look of disapproval.

He laughed at what she said. “You remind me of my mother when you look like that. She was a good woman, and brave like you. My father was a rich man, and beat her every night. She was a poor girl from a mountain village. He fell in love with her when she was fifteen, and treated her badly for the rest of his life. I killed him when I was fourteen. He had come home one night drunk and had beaten her, and I hit him for that night and all the times he had done it before. He fell backward and hit his head. I never regretted it. He thought he could do whatever he wanted to her because he had money. My mother had a good life after he died. She died a few years later, but she finally had the life she deserved at the end. My brother was a policeman then. He filled out a report that a robber had entered the house and pushed my father. He deserved to die, just like the rest of his kind.” Jorge had had a vendetta against the rich all his life. “My mother sent me to school in Spain then, after he died. I came home when she got sick. She was too young to die,” he said, looking sad.

“Who got what was left of the money?” she asked, curious about him. He was a complex man. “Did she have anything left?”

“My brother,” he said simply. “He used it to become an important man. He helps us now whenever he can. Quietly, so he's not in danger. We need him where he is. He knows that I'm right. And when the time is right, he'll step out of the shadows. Our day will come.” He lit his cigar again, and offered her a puff. But she declined. She was curious about who his brother was, but didn't dare to ask. If she knew too much, he might kill her before the ransom got paid. “And now, with the money your father pays us, we can fund our movement for a long time. Until we're ready to come forward. My brother says it won't be long, the government is so weak, it's ready to fall on its own. There are people all over the country, waiting to join forces with us. I've been building the foundation for the last ten years, while the rest of you live well. I've been willing to sacrifice everything I have for what I believe. How many people do you know who can say that?”

“Not many,” she had to admit.

“Even one?” he asked, as they sat in the flickering candlelight.

“Maybe not.” There was something mesmerizing about him. Even though his actions were so wrong, she was beginning to wonder if his motives for his cause were sincere.

“One day you'll know that I'm right,” he said, convinced of it. “Maybe you won't even want to go back, and will wait for our time with us.” To Ariana, it was still a horrifying thought—she wanted to go home, and she was worried about her father—but at least she felt safe now at Jorge's side. No one had hurt her since she arrived, and he treated her well.

He let her sleep on a cot in his tent that night. Their camp was so deep in the forest, he knew she wouldn't try to escape. There was nowhere to go. And his men were sleeping in other tents. As always, he was alone. And he had his own cot, and had another one put in his tent for her. And as she lay on it, drifting off to sleep, she saw him writing in his journal, holding his cigar in one hand. He had a beautiful face as she watched him in the candlelight, almost like Jesus. The thought occurred to her, as she fell asleep, that maybe he was a holy man after all.

Once the demand for ransom had been made, Robert Gregory got busy organizing the transfer of funds, with the help of the CIA. One of the career diplomats had been running the embassy since Ariana had been taken. Robert could no longer do it. And he was taking the nitroglycerin now every day. The embassy doctor was worried about his heart, and he was worried about Ariana. After two more weeks they still hadn't received instructions about where to pay the money.