James Grippando - A King's ransom

Alex took a few minutes to explain who we were, how my father had been kidnapped, the details of the communications so far. Then it was Father Balto’s turn.

“I was contacted on Friday,” he said. “They asked me to act as intermediary.”

“The Catholic Church allows this?” I said.

“It’s fairly common,” said Alex.

“We do it for humanitarian reasons. Our only interest is in reuniting families.”

“Did they give you any proof that he’s alive?”

He shook his head. “My instructions were very limited. Go to the picnic grounds behind the church at sunrise and collect the ransom from the Rey family.”

“We don’t have the money with us. We were expecting a radio contact, not an exchange.”

“No problem. I’ve dealt with Joaquin before. It’s not his practice to come banging on my door for the cash a half hour after pickup. You and I simply need to set up a safe place for delivery. Where’s the money now?”

“With all respect, Father, I don’t even trust a priest with that information.”

“I understand,” he said. “You do have it, though, don’t you?”

“We spent all day yesterday and a good part of last night converting the funds to dollars. We have everything we intend to pay.”

“What does that mean?”

“Simply this: We don’t intend to pay the full amount of their demand.”

He paused, obviously concerned. “That is a problem.”

“I need you to pass a message to Joaquin. As far as we’re concerned, we’re still negotiating.”

“I tell you this for your own good. I believe that Joaquin is through negotiating.”

His grave tone chilled me. Alex seemed unfazed. “Tell him that we will pay one and a half million dollars, not a penny more. That’s a good price for a fisherman, even if he is an American.”

“I can take your money, but I’ll be honest. Joaquin is so set on three million that I’m almost sure you’ll be double-dipped.”

I asked, “What does that mean?”

Alex said, “It’s a common ploy. The family delivers a sum of money to an intermediary, thinking that their loved one will be released. The kidnapper takes the money but doesn’t release the prisoner. The message comes back that you’ve paid only the first of two installments. Then you’re stuck delivering another ransom.”

“How do you avoid that?” I asked.

“You can’t,” said Father Balto.

“Only one way,” said Alex. “A simultaneous exchange. We hand over the money at the exact same moment that they hand over your father.”

“Nobody does simultaneous exchanges,” the priest said.

“Father, I’ve been involved in enough kidnappings in Colombia to know one thing: Anything is possible.”

“But a simultaneous exchange is very dangerous. So many things can go wrong.”

“Are you sure about this, Alex?” I asked.

“If we give Joaquin half the ransom he expects, he’ll either kill your father or continue to hold him until we cough up the other half. We have to tell him up front that one point five million is it. And the only way to make sure he doesn’t double-dip is to insist on a simultaneous exchange. Unless you can think of a better idea.”

I looked away, uneasy. “Father, do you see another option?”

He just looked at me, his eyes filled with pity, as if there were no right answer.

“Then deliver the message,” I told him. “Exactly as Alex said it.”

He grimaced, obviously uncomfortable. “I’d rather not have that responsibility. I fear the consequences.”

“You’re our only connection to the kidnappers.”

“I don’t like to negotiate with Joaquin. He’s not like the organized guerrilla groups. He’s too. . volatile.”

That gave me pause. We were dealing with a guy who made narco-guerrillas seem stable.

Father Balto seemed to sense my anxiety and said, “This is what I can do. Joaquin is supposed to call me at noon. Stay here, and you can deliver the message yourself.”

Alex looked at me, as if for approval.

“Let’s do it,” I said. “There’s no place I need to be.”

“I have a suggestion,” said Father Balto.

“What?”

“Mass is at ten. Why don’t you join us?”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I will.”

By the time the mass was over, the rain had stopped. We waited outside in the picnic area for the noon telephone call. A South American priest with a cell phone struck me as somehow odd, but I sensed he had it for a very specific reason. Undoubtedly this wasn’t his first kidnapping.

The cell phone was resting on the table between us, Alex and me on one side, Father Balto on the other. I watched without interest as a group of tourists snapped photographs on the observation platform behind the church.

The priest seemed to have something on his mind. Alex asked, “What is it, Father?”

His reluctance was evident, but curiosity won out. “Three million dollars is much money for a ransom. Even half that is much, much more than I’ve ever delivered before.”

“This is not your usual case,” said Alex.

“Your father must be very wealthy.”

“He’s very blessed.” I preferred to sidestep the whole insurance nightmare, though I had a sense that he’d know soon enough. If Joaquin would ever call.

It was a few minutes past noon, and I was getting nervous. I checked to make sure the telephone was on. “Father, are you sure Joaquin said noon?”

“He’ll call. Don’t worry.”

“And you’re certain he said he’d phone you? He talks to us only by radio.”

“That’s because a cell phone isn’t an option when you’re calling from the jungle.”

“So this means they’re in the city now?”

“Definitely.”

I asked Alex, “Do you think they ever were in the jungle, or were they just using the radio to make us think that they were?”

“You never know. A straight criminal element like this, as opposed to one of the Marxist groups, is more often an urban operation. Unless they have some kind of working arrangement with FARC or ELN.”

“So this is good,” I said. “They’re back to where they feel most comfortable.”

“I suppose.” Her voice was flat, as if she sensed that I was reaching too far for anything positive.

The phone rang, and I nearly jumped. The priest answered and gave me a nod, confirming that it was Joaquin. He spoke in such rapid Spanish that I didn’t catch every word, but I detected considerable pleading in his tone. His hand was shaking as he handed the telephone to Alex.

“God be with you,” he said.

Alex held the phone just far enough away from her ear so that I could lean close and listen. “Good afternoon,” she said amicably.

“Where’s the money?” he replied.

“In a very safe place. We have one and a half million dollars for you.”

“Congratulations. That’s just enough to get him back dead.”

That made my stomach flop. Alex said, “Listen to me, Joaquin. This is a good-faith offer.”

“I’m tired of this stalling. I don’t know if it’s you or the insurance company, but either way I’ve had enough.”

“You have no idea what’s going on with the insurance.”

“I know it’s a three-million-dollar policy. That’s all I need to know.”

“It’s blown up in everybody’s face. Jaime’s dead.”

“What?”

“He killed himself. It’s over. The family was able to get you one and a half million. It’s all you’re going to get.”

“That’s not enough.”

“Don’t be a pig. It’s all yours, all one and a half million. There’s no kickbacks, no one you have to split it with. I’m serious. Jaime’s dead.”