Randy White - Tampa Burn

Outwardly, I was calm. Inside, though, I was seething. The Masaguan feds had seen this same video on Thursday morning, shortly after the CD was delivered. If they’d realized the importance of the bird call, figured out the significance, they could have sealed off all the likely housing around the airport, sent in a hostage rescue team, and my son might be safe right now.

In any hostage situation, abductors are at their most vulnerable in the earliest stages, before they’ve had time to calm down, reassess, and reorganize.

It would have been an ideal time to hit them.

I know because I’ve become a reluctant amateur expert not only on kidnapping, but kidnappings that take place in Latin America. I’ve been forced to learn because of events in my life, and because I’ve spent so much time living near equatorial lines.

Latin America is the most dangerous place in the world when it comes to that particular crime. More than six thousand people are abducted annually. In Colombia, it’s a tax-free, $200-million-a-year business. In Mexico, there are as many as two thousand kidnappings a year, with ransom demands ranging from five thousand dollars for common citizens up into the multimillions for bankers and businessmen.

Foreign executives who work in the oil and energy industries are favorite targets. Insurance agencies such as Chubb, Fireman’s Fund, and Lloyd’s of London now offer policies that underwrite ransom payments, medical treatment, and interpreters, and even continue to pay the salaries of the missing.

Premiums are not inexpensive.

Business? Kidnapping has become an international industry.

It was in Guatemala that kidnappers started a chilling, profitable trend. They began to abduct and ransom the children of wealthy locals and foreign workers. Payoffs became bigger, negotiations easier. The practice spread through Ecuador and Venezuela, where each country suffers about two hundred kidnappings a year.

Pilar’s country, Masagua, soon followed.

I’d heard and read so much about it and become concerned enough, slightly more than a year ago, to warn Lake in an e-mail. I told him why he was an obvious, high-risk target. Of far more value-now, at least, it seemed-I’d also included advice on how best to survive an abduction. The tips had been assembled for him by a friend of mine, a hostage negotiator who works for the State Department.

I’d sent the paper along with a note from me that read:

During these screwy times, everyone in the world should be prepared, and they should damn well know that: • During a hijacking or hostage assault, the most dangerous phases are the first few minutes and-if there is a rescue attempt-the final few minutes. Anticipate what you should do before it happens so that you won’t panic if it happens. • In the first minutes, terrorists are adrenaline-fogged and prone to irrational overreaction. This is when most hostages die. Remain calm. Avoid eye contact. No sudden, threatening movements. • Do not struggle or try to escape unless success or your own death are certain. • Aspire to be inconspicuous. Do not give your captors the impression that you are memorizing their facial features or keeping note of their actions. • Talk normally. Don’t complain, don’t show anger. Follow all orders and instructions. • If questioned, keep your answers short. Don’t stand out. • If involved in a lengthy hostage situation, the opposite becomes true. It’s easier to kill an object than a human being. Make sure your captors know your name, the names of your family members. Establish a rapport. • Remember that you are a valuable commodity to your captors. It’s important to them to keep you alive and well. Find a way to survive. Others have. You can, too.

All good advice. The kind that can save a life or lives. Trouble was, I knew there was a possibility that Lake hadn’t even read the damn thing. He’d certainly never made any specific references to the data in a reply e-mail.

Boys his age are bulletproof. Or think they are.

But maybe, just maybe, it’d helped him.

Even so, I was immensely thankful that I’d made the effort. Thankful because it took a bit of the sting out of the overwhelming guilt I felt. It was guilt that any parent would have experienced.

My child had been taken. Even though I’d anticipated the possibility, I wasn’t there to protect him when it happened.

Unforgivable.

It’s guilt that destroys us -one of Tomlinson’s favorite sayings.

Pilar felt the guilt, too. Of that, I was certain. And for good reason.

When I’d sent my warnings to Lake, I’d sent the same warnings to her. Our son was an obvious, high-risk target. Serious measures needed to be taken.

She’d never responded.

I’d yet to mention that to her.

I never would.

Oh yeah, she was feeling it.

Pilar pressed a blinding hand over her eyes, moaned softly, and then I listened to her say, “I’m so sorry, Marion. It never crossed my mind that a noise in the background could be important.”

The bird call. She was still punishing herself for not zeroing in on the quetzal.

She added, “That morning, while I was watching this awful thing, Laken was just a few miles away? We could have sent in soldiers and saved him. Oh dear God. I feel terrible I didn’t understand…”

Tomlinson reached and put his big hand to her shoulder, communicating with touch- Don’t blame yourself. Victims should never blame themselves -but stuck to business, saying, “O.K., O.K. We’re done with the subject. There’s nothing more to learn from background noise. Let’s discuss other elements in the video.”

He watched me nod before saying, “So far, we both agree that Lourdes videoed this by himself. But I’m still thinking he had to have one or more accomplices.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the way Pilar describes it, your son was kidnapped from a place that’s downtown in a busy city. And from a building that was guarded. There almost had to be a driver. Don’t you think? Or a chopper maybe. Someone waiting to get away fast.”

I said, “O. K, I’ll go along with that.”

He turned to Pilar. “Do private planes fly in and out of the international airport?”

“Yes. Of course.”

I was looking at the moth on the screen, comparing it with photos in the book. The insect’s wingspan was massive-more than six inches. Finally, I found it: Ascalapha odorata, the Bruja Negra or Black Witch moth. An insect common to Central America-further confirmation that the video had been shot in the region.

I said, “That’s what I’m asking myself. Why would someone kidnap the son of a popular political figure, then head straight for a hideout close to the airport?”

Tomlinson was now allowing the video to play in slow motion-an eerie thing to watch-as he asked, “Does your ex-husband have enough political juice in neighboring countries to get passports for Lourdes and your son? Visas, I.D. s? I’m talking about credentials good enough so they could hop on a private plane and take refuge in another country. No way you can fly a kidnapped child out on a commercial plane, so that leaves military or private.”

I leaned close to study my son’s haunted eyes staring back at me, then focused upon the red welt that snaked up his arm. I’d dismissed the possibility of it being a burn. Now, though, I reconsidered.

As Pilar replied, “Yes, documents, passports, Balserio could get anything he wanted,” I looked across my laboratory sink at the Bunsen burner. I pictured the scalpel-blue flame it produced, then reviewed variations of propane torches.

A portable welder’s torch came to mind. They were cheap, easy to use, readily available even in Third World countries, and intimidating if used as a weapon-something that would appeal to a sociopath who liked fire.