Randy White: Tampa Burn

The mask keyed some long-gone memory. Where had I seen one similar? The Maya of Central America are big on masks. They use them in all kinds of festivals and ceremonies. In the States, it’s Halloween only. In Maya country, though, masks are part of the culture.

Guatemala?

No…

Then I remembered. It was during the civil war in Nicaragua. I’d been traveling the country doing marine research, but I was also imbedded, doing government service.

That’s where I’d seen a similar mask. Several, actually. Members of guerrilla death squads wore them to hide their identities. The masks were light, made of wire mesh, like mosquito screening, so they were cool in the jungle heat. I’d been told they were modeled after some old Mayan mask that had been used in sacrificial ceremonies.

The Indios relish their blood traditions.

The cosmetic touches-painted eyebrows, pink cheeks-seemed satirically feminine.

I watched the mask move on the man’s face as he said, “The kid can’t really talk right now, so I’ll have to talk for him. That’s because he’s all tied up!” Then the three of us listened to him make an oddly high-pitched clucking sound that became a staccato barking-laughter.

It could have been the parody of some inane comic, but the tactlessness wasn’t intentional. Even in Spanish, there was a clumsy white-trash stupidity about the way he hammered the punch line.

He’s all tied up!

It was a bully’s joke, a bully’s laughter.

I wanted to jump through the screen, grab him by the throat, and squeeze until his eyes bulged. People who’ve been scarred or disfigured are usually eager to spare others pain because they’ve endured the worst that life and human nature have to offer.

Not this one. His scars seemed tailored to his personality. He seemed right at home with a face that he preferred to keep hidden.

Still chuckling, he said, “So, hello, hello, hello, to the beautiful and famous Pilar Fuentes Balserio. I’ve got a message for you from your husband, Jorge. When I lead him back to the presidential palace, me and the General and the rest of his army expect you to be in the bedroom, with your clothes off, waiting to…”

He then launched into a sexually graphic tirade so angry that it was more like an assault, a scenario with details designed to shock.

After enduring less than a minute, Tomlinson said, “My Spanish isn’t the best, but this guy’s a freak, man. A serious wack job.” I said, “ Listen, ” as Masked Man continued the rant. It went

I said, “Listen, ” as Masked Man continued the rant. It went on for another half-minute before his mood seemed to darken and he abruptly shifted subjects.

“But enough about me!” he said-that heavy comedic punch again. “The point is, we’ve got your kid. He’s alive. If you want him to stay alive, and if you want to get him back, you’re going to do exactly what we tell you to do. If you don’t, the General says I can have him. Me. That’s an honor. For you, I mean. So here’s what we want you to do-”

Not looking away from the screen, I asked Pilar, “Should I get some paper? Or have you already made a transcript?”

She was no longer touching my arm. She had, in fact, moved closer to Tomlinson. “I have every word on paper, even the sick parts. There’s only about another minute left. Watch first, then read the transcript.”

The demands he made seemed to be the first of a long list. They weren’t random. They’d been thought out. He knew exactly what he wanted-or what he was supposed to say. One of those demands was that Pilar go as soon as she possibly could to Miami, where, he said, she would receive further instructions.

Balserio’s government-in-exile was in Florida, I remembered.

When the video ended, I said to Tomlinson, “There are parts of this I’d like to see again. Can you use the computer to freeze-frame and zoom in?”

Tomlinson was tugging at his samurai horn nervously. “You name it. Modern times, man. Whatever you want.”

Along with the DVD, Pilar told us, the package also contained an Iridium satellite phone receiver. The kidnappers could contact her, but it couldn’t be used to call out.

Though I didn’t mention it, I knew that the phone could probably also be used as a tracking device. Global Positioning System trackers are neither expensive nor difficult to acquire. For a few hundred bucks, a suspicious hubby or wife can hide a GPS transmitter in the family car and follow every movement.

As she told us about the phone, I read the transcript once again, reviewing the list of demands made by Masked Man:

She had to leave for Miami within forty-eight hours. She couldn’t contact law enforcement. If she’d already contacted police, she must now stop cooperating. Along with the phone, she was to either carry a portable computer or find a way to check her e-mail at least twice a day while traveling.

Masked Man said they would contact her via satellite phone or Internet and tell her how next to proceed. As long as she continued to cooperate, they would continue to provide proof that Laken was alive.

In the video, he used the royal “we.” Excessively, it seemed.

“Before you leave for Miami,” he said, “collect half a million dollars in cash, U.S. Don’t ask us how. The Masaguan treasury has plenty. You’ve got pull and connections. Find a way. Pack it in the kind of briefcase photographers use to protect their stuff. The kind that seals tight without locking. Then have the briefcase delivered by diplomatic pouch to the Masaguan consul general’s office in Miami no later than Wednesday morning. Don’t wire the money, don’t transfer it from a foreign bank. Do it just the way we say.

“Once you’re in the States, we’ll call and tell you when to go to the consul general’s office and get it. Don’t do it until we tell you. Or check your e-mail. Check it a lot. The half-million is for starters. Just to show us you really care about your kid. We’ll want more than that. This is all about politics. Political change. Jobs and better pay. Schools, health care, all the standard stuff. And quit fucking over the Indios”-the staccato laughter again-“I bet you Spaniard bastards regret that you ever burned a single Indian at the stake now. Especially since they let yours truly back out on the street. Paybacks are a bitch, huh?”

That’s how the video ended. With Masked Man walking toward the camera, his chest blackening the screen.

A couple of details interested me. Things that I thought might give us information the kidnappers didn’t expect us to have, or want us to know.

As Tomlinson futzed with the computer, I asked Pilar, “Has anyone else studied this? I’d be interested in hearing what your experts had to say.”

She said, “The first thing I did when I found Laken’s room empty, I called the head of our national police. The same when the video was delivered. Two investigators were with me when I watched it for the first time. But you heard the demands. They said I had to stop cooperating, so I did. The police wanted to stay on the case, but I said absolutely not, leave me alone.”

“Just because you’re not cooperating doesn’t mean they’ve dropped it,” I said.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. As I told you, I can’t trust anyone in the government. You hear one thing, but something else is really happening.”

“Did your treasury department come up with the money? A half-million’s a lot of money. If you’re not cooperating, why would they provide the ransom?”

“I didn’t ask the treasury. I would have had to explain why I needed the money. People gossip, and the wrong people could find out. I wasn’t going to put Laken at greater risk.”