Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

I heard movement ahead and behind. I didn’t call out for Isabel this time. I didn’t want to push my luck.

After an hour or so, the ground began to level off, and the going became much easier. Ten more minutes, and I heard the command ‘Pare!’ and then ‘Stop!’

With relief, I stopped. I stood up straight, and the blindfold was removed.

We were in a very small clearing in a forest. It was still night, but after the blindfold it almost seemed like daylight. A canvas tent had been rigged up between three trees, and there was another, ten yards away from it. I could see Isabel, and two men. Both of them wore Balaclava-type masks. The one who had taken off my blindfold was standing a few feet away, with the gun pointed straight at me. Dark suspicious eyes peered at me through the mask. The other man was taking off Isabel’s blindfold.

She looked round for me and caught my eye. She seemed OK, although when I looked closer, what I thought was a shadow turned out to be a bruise on her cheek. The bastards had hit her.

One man pulled out some handcuffs and a chain from a sack on the ground, while the other man covered us with the gun. Without blindfolds, we had a few seconds of relative freedom before being chained to something, although of course our hands were still tied. And a gun was pointing at us.

Isabel must have seen the opportunity, because as the man stood up with the handcuffs, she kicked him hard in the groin.

The other man immediately jerked his gun towards Isabel.

‘No!’ I shouted, and leaped at him.

He hesitated before pulling the trigger. Perhaps he didn’t want to shoot a woman in cold blood, I don’t know. I chopped down hard on his gun arm, and he dropped the weapon. His hands were nearer to it than mine, and I just managed to kick it into the undergrowth, before he could reach it.

‘Run!’ I shouted to Isabel.

There were two paths out of the clearing, one leading in from the way we came, and the other heading downhill on the opposite side. Isabel chose that path, and I followed her. One of our captors was still clasping his groin, moaning, and the other was scrabbling about in the undergrowth for the gun.

The path led sharply downhill, and we half slid, half ran down it. It was difficult keeping balance with our hands tied, and we both kept falling, and landing awkwardly. I rolled, hopped and jumped down the hill, but Isabel was slower. I paused to wait for her. She tumbled down a steep slope towards me, but was suddenly pulled up short. She had snagged her tied hands in a bush. I scrambled up the hill to help her.

There was a crashing above us as one of the men slid down the hill. It was the one Isabel had kicked in the groin; he didn’t appear to have a gun.

Isabel’s hands were wedged tight into the branches of the bush. The rope and wood were slippery with the wet, and I couldn’t free them.

‘Run, Nick!’ she shouted.

I took no notice, and scrabbled frantically at the rope.

‘Nick. Run! Leave me!’

I stood up to see one of our captors only a few feet above us. Then I heard a shout from his friend behind him, and the sharp crack of a pistol.

I glanced at Isabel. Her eyes pleaded with me to run. Should I stay with her? Would I be better able to free her if I was with her or if I escaped?

God only knew.

‘For God’s sake, go!’ she screamed.

I ran.

I tumbled further down the path, and glanced back. I could see both men had stopped by the bush where Isabel had snagged her hands. I prayed she’d be all right.

I ran on, scratching myself on branches and stones, following the faint path downwards. After about ten minutes I paused to listen.

I couldn’t hear anything above the nocturnal din of the forest. I wasn’t being followed. I slumped down by a tree trunk and caught my breath.

Above me, tall trees obscured the night sky, vines dangling down from their thin branches. The floor of the forest was dark, murky and damp, with all kinds of mysterious vegetation crammed thickly together. There was no question of venturing off the path. I couldn’t go far with my hands tied like this. But if I followed the path to its end, perhaps where it spilled out on to a road, wouldn’t they just be waiting for me? I had no choice. I had to press on before they got themselves organized.

I was relieved to see that the path continued downhill. I knew that if you became lost walking in the Scottish Highlands, the thing to do was head downhill. Eventually you would reach civilization that way. The theory should hold in the Brazilian forest, shouldn’t it?

I was pretty sure we must be in the Tijuca forest, a swath of Atlantic rain-forest to the west of Rio. It couldn’t be that big. I must hit a settlement at some point. Mustn’t I?

After about half an hour, I came to a gully. It was strewn with huge looming boulders, through which ran a stream. The rocks were the product of some earlier flood. No wonder there were powerful floods with rains like those I had witnessed the evening before. That was just what I needed now, a flash flood.

I decided to leave the path and follow the stream downhill, on the basis that I would avoid a reception party waiting for me at the end of the path. It was tricky picking my way through the rocks in the dark, and I made slow progress.

Just as the sky began to lighten, I saw a bridge below me. I paused for breath beside one of the giant boulders. Perhaps they were waiting by the bridge? If I joined the road, would the kidnappers find me? I didn’t know. I decided not to follow any roads. I would carry on under the bridge, and down the stream bed until I found some habitation.

I was getting tired. My legs were scratched and bruised, and my muscles ached. I stopped for a rest on a stone. Dawn comes quickly to Brazil, and the landscape around me was fast revealed in the grey morning light. I was surrounded by forest and steep hills, rising behind me into clouds. The night-time noises had died down, and it was oddly silent. It was eerie, this damp gloomy forest, clad in moisture. Ahead, down below, I could see nothing but grey. As I rested, I began to feel cold.

Then down to the right, I noticed wisps of a lighter shade of grey. Smoke!

I stood up, and stumbled down the stream bed. The smoke came from quite a substantial building, which backed on to the stream. I clambered up a path from the stream to the building, my muscles aching. I could barely make it to the top of the bank.

I staggered round to the front of the building. It was some kind of restaurant. I pushed a bell and waited.

The owner of the restaurant spoke English, and insisted on giving me some food before driving me himself back to the hotel. It took two hours, most of it through the Rio rush-hour traffic. He had no problem agreeing to my request not to tell the police. I wanted to talk to Luís first. The Brazilian police were an entirely unknown quantity. I was worried that I might be putting Isabel’s life at risk by contacting them.

Eyebrows were politely raised as I swept through the hotel lobby in my dishevelled state and went straight up to my room. I found Banco Horizonte’s number, dialled it, and asked for Senhor Luís Pereira.

‘Yes, Nick, what can I do for you?’ The deep voice was friendly but tinged with a mild curiosity as to why I should be telephoning him that morning.

‘Isabel’s been kidnapped.’

There was silence.

‘Where are you?’ he said eventually, his voice still outwardly calm.

‘At the Copacabana Palace Hotel.’

‘Can you go directly to my apartment? I’ll meet you there in half an hour.’

I showered quickly, changed into some clean clothes, and arrived at Luís’s apartment thirty-five minutes later. He was already there, pacing up and down the large living room. He gestured for me to sit down in a low cane sofa, while he took the chair opposite. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed firmly on me. He seemed cool, businesslike.