Kidnapped and a Daring Escape (14 page)

    
She does not dare to refuse nor look at him. She knows that she is
completely in his power. Refusal would only mean getting hurt, and she
is frightened of getting hurt. With trembling hands, she removes her
boots and socks, opens the top buttons of her shirt and slips it over her
head. Then she drops her slacks, standing there only in her black bra and
thong, folding her hands across her chest, shivering.

    
"Go on. Take it all off," he growls.

    
She has just undone the clip of her bra and is slipping off the shoulder
straps when she hears a hoarse gasp. Startled, she looks up. A tall man
holds her tormentor around the neck, choking him. The latter’s eyes
bulge from their sockets. Ineffectually, he tries to pry away the hands. It
takes her a moment to recognize André. But he is dead! She almost
screams, slamming her hand onto her mouth. In horror, she watches her
tormentor slowly go limp. André lets him slip to the ground and drags
him to the bedstead. She hears the click of handcuffs being closed. Then
he gags the man with a sock and a strip of cloth. The man stirs, moans
and opens his eyes. He too seems in shock when he sees André standing
over him.

    
"Ah
commandante
, you are again among us, but rest assured, you
won’t walk for a while," says André and stamps his boot full force on the
man’s foot. The latter grunts, goes white, faints and slumps back. This
time the raw violence of his action provokes a shriek of fright. André
turns, facing her.

    
She has not moved, a hand still on her mouth, not sure whether the
man in front of her is real.

    
"Bianca, I’m not a ghost." She sees him smile. "Oh, woman, you look
gorgeous like this … but maybe it would be a good idea to get dressed.
We are in a bit of a hurry."

    
She looks down at her exposed breasts, goes crimson, quickly encloses
them in the cups of her bra and hooks up the back strap. Then she slips
on the rest of her clothing and follows André into the front room. He is
inspecting what looks to her like a rifle, one of the weapons she saw on
the rack. He looks strange, if not ridiculous, in clothing far too small for
him. She has not spoken a word yet.

    
"What are you doing here?" she finally asks.

    
"Isn’t that obvious? Rescuing you from our kidnappers. Where is your
rain gear?"

    
"In the other house … So you are not one of them?"

    
He casts her a quick questioning glance. "One of them?"

    
"I meant, you really came to rescue me?"

    
"What does it look like?"

    
He puts an AK47 into the empty space of the weapon rack and begins
searching through the drawers of the cupboard. When he finds what he
is looking for — a whole carton of cartridges — he loads the magazine
of the rifle, clips it on and stuffs the carton into a pocket, while saying:
"Find a coat in the bedroom, one that is likely to hold out the rain."

    
She looks at him uncomprehending.

    
"Go, do it."

    
She starts to leave. He gives me orders like my captors. Something
inside rebels. "Why?"

    
"So you won’t freeze to death at night."

    
Suddenly, it clicks. She rushes into the bedroom and searches the
various garments strewn on the floor and hanging on the walls. A lined
leather jacket seems to be about the right size. She tries it on. It is a bit
large, but will do. She almost collides with André when she leaves the
room while he comes charging back in.

    
She watches him go to the unconscious man, afraid he may do him
further violence. But he only searches through his pockets, finally pulling
out a set of keys. Around his neck hangs a pair of binoculars. He rushes
back to the front room and tries various keys on a small safe inside the
cupboard. The third one opens it.

    
"
Mon dieu, qu’est-ce que ça
?" he exclaims, pulling out a shrink-wrapped packet. Inside are wads of tightly packed US twenty-dollar
notes. He stares flabbergasted. "Look at all that money, Bianca."

    
He pulls out a second identical package. "Do you know how much this
is?" He does not wait for her answer, and stuffs the two packages down
the front of his coat. "120,000 US dollars.
Mon dieu
. … and here is
another thing we need, a cartographic map." He also puts it down the
front of his coat.

    
"You aren’t stealing that money, are you?"

    
"You bet I am. Why shouldn’t I? It’s all stolen anyway."

    
It still does not feel right, even if the money was stolen, but she
refrains from saying anything more. He seems too intent on what he is
doing.

    
He closes the safe and returns to the bedroom.

    
"What are you doing now? You aren’t going to kill him!" she
exclaims once more alarmed.

    
"No, just returning the key."

    
Two seconds later he is back. "Come, let’s go."

    
When she hesitates, he resolutely takes her hand and leads her down
a narrow corridor into a kitchen. The young man who brought her food
is gagged and roped to a chair. She feels sorry for him, but is glad that he
does not seem to be hurt. André quickly transfers the two packages and
the map into a backpack, shoulders it and then blows out the kerosene
lamp. Holding the rifle in one hand, he again grabs her hand and leads
her out into the open. In the moonlight, she sees two dogs ripping into the
innards of an animal that looks like a goat, occasionally snarling at each
other.

    
"Stay close, please," he murmurs, as they pass by the dogs. She makes
sure to have André between her and the beasts. He takes the uphill path,
leading away from the houses, setting a fast pace.

    
Isn’t this the wrong direction?
she wonders. "Shouldn’t we go down
that way?"

    
"No. They will expect us to go back to San Agustin, so we do just the
opposite. It will give us a larger lead."

    
She is utterly confused and does not know what to think anymore.
Nothing seems to make sense. André is supposed to either be dead or be
part of the kidnap plot, and there he appeared at exactly the moment she
was sure that this vile man was going to rape her, and now he is fleeing
with her. That at least seems to prove he doesn’t belong to the kidnappers, but it still doesn’t explain how he survived the jump from the cliff.

    
"You’re OK?" he asks, "or am I going too fast?"

    
"Yes … no."

    
"What do you mean … yes no?"

    
"Yes, I’m OK … No, I’m not OK. I don’t know anymore what’s going
on. You are supposed to be dead."

    
"Oh, I’m very much alive, more so than ever, now that we’re together
again and will be so for several more days."

    
"Please, André, don’t start that again," she begs, "I can’t take it now.
I need to know what happened and what we’re going to do. Please."

    
"Sorry, Bianca. Agreed. No more. I just wanted to cheer you up. I’ll
explain everything later, when we take a rest. Right now, we must put as
much distance between them and us as we can. All right? But you must
tell me if I’m going too fast."

    
Although his voice is calm, there is a firm undertone to it that
precludes questioning. "All right," she concedes meekly.

    
The walk in the deep silence of the night, under a bright moon,
soothes her frazzled nerves. She fills her lungs with the fresh, nippy air.
It leaves no space for the horror in the bedroom. It revives her spirits and
lifts her mood. She enjoys the vigorous freeing activity and the comfort
of seeing André stride ahead of her. And he also seems to know what he
is doing. It raises her confidence.

    
Looking back, his sudden appearance in that bedroom feels like a
miracle. Not only that he came right at that moment, but that he came at
all. He escaped and rather than simply save his own skin, as most people
would have done, especially someone who would never be able to raise
a ransom, he came back for her. How could she have misjudged him so
badly? Was it simply a reaction to his open wooing or was it something
else? … Or had her own current insecurity about her relationship with
Franco, his negative reaction to the Swiss, affected her judgment? After
this rescue, Franco must surely view André more positively. The Swiss
would be a fun friend to have. He is even able to see humor in situations
where other people only see despair.

* * *

When clouds cut off the light of the moon shortly after they reach an area
of open grasslands, André calls a rest on a small rise. She is exhausted,
both mentally and physically. The ups and downs of the track have tired
her legs.

    
"It’s getting too dicey without light. We could easily get lost in the
superpàramo
," he explains. "And amongst these boulders we can find
some shelter from the wind."

    
In fact, a fairly sharp wind is blowing. She assumes it to be a westerly,
but cannot be certain without the help of the moon.

    
"I want to change into my own things," he remarks, fetching the
clothes she saw him wear in San Agustin from the pack. He simply turns
his back to her, strips down to his underwear and puts on his own
garments, including his rain jacket. She wonders for what reason he wore
the clothes that are far too small for him, but that can wait. Right now she
wants to know how he survived the jump from the cliff.

    
Finished dressing, he says: "I’m sure you’re tired," while spreading a
sheet of plastic onto the humid grass in the lee of a big boulder

    
"Yes, I am, but first I want to hear what happened at that cliff. I was
told you jumped."

    
"All in good time, Bianca. That won’t run away, but sleep cannot wait
if we want to be rested for tomorrow’s slog. Come, lie down on this
sheet, close to the boulder."

    
She is of two minds. She is tired, but she also wants to know. "André,
tell me. You promised."

    
"I will, but not now. Now I order you to sleep."

    
She can only guess that he is smiling, because the last is said in a light
tone. He lies down himself and pats the space next to him. "Come."

    
Reluctantly, she obeys. He snuggles up to her back, matching the
shape of her body, and folds an arm lightly around her waist. She has
never lain with a man like this. But it feels right, safe. She doesn’t
wonder why.

    
"Let’s hope it won’t rain," he murmurs.

    
She closes her eyes, trying to find sleep. After a while, the cold makes
her shiver. André must have noticed. He fetches the clothes he shed
earlier from the pack and says: "Here, put on this pullover and these
pants over yours." Before she can object, he adds: "I know they stink, but
I’m sure you’ll rather suffer that than being cold."

    
He helps her out of the leather coat. Shivering, she quickly slips the
woolen garments on. Once she is lying, he covers her hips and legs with
the parka of the dead man. Then he joins her again. She welcomes the
arm that enfolds her. It gives her a sense of protection.

* * *

The smell of smoke wakes her. André is stirring the by now familiar corn
mash in a beat-up pot over a fire between stones. He used dry pieces of
frailejones
stems as fuel. She wonders where he found water. Her mouth
is watering at the thought of hot food.

    
When he sees her sit, he greets her with a warm smile. "Hungry?"

    
She nods.

    
"Only a few minutes more. Come, stir while I fetch water for drinking." Half a minute later, he returns and offers her a cup full of water.
"We will have to eat from the same pot and share the only spoon I have."