The Spanish Kidnapping Disaster (7 page)

While Amy tried to convince Phillip not to risk his life, I lay on my blanket and stared at the rocky ceiling, trying to work out a foolproof plan. The trouble was, I had never been any good at thinking ahead. In fact, that was why we were here. It hadn't occurred to me that Amy could possibly be right about Grace. In my eagerness to be with Grace, I hadn't thought ahead. No, I'd trusted her and never once suspected she might not be the person I thought she was.

Now, trying to devise a timetable for our escape, I could imagine the moment when Phillip faked his asthma attack, but after that all I could see was a blur of images. Us running, them chasing us. Shots being fired, bullets ricocheting, shouts and curses, screams. Either we'd be killed or we wouldn't be.

Since I couldn't imagine us dead, I was sure we'd get out of the cave safely. Then, somehow, everything would take care of itself, and we'd be back in Segovia with Mom and Don.

***

After a while, Amy started crying again. Lying beside her, listening to her sob, I wished I hadn't gotten us into this situation, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her I was sorry. Not while she was being so mean and blaming everything on me. If I apologized, I knew what she'd do. She'd gloat, I was sure she would, and then she'd make me promise to be good. "Be nice, Felix," she'd say. "Do whatever they tell you. Eat goat meat and thank them for it. Don't make them mad."

"Well, I won't be nice," I thought. "Not to any of them."

Across the cave, Grace was sipping a cup of coffee by the fire. "And I'll make you sorry," I silently promised her. "By the time we get out of here, you'll wish you'd never seen us."

Then Grace's eyes met mine. We stared at each other for a moment, and I felt my heart soften. Maybe she was as sorry as I was for the way things were turning out. Maybe she was even sorry enough to help us. Crossing my fingers for luck, I pulled my blanket up around my ears and closed my eyes.

I must have dozed off because the next time I looked at Grace she was sitting near the cave's entrance. In the gray light seeping in from outside, her face looked older, not as beautiful as before.

Glancing at Amy and Phillip, I saw they were both sleeping. Getting up quietly, I tiptoed to Grace's side. She jumped when I touched her shoulder.

"Go back and lie down with the others," she said sharply.

"I have to tell you something important." I was close enough to smell the stale cigarette smoke that clung to her hair and clothing. "Phillip has asthma. If he gets an attack, he might die."

Grace stared at me, her pale eyes level with mine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean this cave is bad for him." I paused dramatically and pointed at Phillip who was sitting up now. "Can't you see how sick he looks?" I asked her.

Actually he was no paler or skinnier than usual, but how was Grace to know that?

Grace tapped her fingernail against her front teeth. She looked worried, but before I could tell her anything else, we heard the Volkswagen laboring uphill toward us.

"Quick, go back with the others." Grace gave me a push to speed me up. "Orlando must not see you here with me."

By the time Orlando and Charles entered the cave, Phillip, Amy, and I were huddled together in our corner.

"Is everything under control?" Charles asked. "Did the little blighters give you any trouble?"

"No, they have been very quiet, very good," Grace said. "Even Felix."

Orlando held out his hand for the gun, and Grace gave it to him a lot quicker than she had taken it. As Orlando strode away, Charles patted Grace's shoulder and started talking to her in Spanish.

I turned to Phillip. "What's he telling her?"

He listened for a while. When Charles paused to open a bottle of wine, Phillip whispered, "I think they left the Citroen somewhere with our stuff in it, and they mailed the ransom letter."

Then Orlando took over the conversation, but no matter how hard Phillip tried, he could catch only an occasional word, not enough to understand what the man was saying.

While Phillip struggled to make sense of Orlando's Spanish, I watched Grace. From the expression on her face, I was sure she was arguing with Orlando, but Charles seemed indifferent to both of them. He sat between them,
smoking a long, dark cigarette, his narrow face blank. Occasionally he glanced at us the way a person might look at a pigeon or a cow. Not with any real interest, just idle curiosity.

Señora Perez wasn't part of the discussion. She sat near the fire cutting up meat and vegetables. From the way she shook her head and muttered to herself, I felt that she, like Grace, didn't approve of what Orlando was saying.

By the time a pot was simmering over the fire, Charles and Orlando were drinking wine together and laughing as if they were in a cafe. Grace sat apart, her back to them, and smoked one long, dark cigarette after another. Señora Perez continued to mutter and shake her head. Every now and then she looked at us and sighed.

As the goat stew filled the cave with its pungent aroma, Phillip leaned against Amy. "I'm tired of being kidnapped," he said. "I want to go home."

Then he started to cry. Watching tears roll down his cheeks, I felt a big lump form in my own throat. Putting my head on my knees, I began crying too. I couldn't help it. I wanted my mother. I'd had enough, more than enough, of Grace's true
España.

"Stop it!" Charles said. He was standing over us, frowning. "Stop it immediately. If there's one thing I cannot tolerate it's crying children!"

Orlando scowled at us from the other side of the fire, and Señora Perez muttered glumly, one hand pressed against her forehead, the other stirring the stew. Pushing Charles aside, Grace knelt beside Phillip.

"Now, now," she said, "you must not cry. You will make yourself sick."

Turning to me, she added, "You must set him an example, Felix. Be strong and hard, like the children in my country who fight their enemies and do not cry."

But I had no desire to be like the strong, hard children in Grace's country, whoever they were. Not now, not today. All I wanted was to go home and sit on my mother's lap and be comforted. Pushing Grace's hand away from my shoulder, I kept right on crying.

***

An hour or so later, Señora Perez summoned us to the fire to eat. This time, we took our bowls of stew without complaining. I was so hungry, I would have eaten anything, even brussels sprouts and lima beans. Besides, I told myself, it was better to escape with a full stomach than an empty one.

After dinner, Phillip, Amy, and I retreated to our blankets. In the dim light, I saw Orlando take his post by the cave's entrance. Charles sat silently beside him, smoking one cigarette after another and filling the air with a foul-smelling blue haze. Never in my life had I seen anyone smoke as much as he did. If our health book was right, his lungs must have been coated black with tar. As usual, he also had a bottle of wine to share with Orlando.

Near the fire's smoldering coals, Grace sat alone, her face hidden by her hair. There was no sign of Señora Perez. Perhaps she'd hopped on a broom and flown away.

Finally, too tired to watch my enemies any longer, I lay down beside Phillip and Amy. They were already asleep, and I envied them. Little fingers of cold air poked under my blankets, and sharp stones jabbed me. Amy moaned and cried in her sleep, and Phillip snored. Worst of all were the rustling sounds in the darkness. Suppose a bear had found its way into the cave? Would it attack me while I slept?

Hour after hour passed. No bear emerged from the shadows. Amy stopped moaning. Except for an occasional snuffle, Phillip slept quietly too. Finally I began to relax, but just when I was on the edge of a dream about home, I felt something bump against me. Terrified, I jerked wide awake and saw Grace's face inches from mine.

"Sh," she whispered as I sat up, too startled to speak. "It is my turn to be the guard, and Orlando wakes easily."

"What do you want?" I stared at her, but she was watching Orlando as if she thought he might throw his blankets aside and mow us down with his machine gun.

When he began snoring, Grace turned back to me. "I am sorry, Felix," she whispered. "You hate me, I know, and believe I have betrayed you. But I did not mean all this to happen."

I frowned at Grace, trying to see her face clearly but the darkness made it impossible. Her features were blurry, her eyes shadowy.

"I thought no harm would come to you," she went on, speaking hastily. "We would get money for the hungry children, the sad-eyed ones with nothing but air in their bellies. Then we would let you go. But now because of Orlando all the plans are changed, and I am afraid."

My heart sped up and my mouth felt dry. "What are you afraid of?" I whispered.

"Orlando is a dangerous man, more dangerous than I thought. He is wanted for robbery and murder, he is a fugitive," Grace said. "And Charles is weak. He will do what Orlando tells him and not argue. His love for me is nothing, no more than this." Grace snapped her fingers under my nose and I jumped. "He cares only for the money and himself. He is not the man I thought he was," she said.

"And you?" I stared at her. "What do you care about?"

"Me?" Grace sighed. "I make no matter in this. What I feel, what I think, is of no importance. To them, I am just a woman. Worthless." She spat into the dust and made a gesture at the sleeping men.

While I sat beside her, trying to understand, Grace lit a cigarette. The match flared and lit her hair, her face, the tears on her cheeks. Was she crying for herself? Or for us?

"If you really care about us, help us escape." I rose to my knees and seized her shoulders. "Please, Grace, please. You've got to help us!"

She pulled away from me and bumped against Phillip. Still asleep, he cried, "Mom, Dad, help."

Instantly Orlando was on his feet, yelling something in Spanish as he strode toward us.

"
El niño,
" Grace said, putting her arms around Phillip. As she spoke to Orlando, I caught the word
asma,
and I knew she was trying to tell him about Phillip.

But Orlando didn't care about anyone's health. Angrily he yanked Grace to her feet and slapped her hard. Then he turned to the three of us, wide awake now and cowering under our blankets. "
¡Silencio!
" he roared.

Wordlessly, we watched him push Grace back to the fire. Then he sat down at the cave's entrance and made a great show of cleaning and reloading his gun.

When I thought it was safe, I whispered to Phillip, "We're really in trouble."

"I know," he murmured. "Should I fake the asthma attack now?"

"No, not tonight, not while Orlando's here," I said. "Maybe he'll go somewhere with Charles tomorrow. When I think it's the right time, I'll tell you to start coughing and choking. If we cause enough confusion, we can run out of the cave and hide."

"What good will that do?" Amy asked. "We'll just get lost in the mountains and starve to death."

"At least we'll have a chance, Amy," Phillip said. "There must be a village or a farm near here where we can get help."

"But Orlando and Charles have guns," Amy said tearfully, "real guns with real bullets, and we don't have anything."

"Grace will help us," I told Amy. "She doesn't want anything bad to happen to us, I know she doesn't."

We looked across the cave. All we could see of Grace was the hump of her body in her sleeping bag. Charles leaned over her, whispering, but he spoke too softly for us to hear what he was saying.

Not far away, Orlando sat by the cave's entrance. Every now and then he coughed or shifted his position. Sometimes he mumbled in Spanish.

"I'm afraid of him," Amy said. "I'm afraid of Charles too. And, no matter what you say, Felix, I don't trust Grace. You made a big mistake about her once. You could be wrong again." Then Amy lay down and pulled her blanket over her head.

"Are you coming with us tomorrow?" I yanked her cover back and stared at her. "I have to know."

But she wouldn't answer. She just looked at me. Then she rolled over, and all I saw was her back.

"Amy," Phillip whispered. "You have to come. They'll kill you if you stay here."

"They'll kill me if I go," she said.

"Then it doesn't make any difference, right?" I leaned over her so I could see her face again. "If you go. If you stay. It's all the same. Except outside we have a chance of getting away from them. In here, we have no chance."

"Please, Amy, please," Phillip begged. "What will Daddy say if I come back without you?"

"What's going on over there?" Charles called. "Go to sleep right now!"

"
¡Silencio!
" yelled Orlando.

We lay still for a few minutes. Then I whispered to Amy, "As soon as Phillip fakes his attack tomorrow, run outside and hide."

Amy didn't answer, but I hoped Phillip and I had convinced her to go with us. If Grace helped, we could escape,
I was sure of it. 1 stole another glance at her, but the cave was so dark I couldn't even see her sleeping bag. There was nothing to do but wait for morning and hope Grace wouldn't let us down.

While we were eating our morning porridge, Orlando started yelling at us in Spanish.

He looked worse than ever. His shaggy hair and beard were uncombed, and his eyes were bloodshot. When he got no response except a terrified moan from Amy, he beckoned to Charles. They talked for a few minutes, and then Charles walked over and squatted down be- side us.

"Orlando's going into town now to see about the ransom," he said. "While he's away, you must behave."

Scowling at us, Orlando handed Charles his gun and said something else.

"I am in charge." Charles looked at everyone, including Grace. "Do you understand?"

When none of us said anything, Orlando nodded grimly. Turning to Grace, he spoke to her rapidly and she mumbled something. Not satisfied, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her roughly as he yelled at her. No one needed to understand Spanish to know he was threatening Grace.

Letting her go, Orlando tucked in his shirt, smoothed
back his hair, and left the cave. Outside, we heard the Volkswagen start and then roar off down the road.