The Spanish Kidnapping Disaster Page 5

  I shook my head. "Don't be so dumb, Amy. It doesn't make any difference how good we are. If things go wrong, they'll kill us."

  "So what should we do?" Phillip stared at me as if he thought I'd already worked out a plan to save his life.

  "Don't listen to Felix!" Amy warned him. "This whole thing is her fault. She's the one who lied about being rich, she's the one who wanted to see the windmills, she's the one who's making them mad. Do what I tell you, Phillip. Be nice."

  Phillip looked at me again, his glasses winking in the firelight. "Even if they get the money, they could still kill us." His voice began rising to its familiar whine and I wanted to shake him and Amy both. "That's what happens in the movies."

  "Phillip's right," I told Amy. "What's going to stop them from killing us? We have to get out of here," I said, startling myself with my own daring.

  "But how?" Phillip quavered. "How, Felix?"

  Visions of escape raced through my head. We could grab Orlando's gun, we could throw ashes in their faces, we could extinguish the fire. Once outside, we'd steal the bus and drive to safety in a hail of bullets. I would be at the wheel, of course, while Phillip and Amy cowered on the floor. As we roared into Segovia, Amy would finally acknowledge my skill and bravery. In gratitude, she would kiss my hand and beg me to forgive her for all the unpleasant things she'd said to me in the past.

  "How?" Phillip asked again, louder this time.

  As I opened my mouth to tell him, I saw Orlando leap to his feet. "¡Silencio!" he shouted across the cave at us.

  Ignoring me, Amy grabbed Phillip and pulled him down beside her. "Do what Orlando says," she whispered. "Be quiet and go to sleep."

  I lay down too, but instead of falling asleep, I thought about my daring plan. In a way I was glad I hadn't said anything to Phillip. The more I thought about it, the more problems I saw. For one thing, I didn't know how to drive. Maybe I would have to work out something a little less risky.

  While I lay there, I saw the old woman gather some things together and leave. Then the others smoked a few cigarettes and shared a bottle of wine. Finally Grace and Charles crawled into sleeping bags by the fire, and Orlando took a post by the entrance to the cave. Even in the dark, I could see on the machine gun cradled in his arms. There certainly wouldn't be any sneaking past him.

  Unhappily I forced myself to close my eyes and lie still. But all I could hear was my own voice, babbling on and on, making up one lie after another, giving Grace all sorts of false ideas about us. How could I have been so stupid?

  ***

  Much later, something woke me up. Peering into the cave's darkness, I realized that Orlando and Charles had changed places. Charles sat by the cave's entrance, and Orlando snored by the fire.

  But it wasn't Orlando who had disturbed me. It was Grace. Huddled next to Charles, she was arguing with him.

  "You promised not to tell Orlando of our plan," Grace was saying. "You know I do not trust him so much as this." She snapped her fingers in Charles's face.

  "He's the only one who knows how to manage this sort of affair," Charles said. "You and I are bumbling amateurs. "

  "Yes, but we would not harm anyone, you and I. We agreed there would be no guns, no danger to the children, and what do I see when the Volkswagen arrives? First there is Orlando, then guns, masks, ugly words. And now he talks of keeping the money instead of giving it to the starving children as we planned."

  Grace took Charles's hand. "You must not let him ruin things or harm the ones we hold captive. They are children, too. We cannot help the African babies and hurt these three."

  Charles sighed and drew Grace close. "Come, come, my dear," he said. "Your idealism is admirable, but three hundred thousand dollars can't feed all the world's children. Split three ways, however, it can give us a very nice life."

  Instead of kissing him, Grace shoved Charles away and leapt to her feet. "Traitor!" she cried. "We did this to save the innocents, not to live like degenerates! I cannot believe what I hear from you!"

  When Orlando sat up and began mumbling in Spanish, Charles pulled Grace down beside him. "Shh," he implored her. "Don't upset him."

  "I care not about his upset," Grace said, but Charles held her tightly as Orlando approached them.

  "Let me go!" Grace cried.

  "El amor," Charles said to Orlando. "¿Para qué sirve?"

  The two men laughed, and Charles released Grace. Then he handed Orlando a bottle of wine.

  I didn't understand what Charles had said, but it seemed to have satisfied Orlando. Without saying another word, Grace lay down by the fire, and Charles and Orlando smoked and drank together till I finally fell asleep again.

  11

  The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me. I opened my eyes and saw Grace bending over me. "Time to wake, Felix," she said. "Señora Perez has made a breakfast for you."

  Across the cave, the fire was burning brightly, and the old woman was stirring something in her witch's cauldron. Phillip and Amy huddled at her feet, spooning food into their mouths, and Charles and Orlando sprawled nearby, drinking coffee. I had slept more soundly than I thought.

  As Grace straightened up, I sprang to my feet and grabbed her arm. "How could you do this?" I whispered, feeling tears burn my eyes.

  She tried to pull away, but I hung on to her as tightly as I could. "I stood up for you," I sobbed. "I told Mom how nice you were."

  With her free arm, Grace brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Come, please, Felix," she said. "You must eat with the others."

  "Aren't you going to answer me?" I thrust myself in front of her as she pulled away from me. "I thought you liked me, I thought I was your friend."

  Grace hesitated and looked across the cave at Orlando and Charles. They were talking to each other, paying no attention to Grace and me. "Felix," she said, "you must not take this as a personal thing. In Toledo, you told me you are rich, lots of money, easy life. So I think it is fair to take some of that money to share with other children who are not so lucky. You understand? It was to help the other children that I brought you here. Not to hurt you."

  "I heard you and Charles last night," I said. "He and Orlando don't care about starving children. Or us. They just want the money for themselves."

  Grace frowned, but before she could answer, Orlando called to her in Spanish. Turning to him she said, "Un momento, por favor." Then she whispered to me, "Do not make that one angry. His temper is bad. You come now and eat. Later we talk, okay?"

  Scowling, I let her lead me to the fire. Then I took the bowl Señora Perez handed to me and poked my spoon into the runny porridge. It was lukewarm and full of lumps. If I hadn't been so hungry, I could never have swallowed it.

  "This is the worst stuff I ever ate in my whole entire life," Phillip whispered to Amy. "It tastes like pig food."

  "Sh," Amy whispered.

  Señora Perez was looking at us. "Is good?" she asked.

  Amy nodded and smiled as if she were in school, polishing the apple for a good grade. "Thank you very much. Gracias," she added as she gave her empty bowl to the old woman.

  Amy nudged Phillip. "Say thank you," she whispered.

  Ignoring his sister's instructions, Phillip stuck out his lower lip and silently shoved his bowl toward Señora Perez.

  The old woman peered at me. "You," she said, "good?" Like Phillip, I said nothing. I would have liked to dump the porridge in the fire, but I was too hungry for any heroic acts.

  A few minutes later, Orlando and Charles prepared to leave the cave. As Orlando puffed impatiently on a cigarette, Charles spoke to Grace softly. Without looking at him, she nodded several times. Her shoulders slumped, her face was pale, even her hair had lost its shine and looked dull auburn in the cave's gloom.

  Throwing his cigarette down, Orlando ground it under his heel and growled something to Charles in Spanish. While I watched, his eyes found mine and he frowned. Pulling a revolver out of his jacket pocket, he thrust it toward Grace. His gestures i
ndicated she was to shoot us if we tried to escape.

  When she didn't take the gun, Orlando grabbed her shoulder with his free hand and pulled her toward him. With his face close to hers, he shouted at her. Charles tried to intervene, but Orlando yelled at him, too.

  "Dios!" Charles turned to Grace and began talking rapidly.

  With great reluctance, Grace took the gun and nodded as Orlando continued to shout at her.

  Finally satisfied that Grace would keep us in the cave, Orlando left. Charles murmured something before following, but Grace didn't answer. Head down, she stood near the entrance, the gun in her hand.

  From outside, we heard an engine start, first the tinny sound of the Citroen, then the rumble of the Volkswagen.

  Grace stood still for a few seconds longer, listening to the car and the bus chug down the mountain. Then she looked at us, her gaze moving slowly from me to Amy to Phillip and then back again to me.

  "Can we go outside for a while?" I asked, forcing myself to speak politely. "I don't think the air in here is good for us. It's cold and damp."

  "Yes," Phillip agreed. "It's making me feel sick."

  Grace frowned and shook her head. "You must stay in the cave," she said. "Orlando is strict about that."

  "But it's so dark," Phillip argued, "and I have to go to the bathroom."

  "There is a place for that." Grace pointed to a corner at the back of the cave. "Over there, a bucket behind the curtain."

  As Phillip disappeared behind the curtain, Grace looked at Amy and me. "Today Orlando and Charles mail the letter with our demands," she told us. "Perhaps the money will come quickly and you will not have long to stay here."

  "Suppose you don't get the ransom?" I asked. "What will happen to us?"

  "No harm will come to you," Grace said, but she didn't look at me as she spoke. She sat down cross-legged and laid the gun carefully beside her.

  "You'll just let us go, money or no money?" I stared at Grace, wanting to believe her.

  Bending her head, she gave her attention to the raveling edge of the hole in her jeans. As she picked at the threads with her long fingernails, she frowned. "We will get the money. Children are important in your country. There will be great demands for your safety."

  After Phillip returned from the "bathroom," Grace smiled at the three of us. "You are good children," she said softly. "Please behave, especially when Orlando is here. I swear to you that I will let nothing happen to you."

  Picking up the revolver, she got to her feet and we watched her walk away. As she helped Señora Perez with the fire, I sighed. What was I to believe?

  Beside me Phillip snuffled and coughed. His eyes were rimmed in red, and his hair stood up in wisps like straw.

  Moving closer to Amy, I whispered, "Is Phillip sick?"

  She shook her head. "It's his allergies," she said. "Probably the dust and mold in here are making them worse."

  "Suppose we tell them he has asthma," I said, "and the cave is bad for him."

  "Why?" Amy looked at me suspiciously.

  "He could pretend he's having an attack and scare them into letting us go."

  "Absolutely not," Amy said. "If you want to get killed, you have the asthma attack. Just leave my brother out of it."

  Phillip's head swiveled toward us. "Leave me out of what?"

  Ignoring Amy, I leaned toward Phillip. "If I tell them you have asthma, can you fake it?" I asked him.

  "You mean cough and choke and act like I can't breathe?"

  I nodded.

  "I guess so," Phillip said. "A boy in my class has asthma, and I know what happens when he gets sick."

  "Don't do it," Amy said, but neither Phillip nor I paid any attention to her.

  "Should I try it now?" Phillip coughed a couple of times.

  "Not now and not ever," Amy said. "I mean it, Phillip."

  "No," I said. "Not yet. Let's see what Orlando and Charles say when they come back. Maybe they'll have good news. Or maybe the police will follow them, even."

  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.

  12

  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 sayi
ng.

  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.