For a girl from the suburbs of Raleigh there were new sensations everywhere. If the jungle was dark, it was anything but silent. She’d tent-camped a few times in state parks back home, yet never had she witnessed nature in such primitive essence. For six nights she had lain awake to the call of birds, the keen of insects, frenzied cries from creatures under attack. She’d smelled the sweet scent of rain and the rich tang of decay, environmental cycles learned about in high school put vividly on display in her fern-carpeted surroundings. It seemed an impenetrable place, a living fortress of jade. But might that very imperviousness also serve in reverse? Could it not mask an assault should an elite Special Forces team arrive in the middle of the night to effect a rescue? Kristin was no expert in such things, which only made her imaginings that much more frightful.
She rolled to the side and pulled up a blanket to cover her naked chest.
“What is wrong, my love?” said the man next to her.
A light flicked on, a mobile phone screen called to life — who used a flashlight anymore? Against utter blackness the tiny screen cast the room in an unearthly blue-white hue. The meager furnishings already seemed familiar, as did the two square windows covered with plastic and duct tape. She saw their rations of food on the table, still in plastic shopping bags, and the teasing claw-foot bathtub in the corner that begged for a water supply. Finally, with a tilt of her head, she saw Carlos Duran.
In the dim light his long hair and beard were unchanged, the same as when she’d met him one year ago — seated in front of her in the auditorium on that first day of fall semester, twirling a yellow pencil nimbly in his hand. Psychology 1102, she recalled with amusement. A course he perhaps should have taught. He was twenty-six years old, or so he’d said. For reasons she could not discern, she often now added that caveat when it came to Carlos. Or so he said. Kristin thought he looked older now, and even in the dim, ghostly light she distinguished worry lines feathering from his eyes and a harder set to his jaw. A jaw that moved as he repeated his question.
“Nothing,” she replied, “I’m fine.”
His hand, the one not occupied by the phone, cupped her bottom, then moved up to find a bare shoulder. “You are shaking.” He rubbed slow circles on her back.
“I’m frightened, Carlos. Everything has gone wrong.”
He gave a weary sigh. It was not the first time they’d had this conversation.
He said, “Please believe me — I’m sorry about Thomas. My men got excited. They thought he was armed.”
“I told you he wouldn’t be. They made him check his gun in his suitcase, just as we expected.”
The caressing stopped.
Carlos rose from the bed and walked to the bathroom. He was naked, and it occurred to Kristin that the body she’d come to know so well her sophomore year, the one that had educated her in the disciplines of pleasure, seemed strikingly different now. His face held deeper grooves, and there was weariness in his posture. Worst of all, on the few occasions when their eyes met she sensed a profound detachment. He was a photograph that had yellowed with age, and her feelings for him seemed correspondingly blurred and faded. Or was it only her perspective? She’d fallen in love with the passionate son of a revolutionary leader, a young man committed to reclaiming his country from a corrupt government, and steadfast in his support of the oppressed. Or so he said. The bathroom light clicked on, and soon she heard him using the toilet. Kristin rolled away to face the far wall.
“As for the airplane,” he called out, “I can’t tell you what happened. The passengers must have been frightened. Perhaps they attacked poor Blas, our pilot. What more is there to say? It is a tragedy, but I told you from the beginning — there is always risk involved when one reaches for great things.”
“I know,” she said, “but I thought the risk was on our part. I never realized others would be put in harm’s way.”
He finished, but left the bathroom light on. Kristin heard his naked footsteps pad across the stone floor, then the mattress shifted as he sat on the bed behind her. “It is almost over. The money is on its way, and in a few hours everything will be done. Your father will have paid a steep price for abandoning you, and mine will have the means to better the lives of many Colombians, good people who the government has cast aside. Schools and clinics will be built, children will be saved.” His hand was on her again, this time finding a hip. “Soon you and I will be together again in Charlottesville, two poor college students attending class when we’re in the mood and making love when we’re not.”
She turned back and met his eyes directly. “How long will we keep it up before taking our share?”
Carlos shrugged. “Maybe we should graduate — a year, perhaps two. Long enough for everyone to forget these unfortunate troubles. Long enough for the trails to go cold. The money will wait for us, and one day we will go where we please, raise children, and teach them the right way to live.” He stood and pulled on his pants.
“What about my father — you don’t think he’ll pursue it? Won’t he try to find out who was behind my abduction?”
“Your father will soon be president, my love. He will have far more important things to do than to turn over old rocks in search of dangerous things. He of all people will keep our little adventure a secret.” Carlos reached down and kissed her on the forehead. “When this is done, it is done. It will be in everyone’s best interest to leave the past alone.”
“Won’t I be asked about what happened when I get back?”
“By who? The police are not involved, nor is the FBI.”
“The Secret Service? They lost a man in the line of duty — surely they’ll want to find out who was responsible for his death.”
“Their agent died in a plane crash. That will be the story, and if other ideas arise my father has sufficient connections in the Colombian government to make them disappear.”
“When can I meet your father?” she said.
“Today. He will come for the exchange.”
“What’s he like?”
“He is a bastard, but unlike your father he puts it to good use.”
“You said he helps people — I haven’t seen that. Most of the soldiers outside are younger than us, and they don’t strike me as very ideological. They act like thugs, smoking and drinking when Pablo isn’t there to slap them around.”
Carlos chuckled. “Pablo is my father’s sergeant. He is a real soldier who does what he must to keep the men in line.”
“He frightens me.”
“He is big and ugly, yes, but Pablo understands who is in command. He has fought at my father’s side for twenty years — I trust no one more.”
Kristin closed her eyes. Trust on her part was an increasingly open question. She looked at the scratched dresser where she had, days earlier, discovered a passport while searching for scissors. Carlos’ picture was inside, but the last name on the document was not Duran. So who was he really, this student-lover she thought she knew so well?
The fanciful plan they’d hatched over beer and wings in a Charlottesville pub bore little resemblance to what had played out. It had turned violent and dangerous. Innocent people had died, and she doubted very much that any of the ransom money would find its way to the underprivileged of the nearby villages, save perhaps for a handful of smiling barkeepers and prostitutes.
“What will I tell my mother?” she asked.
“Tell her the truth, that you were treated well.” He slapped her naked haunch and laughed, then pulled on his boots. “I have to go outside and check on things. My father will arrive soon.”