Chapter 2

Posted: February 26, 2007 - 09:23:09 amUpdated: May 05, 2007 - 10:12:21 am?

Peter Ballard woke up on the hard wooden floor of the cargo truck as it bounced and jounced over the washboard dirt road. It took him almost a full minute to figure out where he was and what had happened to him. He groaned at the sudden stabbing pain in his head, as the truck bottomed out on a particularly nasty bump. Peter felt someone kneel down beside him, but in the all-encompassing darkness, he had no idea who it was.

"Are you awake, Pete?" asked his sister Darla.

Pete uselessly smacked his lips a couple of times before he could make a sound escape them.

"I've been better," he rasped. "Are you and the girls okay?"

"We are fine physically, but we are scared to death and worried sick about you. You've been unconscious for hours."

Pete tried to clamp down on the pain in his head and concentrate.

"What's happening, has anyone told you anything?"

"Commander Zorra, the woman in charge of these soldiers, said we are prisoners of the FARC. They are holding us hostage until someone pays them a ransom. This is all like some bad romance novel."

Darla's voice broke at the end of her last sentence, and Pete felt the wetness from her tears on the side of his face. With more confidence than he felt, Pete tried to reassure her.

"Take it easy, Dee, the company I work for has been mining down here for years, they have probably been in this situation before. They'll know what to do. We will be laying on the beach in a couple of days laughing about this."

His sister didn't have the opportunity to talk more, because someone kicked Pete in the side about then, and ordered, "silencio".

Thankfully, that same person gave him a sip from their canteen. Pete concentrated on staying awake and keeping his stomach from emptying itself on the floor of the truck for the remainder of their ride. His mind was awhirl as he tried to think of a way to get his sisters out of this predicament. He determined that he would plead their case to the insurgent leader as soon as he met her. After all, he knew that his stepfather and mother couldn't afford to pay much of a ransom for them, so what use would they be?

Another half hour on the rutted road, and the truck finally ground to a halt. Pete was feeling better by then, his mushy thought processes clearing, as the pain in his head receded. His sense of relief was short lived, however, when his head was roughly covered with a dark coarse-cloth hood, and he was dragged from the truck. A female voice cleared up his confusion over the hood.

"Do not be alarmed Señor Ballard," a melodious voice said. "The hood is so you will not be able to lead anyone to our camp."

"Ah, Commander Vixen, I presume," Pete said.

"What did you just call me, Señor Ballard?"

"I called you Commander Vixen... My Spanish isn't that great, but isn't that what Zorra means in English?"

The woman's laugh was genuine and lovely.

"It is good you still have your sense of humor, señor; it will make your time with us less stressful. However, I am Zorra the sly fox, not Zorra the cunning woman."

Pete laughed along with her and took her words as encouragement. He turned the conversation serious.

"Commander, I will be a model prisoner and do all in my power to help you collect whatever ransom you think my employer will pay. In return, all I ask is that you keep my sisters safe. I have heard horror stories about how some women captives are treated."

Pete noticed the immediate change in her tone of voice.

"The terms of your captivity will be dictated by the customary rules of war, señor," she said haughtily. "We are an army of liberation, not a band of criminals. Almost half of my soldiers are women. Any mistreatment of your sisters will earn the culprits swift and exacting justice."

Pete had read somewhere that at least one third of the FARC's eighteen thousand combatants were women. If Zorra's band had an even higher percentage, it should make the situation safer for his sisters. He let her comment about not being criminals go by unchallenged.

"Thank you, Commander," he said.

"De nada," she replied.

Pete noticed as they walked, that the sound of rushing water he'd heard since the clattering engine of the truck had stopped was getting louder. Wherever the guerilla camp was located, it was near some roughly flowing waterway. They walked towards the sound of the water, with Marta leading Pete along. As they walked, Marta quizzed him about Consolidated Mining.

Marta grinned at his enthusiastic replies to her questions. His youthful idealism as he spoke of environmentally sound mining practices, made her think of her time at the University. As he talked, she wondered when her burning desire for justice for the people had morphed into this struggle to keep her unit fed and clothed. She was only a few years older than him, yet listening to him ramble on made her feel old and jaded. Marta vowed to herself that she would rekindle that flame as soon as they received the ransom for this idealistic young man.

Pete would have been awestruck had he been able to see what was before him, as they broke out of the high jungle. Marta paused in wonder herself, and she had seen the sight from this vantage point hundreds of times. The end of the jungle growth was actually the edge of a two hundred foot cliff. The cliff surrounded three sides of a gorge, approximately the size of a football field. At the end of the gorge to their right, a four foot diameter hole in the cliff face, about fifty feet from the top, discharged a plume of water, much like a water pipe. The water arched out away from the cliff and splashed loudly into a lake that completely filled the bottom of the gorge. The waxing moon was reflected in a long ribbon of light down the length of the lake and made the arching waterfall appear to be a cascade of sparkling diamonds.

A narrow trail wended down to the bottom of the cliff. The trail was mostly natural, with a few manmade sections. The trail appeared to end at a pile of large boulders strewn haphazardly under the pulsating flow of the waterfall. Marta and her party carefully traversed the trail with their blindfolded captives. When she arrived at the boulders at the base of the falls, she slipped into a narrow crevice behind them. Fifteen feet down the crevice, she pulled aside a piece of heavy green canvas, and entered a small cave with a sand covered floor. When everyone was in the room and the canvass back across the opening, Marta turned on a flashlight. It was the first artificial light they'd used since exiting the truck.

Marta led the way with the flashlight to the back of the cave, where another dark green canvas covered a manmade corridor about twenty feet long. Once inside the corridor with the curtain closed, Marta flipped a light switch bolted to the wall, and a small light bulb lit the corridor. At the end of the corridor was a third canvass curtain; through the curtain, was a large well lit chamber that served as the headquarters of the Carlos Sanchez Column. There were four people in the room, two of them preparing to go out to relieve the guards at the top of the gorge.

Marta had the captives' hoods removed. It took a minute for their eyes to adjust to the lights, then all four looked around in awe. The cavern was at least fifty feet in diameter, with three tunnels radiating out from it, excluding the way they entered. The floor was smooth and level rock, and looked freshly swept, while the ceiling curved up from the floor to a height of at least twenty feet. Rough-hewn tables and chairs were situated around the room and weapons racks lined one wall. One of the tables held old but functional looking communications gear, while another appeared to serve as a workstation for weapons repair.

Pete asked Marta where they were, and Marta beamed with justifiable pride.

"This is an unsurveyed, played-out gold mine, not listed on any maps. We are very safe and secure here," was all she told him.

The real story was that it was a natural cave system that had been expanded and mined for gold, probably starting over a thousand years ago. The tunnels led all through the mountain, and had been sectioned off with the safest parts used for living and sleeping areas. If necessary, over a thousand people could be sheltered there. These caves were unknown, except to the local Muiscas (decendants of the Chibcha People, the first inhabitants of Colombia — in the Chibcha language, Muisca means people) and they protected its location fiercely. The mine had played out during the time of the conquistadors, so until now, only ghosts had inhabited these caves for four hundred years. Marta believed that the Muiscas allowed them to occupy the caves because their cause was just.

The caves and old abandoned mine tunnels were perfect for her band of insurgents. It had plenty of space, was easy to defend, and had three concealed exits scattered around the honeycombed mountain. One of the branch tunnels even had a small spring that provided water for cooking and drinking. The crystal clear spring fed into a small man made pool and trickled at the rate of about five gallons an hour. Water that overflowed the pool went out a little channel and disappeared in a fissure in the floor. Outside of the cave, a bigger spring fed a small stream that provided them with a place to bathe and wash clothes; two things Marta insisted her soldiers do regularly. The spring was on the eastern lower slope of the mountain, in an area of heavy upland jungle. The thick triple canopy jungle concealed the stream from observation from the air.

The waterfall, which concealed the one of the entrances into their subterranean hideout, also provided the guerillas with a clever means of generating electricity for lighting the dark cave system. They had installed a small and easily concealed submersible electric turbine at the base of the falls. The swiftly flowing water generated enough electricity to power the lights, communications equipment and a few small appliances.

Before Pete could ask any other questions, Marta held up her hand.

"You are much too inquisitive Señor Ballard for so late at night. We are all tired and have much to do tomorrow," she said dismissively.

Marta gave an order, and Pete and his sisters were led down one of the side tunnels to a small room with a heavy wooden door. The top portion of the door had a foot square hole covered with heavy wire mesh. The hole was at eye level allowing the guard a means of checking the occupants without opening the door. Their hands were untied, and the heavy door closed and barred behind them. The room was about fifteen feet square, and manmade tool marks were obvious on the granite walls.

A couple of thin mattresses were stacked against one wall, along with a stack of roughly woven thick wool blankets. In the opposite corner from the mattresses, was a five gallon covered plastic bucket with a roll of toilet paper on top. By the door, was another smaller bucket filled with water and a canteen cup. In the center of the room sat an aged folding card table with a pair of matching chairs. The room was illuminated by a dim single naked light bulb on a pull string. The guard at the door forbade them from turning off the light, to make checking on them easier.

It took Pete a few minutes to calm his sisters before he could get them organized. He gave them an update on his talks with Commander Zorra before setting them to work putting down mattresses and blankets. The thick wool blankets were going to be welcomed, because it was a cool sixty-five degrees in the cave. After the makeshift beds were laid out, the siblings sat down to discuss their situation. Pete tried to reassure Stephanie and Katherine as he had done with Darla.

"I'm sorry this happened, it wasn't quite the exciting vacation I had planned for us, but you'll definitely have something to tell your friends about when you get home," he said lightly.

His sisters smiled weakly at his joke, so he continued.

"I don't know how long the negotiations for our release should take, but I don't envision it being long. This sort of thing is less common so close to the capital nowadays, but in the remote areas of the country, it happens all the time, so I'm sure everyone knows how to resolve this."

Stephanie was sniffling as she sat between her sisters.

"I'm scared, Petey, these people are so cruel looking, even the women. I don't want to be raped," she stammered, as her sisters nodded their agreement.

Pete moved in front of her and took her hand in his. He had always worried extra about Stephanie. She was about the sweetest person he'd ever met, but she was shy and timid. Their mom said it was because she had had this fabulous adult body before her brain caught up with it. Pete didn't doubt for a minute that Stephanie was still a virgin.

"It's okay to be scared Steph, but I think you're relatively safe on that score. Commander Zorra told me she wouldn't let anything happen to any of you. Lets get some sleep and see how it goes tomorrow, okay?"

It took them a few minutes to get situated for bed. In the end, Darla simply pulled the two mattresses together, and put Pete in the middle. All three of the women needed to be close to their big brother that night. He had always been fiercely protective of them, and they drew strength from his nearness. The sisters grabbed their pajamas and nighties, happy their suitcase had been given back to them even if they had been pilfered. Then they slipped under the blankets to change into their nightclothes. That task done, they snuggled together for warmth and comfort; unaware of the totally different ordeal they were about to face.

Part of the 21st Front of the Peoples' Army, the Carlos Sanchez Column was one of the best-organized and led guerrilla units in the FARC. The 21st Front was the only FARC unit that operated totally within Tolima Province. Tolima Province (Departamento del Tolima) straddled the Magdalena River Valley that lay between the East and Central Cordillera ranges of the Andes Mountains, and was approximately one hundred twenty miles south southwest of Bogotá. The Tolima district was a major agricultural area, providing much of the meat and vegetables eaten in Bogotá. The region cultivated staples such as rice and corn in addition to beans, plantains, pepper, sugarcane and coffee. Tolima was sparsely populated outside of a few major cities.

The Sanchez Column was responsible for the town of Prado and its roughly two hundred square mile administrative region. The town of Prado had a population of slightly less than ten thousand, making it perfect for the FARC's purposes. The town was large enough to have communications (including cellular phone service) and some amenities, yet small enough to escape the presence of the Guardia Nacional. In addition, the FARC was well thought of in Prado, mainly because of Comendadora Zorra.

At midmorning on the day after the kidnapping, Marta and a squad of soldiers escorted a bound and blindfolded Peter Ballard to a spot on a hillside, near one of the town's cellular phone towers. After Pete was untied and his hood removed, Marta fished a disposable cell phone out of her pack.

"Call your employer, Señor Ballard, it is time to start negotiating your release," she said, handing him the phone.

Pete took the phone and dialed the central number for Consolidated Minerals and Metals in Bogotá. When the phone was answered, he asked to speak with Tim Arronson, the Operations Manager, and senior man for the Colombian venture. As soon as Arronson was on the line, Pete tersely apprised him of his situation, then handed the phone to Marta. Marta listed the FARC's demands for the release of Pete and his sisters: one million dollars US, plus the equivalent in Colombian Pesos. Arronson said that all he could do was relay the demand to corporate, as he had no authority to spend that kind of money. Marta accepted his explanation, and informed Arronson that they would call back in two days.

Tim Arronson hung up the phone and fell back in his chair. In his three years supervising this operation, he had never had a situation remotely resembling this one come up. He felt horrible about young Ballard; he was a good kid and a marvelous geologist. He felt even worse for the boy's sisters. The FARC was notorious for the atrocities they committed on women. Yet, he knew his sadness and guilt were justified, because Consolidated had a firm policy of not paying ransoms or tributes to terrorist. Ballard and his sisters were as good as dead. Arronson sighed and picked up his phone again. He dialed the international calling code for the United States, then the area code and number for Consolidated's headquarters in Denver. Arronson's call took five minutes to make its way up the chain of command to Sean O'Malley, the company president, founder and majority shareholder.

Sean O'Malley was cast from the same mold as Ross Perot, that is, he was tough, feisty and cocky. Sean did not take the news of his star geologists kidnapping well at all. As soon as Arronson was off the phone, he stabbed the intercom button.

"Jolene, get me the personnel file for Peter Ballard and then track down John Riley, I want both of them here five minutes ago," he snarled into the mouthpiece.

About six minutes after he had called his secretary, a tall, tanned, fit-looking man in cowboy boots came strolling into Sean's office. He tossed a manila folder on the desk, and sprawled into a comfortable chair.

"Jolene called me first, so I picked up Ballard's file from HR. What's going on, Sean?" Riley asked.

John Riley was the head of security for Consolidated Minerals and Metals. He had been Sean's roommate at the Air Force Academy and his wingman in Vietnam. The two men were as close as brothers.

"The damned FARC has kidnapped this boy and his sisters down in Colombia. They want us to pay two million dollars to let them go. I'd spend ten times that to get them free, but I ain't paying those commie cocksuckers a penny. Instead, I want you to take your gangly ass down there and do what you have to do to get them back," O'Malley said, waving Ballard's personnel folder around.

"That's going to take some time to set up, Boss," Riley replied.

"I figured as much, JR, so I'm going to drag out the negotiations as long as I can; you just worry about getting them back."

Riley nodded and stood up.

"I'm on it," he said.

After Riley left, Sean opened Ballard's file and looked up the contact information for his next of kin. The person to contact in case of an emergency was listed as Mrs. Alexandra Stovall, with an address in Orlando, Florida. He grimly gripped the phone and dialed the number on the form. He would make the call to the mother personally, because Sean O'Malley never shirked his duty, regardless how unpleasant.

The woman who answered sounded too young to be the mother of grown children, but she verified that she was indeed, Alexandra Stovall.

"Mrs. Stovall, my name is Sean O'Malley, I'm the president of Consolidated Metals and I'm afraid I have some rather distressing news concerning your children."

Alexandra Stovall's heart thundered in her chest as O'Malley filled her in on what he knew. When O'Malley told her that he would finance and mount a rescue attempt, her mind finally kicked into high gear. Oh, She listened to the man and answered his questions, but she was stuck on his statement about a rescue attempt. She didn't have a clue as to the abilities of whomever he would hire to find and return her children, but she did know someone who could definitely do the job. With O'Malley's promised to keep her informed, she broke the connection and placed a call of her own.

Seventy-five miles away, in the small seaside community of Palmdale, an answering machine took her call. After the disembodied digital voice asked her to leave a message, Alexandra spoke.

"Gabriel, this is Alex, we have an emergency and I need to see you."

Alex hit the end call button on the phone, then called her husband's office. Charles Stovall did not take the news of the kidnapping well. His voice was panic stricken when he told her he'd be right home. Charles was not very good in an emergency.

Pete filled his sisters in on his phone conversation with Mr. Arronson, and told them of Commander Zorra's demands. All of them agreed that the amount of the ransom was small enough for Consolidated to agree to easily. Darla quickly ended Pete's feeling that the situation might resolve itself quickly and painlessly.

"Pete, you know they have notified mom by now; and I'm betting the first person she called was daddy."

Pete's eyes open wide at what Darla said. Their stepfather, Stephanie and Katherine's father, Charles Stovall, raised Pete and Darla, but they saw their real father often. Yet, he hadn't even considered his father, because of all that was going on. Pete idolized his dad, and at the same time, was deeply saddened for him. His dad was the most honorable man he'd ever met, but that sense of honor made the man barely able to function in the real world. Pete knew his father would feel honor bound to rescue his children. Given Gabriel Ballard's past, if they were still captives when he found them, a disaster was in the making.

"Oh, Jesus!" Pete groaned.

For her part, Marta Cardenas was pleased with the opening gambits of the ransom negotiations. She had thought long and hard about the amount of money to ask for, and how to couch her demands. Two million dollars was easily within the reach of Ballard's employer. However, two million dollars would finance her unit for at least four years while allowing her to pass a nice gift up to the FARC Central Command.

Taking her captives from the heart of the wealthy district of Bogotá had been a huge gamble, as the Colombian military vigorously patrolled the area. However, the benefits from taking the gamble were worth the risk. For one, she had found a target worth kidnapping in only hours. She would have had no such luck around Tolima, as wealthy residents had taken to flying to avoid being kidnapped. An even larger plus to her, was that by going so far afield for her captives, she was sparing the people of Prado retribution by the army or secret police. Her only regret was that the clandestine operation had been so successful, they had not spilled the blood of a single member of the Guardia Nacional, the tyranical henchmen of Colombia's corrupt government.

The Stovalls were sitting in their family room in the gathering dusk of the early evening, when the doorbell rang. Alexandra jumped up and rushed to open it. She knew who would be on the other side of the door. She swung the door open and pulled the man standing on the stoop inside. She shut the door and sagged against him.

"Gabriel, I'm so glad to see you," she said, her voice fraught with emotion, her face streaked with tears.

Gabe Ballard hugged his ex-wife gently and kissed the top of her head.

"What's the problem, Alex?" he asked.

Alex broke the hug and took his hand, tugging him deeper into the house.

"Come on in and sit down, Charles needs to be in on this too."

Gabe followed her into the family room, Charles stood up and the two men shook hands. Charles appeared to be even more of an emotional mess than Alex. Alex motioned towards a burgundy colored wing back chair for Gabe, as she sat down on the couch next to her husband. Alexandra took a moment to look at Gabe and as always, her heart did a little pitter-patter. God, the man was fifty-five years old and didn't look a day over forty. Gabriel Ballard was the love of her life and always would be. Oh, she loved Charles Stovall; he was a wonderful husband and a terrific father. In short, he was everything that Gabriel could never be. Unfortunately, he was also not half the things that Gabriel was.

She had met Gabe when she was in college. They were thrown together at a Memorial Day wreath laying ceremony. She was the reigning Miss Baltimore and he was a highly decorated green beret. Together they laid the wreath on Baltimore's Vietnam War Memorial as the mayor pontificated. Both Alex and Gabe felt the spark when their fingers touched as they held the wreath. Alex stayed close to him for the rest of the ceremony, then boldly asked him out for coffee afterwards. The year was nineteen seventy-nine; she was twenty-one, he was seven years older.

They stayed in touch and dated over the next year, whenever Gabe could get away from his duties. They fell further in love at each stolen meeting. The day after she graduated from college, Alex drove down to Fort Bragg, North Carolina and showed up at Gabe's orderly room. After a fifteen-minute conversation, Gabe's sergeant major escorted Alex to his team room so she could propose to him.

Their marriage had lasted eight years and two children, before Gabe's repeated departures on secret and dangerous assignments brought Alex to the point of a nervous breakdown. Gabe understood her dilemma, but could not or would not refuse the assignments he was given. Sadly, they agreed to divorce. She eventually met and married Charles Stovall. Charles had been a treasure, providing the stability that Alex and her children needed.

Alex was startled back to the present by the sound of Gabe's deep calm voice.

"So tell me what's the problem, Lexie, and how can I help?"

Alexandra gathered in her emotions and laid the story out for Gabe. As she talked, he remained expressionless, except for a tightening of his jaw muscles. When she finished the story, Gabe sat in stony silence for a few minutes. When he finally spoke, his voice had an edge of steel to it.

"It will take me a few days to get a visa and gather some things I'll need. In the meantime, I want you to contact this O'Malley and offer to pay three thousand dollars a week to the kidnappers, as a sign of good faith for keeping the girls safe. I have some money saved, so I can finance at least a couple of months of payments."

After some back and forth, Gabe agreed to let Charles pay half of the earnest money. They talked for a few more minutes, then Gabe left. Alexandra walked him to the door and gave him a hug and a brief kiss.

"Bring our children home, Gabriel, just don't get hurt doing it."

He nodded and held her a few seconds before slipping out the door.

Gabe thought about his marriage to Alexandra as he drove home. Yes, he still loved her and he guessed he always would. Unfortunately, his love for her and his children could not displace the relentless sense of duty that formed the core of his character. Alex and the kids deserved better than he could provide them, so he sucked it up and agreed to a divorce. He paid much more in child support than had been required, and visited his children as often as he could. He was pleased for Alex and the kids' sake, when she met and married Charles Stovall, even though they moved six hundred miles away from him. When he retired from the army, he moved to Florida to be near them again.

Once he was home, Gabe sat up half the night doing research on Consolidated Minerals and Metals and Sean O'Malley. He also read all the latest information he could find on Colombia and the FARC. He e-mailed in his request for a visa to an old teammate of his that now worked in the security services branch of the State Department. Gabe knew his old buddy, Jesse Barnett, would grease the skids for him to get his Colombian visa stamp quickly and painlessly.

The next morning, Gabe went to the office of his employer and tried to quit his job. His boss talked him out of resigning and put him on unpaid leave of absence. Gabe went home and packed a duffle bag, then aimed his old pickup truck north on Interstate 95, headed toward Fort Bragg. It was time to call in a few more favors, something Gabe had never done before.
Joe J & Wet Dream-Girl
Chapter 3