María awoke with a start,sat up, glanced around her basement prison. The faint light of dawn glowed beyond narrow, barred windows high above the concrete floor. Dianne and her photographer, Tim, were still asleep. An armed guard—one of the men who had abducted them—dozed on a wooden chair propped against the door that was their only exit. In the opposite corner, rats nosed about, looking for a meal.
Revulsion shivered through María. Being abducted was one thing. Being forced to share space with rats—that was something else.
She knelt on the tattered wool blanket that served as her bed, straightened her scapular and veil, pulled her rosary from the knotted rope that bound her waist. Then she crossed herself and began to pray the Divine Mercy chaplet in silence, willing herself to focus on the words of the prayer and not the squeaks coming from the corner. The words came without effort, the recitation clearing her mind, helping her to focus.
Por Su dolorosa Pasión, ten misericordia de nosotros y del mundo entero.
For the sake of His sorrowful Passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world.
She heard when the guard woke, when he got to his feet, when he came to stand in front of her, but she didn’t open her eyes. She felt the barrel of his rifle caress her cheek, cold steel against her skin, and still she prayed, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. Bullies like him thrived on other people’s fear. Besides, if these men had intended to kill her or the other hostages, they’d be dead already.
By the time María had finished her morning prayers, the guard was talking to his girlfriend on his cell phone, and Dianne and Tim were awake. They had to be as hungry as she was. Because they didn’t speak Spanish, they were also more afraid and disoriented. María turned her attention to them.
No, this wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Being kidnapped and held hostage wasn’t what she’d envisioned when she’d taken this assignment. But as long as her abductors respected her status as a religious sister, she could still do her job.
She stood, walked over to kneel before Dianne and Tim. “Did you sleep?”
She spoke with a heavy Spanish accent, certain her safety and her ability to do her job depended on no one knowing that she, too, was a US citizen. Otherwise, her captors would surely try to ransom her, as well.
“A little.” Dianne brushed her fingers through her tangled blonde hair. “It’s cold at night, and this floor is so hard.”
That was the truth.
Tim watched the guard. “Have the bastards said what they want with us yet?”
María lowered her voice to a whisper. “They are holding you for ransom. I heard them talking about it. Do not be afraid. When they get the money, they will let you go.”
She’d also overheard conversations about shipments of potatoes and bananas coming in from Colombia and a few mentions ofel Jefe—the Boss. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe they were really talking about potatoes and bananas.
The actual cargo was cocaine.
For years now, Colombian drug cartels had been operating in Venezuela with the help of officials at the highest levels of government. They used the Mission as cover, transporting drugs hidden beneath much-needed food and medicine. Father Alberto not only knew what they were doing, but also served as their confessor, absolving murderers and drug traffickers of their sins while preaching about the poor and downtrodden.
Sister María loathed him.
As for the identity ofel Jefe, it was almost certainly Luis Rafael Sánchez Mantilla, the president’s brother-in-law. He’d visited the mission more than once, always after a shipment, meeting in private with Father Alberto for spiritual direction—or so Father Alberto claimed. Now it seemed that Sánchez and Sergio de Anda Ruiz, the powerful head of the Andes Cartel, had taken up kidnapping in addition to drug trafficking. Maybe they just wanted the money—or perhaps their goal was to discourage foreign journalists.
“What about you?” Dianne had already apologized to María a half dozen times, as if she were to blame for María’s abduction.
María willed herself to smile. “The Church does not pay ransom, but do not worry. I don’t believe they will harm me.”
Dianne took her hand. “If you hadn’t tried to stop them—”
“¡Cállate!” the guard shouted.Shut up!
María wouldn’t let him intimidate her. She stood, turned to face him, scolding him in an unbroken stream of Spanish, invoking his mother, his grandmothers, and the Blessed Virgin before demanding that he bring them all warm water for washing and something to eat and drink. “What would your mamá say if she could see this?”
The scolding had its desired effect, the guard’s gaze dropping to the floor before he muttered, “Sí, Hermana.”
Then he left them alone.
“I guess you showed him,” Tim said.
Dianne stared at her in amazement. “You’re not afraid of them.”
That wasn’t necessarily true, but María refused to admit that.
She smiled. “God is my strength.”