Constant Fear

CHAPTER 21

Powerful hands gripped Andy’s shoulder, but he couldn’t tell if the person-a man, it had to be a man-stood in front or behind him. Perhaps not long ago those same hands had been wrapped around his throat. A moment later, someone escorted Andy down a short flight of stairs.

Completely blindfolded, Andy could see nothing. He was led to a cushioned seat, and Andy thought he knew where he was. He couldn’t ask because the gag was still in place. Andy heard a door open somewhere to his left. His ragged breathing drowned out most every sound, but he might have heard footsteps, many sets of them. Shuffling feet mixed in with grunts and dulled cries.

Andy slowed his breathing. Now he heard it distinctly. Scraping sounds. Chairs being pushed around perhaps?

“No te muevas. No te muevas,” a man’s voice said. He repeated that command several times.

Andy focused. With concentration, he could pick out the sound of footsteps. They seemed to come from the same short set of stairs Andy had just descended.

He felt a sudden and strong tug on the back of his head. Someone loosened his blindfold. The fabric fell away and light flooded Andy’s eyes. He blinked to clear his vision. Shapes came into sharp focus. He recognized the Feldman Auditorium, located on the first floor of the Academy Building. The Academy Building was the largest on campus, a gateway to The Quad and surrounding dormitories and classrooms. It was used mostly for history, art, anthropology, and religious studies.

The auditorium, named for one of the school’s most prominent benefactors, seated three hundred people and provided a stately environment for performances and assemblies. It was a modern theater with balcony seating. Andy sat in the center of the front row, facing the stage.

Onstage, lit as though they were part of a school production, were his five closest friends: David, Pixie, Hilary, Solomon, and Rafa. Each was seated on a classroom chair. Their wrists were restrained with rope. Their school uniforms were wrinkled, torn in places, dirty in others. They wore blindfolds and had gags made of the same thick cloth that was stuffed in Andy’s mouth.

Fear poured out from the five as sweat. Andy called out to them, but that gag-that damn gag.

More horrifying were the men who stood in a line onstage behind his friends. There looked to be a dozen of them, but Andy was too rattled to count. These men were armed to the hilt with shotguns, pistols, assault rifles, and large knives. They flashed their weapons like peacocks showing off feathers.

They came in all shapes and sizes: tall men and thin men, some with long, dark hair and some who kept it short. Some of them had bushy mustaches; others had scruff; a few displayed beards; the minority were clean-shaven. One had red hair and stood next to a man with a prosthetic hand and a claw attachment. They looked relaxed, and why not? Andy was nothing but an unarmed sixteen-year-old boy.

In front of the stage, Andy saw his backpack among some of his friends’ belongings. Thank God! Andy had to have access to his glucose tablets if his blood sugar dropped. He had some food in his system, so the danger wasn’t imminent.

Andy felt a hot breath against the back of his neck.

“I don’t speak English perfectly,” a man said into Andy’s ear. He spoke in a thick Mexican accent. “But I will do my best. Nod if you understand me.”

Andy’s body heated as if ravaged by fever. The man stepped over the second-row seats to confront Andy directly.

He expected to see a monster, but this was not the case. The man had a handsome face and long hair like David’s, which he tied into a thick ponytail. He wore a fancy silk shirt decorated in a paisley pattern, jeans, and polished work boots. It was not the most threatening attire, but he smiled and Andy recoiled. The man’s golden mouth horrified him. The intricate designs cut into the metal were reminiscent of crop circles.

“My name is Fausto,” the man with the metal mouth said. “You must think of me as a friend. I am here to help you. If you do as I say, you may live. It’s simple. Do you understand me?”

Andy nodded.

“Good. I’m going to take away the gag,” Fausto said. “If you scream, I will hurt you. Not that anybody will hear you. The school is empty. No people. We know this for certain. The campus will stay this way for some time. The roads are blocked. We hear things on the radio. But my ears are very sensitive to noise, so I don’t want to have them hurt. Again, nod if you understand. Damn my English, huh? Should have studied more. You study hard in school? I hope so. Very important.”

Andy nodded several times, all in quick succession, and the gag came free. He would have agreed to anything to get that gag out of his mouth. His throat was dry and raw.

As if he could read his mind, Fausto produced a bottle of water. Andy drank thirstily.

“Now here is the deal,” Fausto said. “You are going to describe what you see to your five friends onstage. I keep the gags on them, and the blindfolds, too. Now talk.”

Andy started to hyperventilate. It was difficult to get out any words.

“Cálmate,” Fausto said. “Tranquilo, hijo. You’re not dead yet.”

Not… dead… yet…

Slowly Andy began to piece this together. These men spoke Spanish. They had stolen bitcoins from Javier Martinez, and Andy knew from Gus that the Martinez family had come to the United States from Mexico. He didn’t have to solve complex math equations to understand the significance. This was all about the money. Whoever had come for the money had probably orchestrated the evacuation of the school. It was a smoke screen of epic proportions. In the chaos, their targets would be easy prey. Somehow they knew Andy was involved, which is how they knew about the others as well.

Andy tried to settle. He needed to be brave for his friends.

“Guys, it’s Andy.” His voice came out in a warble. “You’re onstage in the Feldman Auditorium. You’re all here. You know who you are. It’s all of us.”

Andy didn’t want to say their names out loud. There was a good chance these men already knew everything about them, but it still felt like a significant reveal. Andy would hold on to every piece of information until he was forced to share it.

“Tell them more,” the man said.

“There are many men in here with us. Standing behind you. They’re all heavily armed.”

“Good!” Fausto shouted. His booming voice reverberated up to the balcony level. “You’ve done well. By now, you must know or suspect why we are here. Can you tell your friends why we are here?”

Andy didn’t respond.

“Andy, I speak to you. You tell them.”

A shiver cut through Andy. Fausto had said his name.

“You… you want the money back?”

Fausto’s face brightened. His smile was broad and authentic. The gold-metal mouth caught the reflection of some overhead lights and glinted for a moment like paparazzi flashbulbs.

“You got it! You know! Good! We get someplace quick.”

Onstage, Hilary started to sob. At first, just her shoulders heaved up and down, but it quickly became a whole-body shake. The noises she made sank into the gag, but were loud enough to be heard by the others who joined her onstage.

Contagious as a yawn, everyone began to cry. Bodies convulsed. Andy had never felt so desperate, so afraid.

“Now, Andy, we know you have our money,” Fausto said. “So let’s make this easy. Okay? Easy. Give it back now. Right now. If you don’t, I kill one of your friends. Ready? Seriously, are you ready? Because here we go.”

“I-don’t have it. I swear.”

“Armando, coge el cuchillo más grande que tengas y ven al frente del escenario,” Fausto said.

The man with many facial scars produced a twelve-inch carbon-steel hunting knife from a sheath latched to his ankle and came to the front of the stage.

“Efren, anda con él.”

Efren came forward and stood beside Armando. He had short hair and a long knife, just like Armando, but he was built like a pro wrestler.

“Tornado, por favor, ven después. Todos los demás retrocedan cinco pasos.”

A man with a head of untamed long, frizzy hair, appropriate for any metal band, and these wild, hate-filled eyes came forward with a knife dangling by his side. A dark presence swirled about him like a funnel cloud. The rest of the men took five steps back.

“Each of you go and pick a kid to stand behind,” Fausto said. “I don’t care which one. You decide.”

The English was for Andy’s benefit, but the men understood and they did as ordered. Efren stood behind Pixie, Armando took up position behind Solomon, and “El Tornado,” called so because of his wild hair and temper, went up behind Rafa.

“Pónganles los cuchillos en la garganta,” Fausto said.

Up came the hunting knives, each big enough to bushwhack through a field of sugarcane. One at a time, the men leaned forward and set the razor-sharp blades against the throats of the three who were chosen.

“Now, don’t move, kiddies,” Fausto called out. “You don’t want to cut yourselves.”

Armando put Solomon’s head into an arm lock just to hold it still.

Fausto pulled a case from underneath an auditorium seat and withdrew a PC laptop. He flipped open the cover and set the computer on the floor in front of Andy. The computer was already booted up.

Fausto said, “Now, here’s what happens. I give you five minutes to transfer the money to someplace we can get it. I don’t know how to do this, but you do. You took it-you can give it back. So go. Give us the money. After five minutes, if I don’t have the money, I will point to one of your friends, and one of my friends will slice open his throat and spill blood all over this stage. Is that clear? Do I make sense?” Fausto seemed genuinely concerned that he might not have been well understood.

“Please, no,” Andy said. His voice shook like Solomon’s body. “You don’t understand.”

Fausto fiddled with his watch. “Time has started-now!”

“I can’t!” Andy shouted.

Fausto touched his ear. “Careful, young one. Remember my ears are sensitive to sound. I might do something to cause blood, out of frustration.”

Andy sank to his knees with the computer in front of him. “You don’t understand. We don’t have it.”

“Ticktock… ticktock… ticktock,” Fausto said, pointing at his watch.

The computer had automatically connected to the school’s WiFi network. Andy looked to the stage. The men behind his three friends stood like trained Dobermans ignoring a slab of meat while awaiting their master’s order.

“I can’t give you the money,” Andy pleaded. “We don’t have it! I swear. I’ll show you. The money is on the bitcoin exchange. It’s out there. Somewhere. But we don’t have the key to access it. It was taken from us! Someone stole it from us, same as we took it from you!”

“That’s one minute down. Four to go.”

Andy’s fingers shook so violently he could barely type, but somehow he managed to access the website blockchain.info. In another browser window, Andy opened his e-mail and with a few clicks found the bitcoin address. It was a long string of letters, a mix of capital and lower case, and numbers.

Andy copied the address from his e-mail and pasted it into the search box on the block chain website. Another webpage loaded. This one had summary information, transaction history, and entry upon entry of meaningless-looking numbers. He turned the laptop so Fausto could see the screen.

“The private key is connected to a bitcoin address,” Andy said in a rushed and panicked voice. “Gus’s dad didn’t safeguard the key, and it was easy for us to steal. But then somebody took the key from us. We can only see the money, but we can’t get it back without the new key that accesses it. Do you understand?”

Fausto seemed to be contemplating what Andy had told him. The silence was interminable.

“So you’re telling me we’re going to kill you all?”

Tears pricked the corners of Andy’s eyes. “No, please… please.”

“Please what?” Fausto said, sounding frustrated more than angry. “‘Please’ means nothing to me. We are here for one thing only. So if what you say is true, then you will all die.”

Fausto turned to the stage and dramatically extended his arm. “De tin marín de dos pingüé,” he said. With each word Fausto uttered, he pointed to one of the three being held at knifepoint. The cadence of his voice reminded Andy of “eeny, meeny, miny, moe,” and he guessed this was the Mexican version of the children’s rhyme.

“No!” Andy screamed. “Don’t!”

Fausto snapped his arm like a whip and cracked Andy’s face, using the back of his hand. Knuckles hard as lead shot slammed into the orbital bone of Andy’s eye socket. The searing pain dropped Andy to the floor.

“My ears, idiota!” Fausto scolded. “I told you to be quiet. Now, where was I? Oh yes, I remember now. Cúcara, mácara, títere fue.”

From his perch on the floor, Andy said, “Wait.” His voice came out soft as the flapping of a butterfly’s wing.

Fausto opted to ignore him. Instead, he spoke as he pointed: “Yo no fui, fue Teté.”

“One of them might have the key,” Andy said, whimpering. He’d all but given up hope, but he got the words out anyway. A chance. Just a chance. “Maybe one of them stole it from the rest of us.”

“Pégale… pégale,” Fausto slowed down his rhythm. Each word came out elongated and he appeared to take notice of what Andy said.

Andy locked eyes with Fausto. He had found a way in. It might only prolong their misery, or worse, but it was a glimmer of hope. “One of them might have the key,” Andy repeated, breathing hard. “If you kill whoever has it, you’ll never get the money.”

Fausto fell silent as he took it in. Andy filled the void by repeating what he had said. “If you kill whoever has the key, you’ll never get the money.”

Fausto faced the stage as though directing a performance from the audience. “Al…”

He pointed at Solomon.

“Quien…”

He pointed at Rafa.

“Fue.”

He pointed to the floor.

Curled into a fetal position, Andy gasped for air. The five on the stage looked to be doing the same.

“This, I’m afraid, complicates things,” Fausto said. “Now we must find out which of you has this magical key. Is that right?”

From the floor, Andy nodded.

“Pity,” Fausto said. “I think you’ll find death would have been preferable.”

From just beyond the auditorium door, Andy heard a loud clatter. It rolled and echoed as if a metal trash can had fallen over. Fausto looked as surprised as everyone. He pointed to four men standing onstage closest to the door and shouted, “Vayan a averi-guar quién mierda hizo ruido. Si es alguien, ¡mátenlo! Pero no dejen que los capturen.”

If Andy spoke Spanish, he would have understood the men had been ordered to track down whoever had made that noise and kill him.