The Squire's Tale - 1. Chapter 1

TUESDAY, JUNE 19, 10:00 AM — SANTA BARBARA TENNIS CLUB, CALIFORNIA

Natalie Bronson’s face betrayed her annoyance when her cell phone buzzed. She had silenced the ringer and placed the device on the table next to her while having coffee at the tennis club with some other members of the Ladies’ Auxiliary, but she always left the vibrate mode on, in case of an important call.

Reluctantly, she looked at the screen and immediately realized it was indeed something important. Her son, Keiran, was calling unexpectedly. He wasn’t supposed to check in until evening each day.

With a false smile and deliberateness that masked her concern, she addressed her friends at the table, “Oh, I have to take this. Please excuse me, girls.”

Rising, she forced herself to walk with studied calm across the dining room and out onto the sunny patio.

Her face reflected her growing worry as she forcefully pressed the answer button, praying nothing serious was wrong.

“Hello, Dear. How are you enjoying Machu Picchu?”

Her son was on a school trip around South America, a graduation gift from his parents and wealthy grandfather.

“Mom? Mom!” There was stark terror in her son’s shaky voice.

Natalie felt the blood drain from her face. Her heart skipped a beat. “Keiran? What is it honey? Is something wrong?”

She overheard some muffled conversation, which only heightened her anxiety. Then a gruff male voice spoke. “Mrs Bronson? Are you there?”

She felt light-headed and the hand holding the phone threatened to lose its grip. Her voice trembled so that she could barely make a coherent sound. “Yes, I’m here. Is my son all right?”

“Yes, yes, your niño is just fine.” The Latinx accent was unmistakable.

Her panic was growing exponentially with each second. An uncharacteristic urgency in her voice demanded, “Let me speak with him, please.”

“I am so sorry, Señora, but it will not be possible at this time. Perhaps later on, after we have concluded our business.”

“Business? What business? Who is this?” The horror in her voice battled with burning insistence.

“My name is not important, Mrs Bronson. What is important is your son’s health, his...life.”

Barely able to stand, Natalie stumbled over to a wrought-iron chair and collapsed into it.

“What are you talking about? Where is Keiran?”

“Oh, he is right here, next to me. He is just a bit ‘tied up’ at the moment?”

“What?” She was on the verge of losing control completely. Oh God, don’t let me faint and break this connection.

“Mrs Bronson, I’m afraid your son has fallen in with some bad men. They have tied him up in a chair, and they are pointing a gun at his head.”

Natalie stifled the scream that threatened to burst from her lungs. Hastily looking around, she was grateful none of the other members of the club seemed to be paying any attention to her or overhearing her side of the conversation.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she spoke steadily, “Please explain what you are telling me. How has my son fallen in with bad men? And why would they point a gun at him?”

The man’s cold snicker sent a shiver up Natalie’s spine.

“I’m glad you are handling the situation so calmly, Mrs Bronson. Allow me to answer your questions. Your son has been staying at a youth hostel in Cuzco, in Perú, correct?”

She disciplined herself to keep cool and focused. “Yes, that is correct.”

“And he was bored, or perhaps he just wanted to relax a little bit, unwind, get high with his amigos...”

Struggling mightily to maintain control of her impatience, she urged, “Please go on.”

“So he approached a couple of young men and asked them—by the way, his Spanish is excellent—he asked them where he might purchase some hierba, uh, marijuana.”

Natalie froze, trying to clear her brain in order to make sense of the man’s words.

Keiran likes to smoke pot. What kids these days haven’t tried it, now that marijuana is legal here in California? Is it illegal in Peru? Is he in jail? No, they wouldn’t point a gun at him if he was just under arrest.

The man barked cruelly, “Are you still there, Señora?”

Willing herself to maintain calm, she answered, “Sorry. Yes, yes I’m still here.”

“Good. I thought perhaps the connection was bad.”

“No. I can hear you fine. Why has he been arrested?”

“Oh, he’s not under arrest, Mrs Bronson. In fact, we stay as far away from the Policía as we can.”

Natalie’s frustration got the best of her. “Who are you? What the hell is going on?”

“Please allow me to finish explaining, Señora. To make the story short, your son asked the wrong boys about buying marijuana. He was led to a place where he thought he was going to make the purchase, and he was, ah, captured. Now, he is sequestrado—uh, in our hands, under our control.”

The sinister voice turned bleakly ominous, “And whether he lives or dies is entirely up to you.”

Realization dawned as the blood drained out of her face. A friend walked by and saw her. “Natalie. Are you all right, Dear? Do you need something?”

Placing her hand over the phone, she did her best to smile reassuringly, “Thank you, Rose. A bit too much exertion in this heat. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest here for a minute.”

Smiling, her friend walked on, oblivious to the crisis in Natalie’s life.

Natalie carefully chose her words for fear of saying the wrong thing. “You’ve kidnapped my son, is that right?”

“Kidnap is such an ugly word, Señora. For his own safety, we have moved him away from a dangerous neighborhood in Cuzco, and he is now a ‘guest’ in our hacienda.”

She summoned all her strength, fearing the answer to her next question. “So what do you want? How much?”

The voice on the phone turned syrupy. “Ah, you like to cut to the chase, as you Americans say. I like that, too.”

Without warning, he snarled, “It will cost you one million US dolares to have your son back...in one piece.”

Natalie gasped. Reflexively, she stuttered, “We...we don’t...have that kind of money. We’re not rich.”

The man’s laughter was brutal. “You fucking Americans always start with the same goddamn bullshit.”

His voice taunted, “What? Do you think we’re a bunch of stupid assholes here? You think we don’t know how quickly you can mortgage your fucking big house, how willing your bank will be to lend you the money? How you can set up a goddamn GoFundMe page and raise a million dollars in only a couple of days? What kind of ignorant shitheads do you take us for, Lady?”

Stunned by his vile outburst, Natalie drew in a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m sorry. I can’t think what to say. I’ve never even considered that this could happen.” She paused, afraid to ask, “How can I be sure you’ll release him if, God knows how, I raise the money, and how will I get it to you?”

The syrupy voice returned. She hated the sound of it and dreaded every word it was about to pronounce. “Now you are thinking clearly, dear lady. A madre always begins in a panic, but sooner or later, the harsh reality of the situation breaks through.” He stopped, and she heard him inhaling a cigarette or cigar.

“You will call me exactly 24 hours from now. We are two hours ahead of your time zone, so don’t miscalculate, or you will receive a bad surprise.”

“What am I supposed to do?’”

The ruthless voice returned, meaner than ever. “You stupid puta! When you call, you will assure me you have arranged for the money, and I will tell you what to do with it.”

Finally so shocked that she could take no more of this man’s abuse, she raised her voice. “Now see here. I am doing my best to deal with a horrible situation, and I am trying to cooperate with you. Stop shouting at me, and let me speak with my son.”

The steady, evil voice came back, “Lo siento, Señora. I’m so sorry. That will not be possible.”

Panic gripped her heart and took over her voice. “Why? What have you done with him?”

“He has been moved while we were speaking. His only role at this point was to make sure you realize we really have him.”

He sneered, “And in case you are trying to geolocate his phone, I will now hang up and turn off the phone, so it will not give signals revealing our location.”

“No, please.” The call ended with a horrifying click.

“Please, God.” She bowed her head and sobbed.

“Natalie, dear. What’s wrong? Has something happened?” Her friend Rose was back, bending down with her hand on Natalie’s shoulder. “Do you need a doctor?”

Summoning all her strength and composure, Natalie straightened in her chair. “No, I’m OK. Thanks, Rose. I just learned an old friend has passed away. I’ll be all right in a moment. If you would bring me a glass of ice water, it would help.”

“I’ll be right back with it.”

When Rose returned, though, the chair was empty and Natalie was gone. She drove home and raced into her study. Picking up the home phone, she hit speed-dial.

TUESDAY, JUNE 19th, 10:45 AM—HUTTON ELECTRONICS WORLD HQ, LOS ANGELES

Chairman and CEO Thomas J. Hutton sat at the desk in his office, sifting through emails his admin Kathleen had marked ‘urgent,’ when his personal cell phone buzzed beside him. A quick glance showed it was his daughter, Natalie. Tom picked it up and tapped the green icon to connect.

“Natalie dear, how are you?”

“Dad? Something terrible has happened.”

Hearing the panic in her voice, he sat up straight, immediately concerned. “Calm down Nattie. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on,” he instructed calmly.

He listened with growing alarm as his daughter repeated the conversation she’d endured with the man who claimed to have kidnapped her son. It was his worst fear. As a successful businessman with a net worth over ten digits, this exact scenario was never far from his thoughts. Instant worry for his grandson flooded him.

“Dad? What should I do?”

“Well, it may be too late to say this, but don’t panic, Sweetheart. This might be a scam. It happens way too often. Someone calls a family member and demands money. Everyone gets all stirred up and the money is sent. Then a day later, the person who was supposedly in trouble calls to say he’s fine and doesn’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“What do we do? I can’t stand this!” Her voice was shrill and shaky.

“I understand, and I’m sorry. The first thing to do is try to locate Keiran. Where is he supposed to be?”

“He went to Peru on that school trip we gave him as a graduation present. We spoke on the phone last night, and he said they were scheduled to visit Machu Picchu today. They’re all staying at a youth hostel in Cuzco.”

“Do you have the teacher’s name who is with them?”

“There are two of them, Mr Walker and Ms Chaves.”

“Do you have phone numbers for them?”

“Yes. The school provided contact information to every parent. But the itinerary says there will be no cell phone service at the ruins.”

“Well, given the state you’re in, you’d best not be trying to call them. Give me the numbers, and I’ll see what I can find out.”

“OK. Dad...do you really thing this is a hoax?”

“Too soon to say, but we can hope everything is really fine with him.”

Tom hung up and sighed. It could be bullshit, but more likely, given the country where he is, the threat is real. A million dollars! What fucking bastards!

He dialed the number of Keiran’s teacher, Mr Walker. Looking at the clock on his desk, he did a rapid calculation. It was 11:30 AM in L.A., so it was 1:30 in the afternoon in Peru.

The call went to voicemail.

“Shit!”

He dialed Ms Chaves. Also voicemail.

Goddammit! Haven’t they noticed Keiran is missing yet? Why haven’t they have called his mother by now? What kind of idiots are running this fucking school trip?

He left both of them a terse message, “This is Thomas Hutton, Keiran Bronson’s grandfather. It is urgent we speak with Keiran as soon as possible. Please call me back at any time of night or day.”

Exasperated, he felt he was losing control. He dialed a number he knew by heart.

His call was answered on the first ring. “Tom, you old dog. How the hell are you?”

Solemnly, he began with a tremor in his voice. “Keith, I need some help.” Keith Cartier (he pronounced it car-teer) was his oldest friend, college roommate, and also his accountant and attorney.

“Anything, Tom. What’s going on?”

Hutton related Natalie’s story to his friend.

“Goddamn! Do you think this is one of those bullshit scams?”

“Hell if I know, but I’ve gotta cover all the fucking bases.”

“Right. I can have the mil by tonight, but I’ll have to take a little here and a little there, so we don’t trigger a stock panic or a Suspicious Activity Report. I guess we should contact Lloyd’s.”

Lloyd’s of London was one of a select few insurance companies that offered kidnapping policies. For those like himself, whose assets reached into the billions, the reality of someone kidnapping them, or more likely, a family member, was higher than most people realized.

“No, too much red tape for that amount, and they’d probably insist on involving the authorities. We can’t waste the time. We have to have the money lined up by tomorrow morning. Just have it ready, OK? I pray we won’t need it.”

Tom hesitated. “One more thing, I believe you might know a private investigator who would be able to help?”

“Yes. I have a few contacts. I’m thinking of one who specializes in high-profile kidnappings. I’ll line him up, too.”

“Thanks, Keith.”

“You hang in there, buddy.”

“Shit! This is so fucking wrong. Keiran was on a graduation trip with his school. Hell, I paid for the goddamned thing!”

“You couldn’t have known something like this would happen, Tom. Peru is a stable, peaceful country. I can’t figure out why Keiran would do something so dumb.”

“Because he’s fucking eighteen years old. I love him, but he’s grown up privileged and doesn’t give a goddamn thought about the possibility of somebody wanting to harm him.”

“OK. Chill, Tom. Keiran’s a good kid, and he doesn’t do anything you and I didn’t try when we were his age. The world is just a more dangerous place today.”

“You’re fucking telling me.”

“So we’ve got a plan, and I’ll set things in motion as soon as we hang up. And try to keep your cool, OK? I know this is some real bad shit, but you’re no damn good to anybody in a panic.”

“Right. Thanks, Keith.”

Tom hung up with his trusted friend and immediately phoned Natalie to update her on the plans.

“How can you get a million dollars so fast?”

“We have accounts all over the world, Dear. We just don’t want to take it all out of one bucket, which might trigger alarm among shareholders and curiosity from the financial arm of the government.”

“And Uncle Keith is looking into the other thing? The scam?”

“Yes. He’s got a P.I. with experience in these things looking into that.”

“Dad, we have to call Keiran’s phone at 10 AM tomorrow.”

“I know the deadline, Natalie. I’m working as fast as possible. Try not to panic. Is Karen at home with you?” Keiran’s twin sister would be a calming influence on her mother.

“She’s at work at the coffee shop. I was afraid to call her. I don’t think I can speak rationally.”

“I’ll do it. What about Richard?” Natalie’s ex-husband was a corporate attorney in Philadelphia.

“Oh. I never even thought about him.”

“Well, you owe it to him to bring him into the picture.”

“I don’t suppose you would take care of that, too... or Beau?”

He frowned in disgust. “I’ll work on the other things. I’ll ask Beau, but you should really be the one to tell Richard.”

“Thanks, Dad. Just please call me if anything—”

“Of course, Natalie. I’m flying up. I’ll be there by,” he checked his watch, “one o’clock.”

After Tom hung up with his daughter, he made two other calls.

“Electrónicas Hutton, oficina de Héctor Álvarez. ¿Cómo puedo ayudarle? How may I help you?”

“Oh, hello, Ana. This is Tom Hutton. I was expecting Hector to answer his private number.”

“I’m so sorry, Señor Hutton. He is in a meeting. I will have him for you in only one minute.”

True to her word, the secretary soon had Álvarez on the line.

“Tom? What’s up?”

Hutton related the details and his ambivalence about whether the kidnapping was legitimate or a hoax.

“Shit, Tom, this is terrible! He was in Cuzco? Well, I can tell you it’s a generally safe city. There are so many turistas visiting Machu Picchu that the Policía are usually on guard.”

He added a word of caution, “But it is also possible to fall into trouble by walking only a block or two from one of the main streets, especially late at night.”

“The dumbass kid was trying to score some pot, as I understand.”

“Oh. That would take him off the beaten path. With so many young visitors, the police there are also very strict about drugs.”

“So you’re telling me he really could have been kidnapped.”

“I’m afraid so, Tom. But don’t give up hope on the scam possibility. I assume you’re looking into that?”

“Keith is on it. Is there anything you can do on your end?”

“Plenty. I know the chief of police in the province of Qosqo. I’ll phone him right away. At least they can be on the look-out for the boy. Can you send me a photo of him?”

“Right away. And Hector... any advice?”

“If this is for real, Tom, pay them, and fast as you can. These fucking thugs don’t hesitate to use physical violence on the victims to convince the families to pay up. Do you need any help raising the million?”

“Got it covered, Hector, but thanks. Anything you can do on your end will be much appreciated.”

“You’re all in my prayers, Tom. I hope the boy will be returned, safe and sound.”

Álvarez put down his telephone with a thoughtful look. With a grim smile, he picked it up again and dialed a number.

Hutton hung up with his regional vice president in Lima, counting on him to notify his contacts in Peru. He opened his desk drawer and took out a cell phone. He had bought it for cash in a convenience store, and it was still in the original plastic wrapper. It came with 30 minutes preloaded.

He placed the phone next to the keyboard and opened a hidden file on his laptop. Quickly finding the number he was looking for, he picked up the phone and dialed.

The voice on the other end said simply, “Oh-four-seven-four.”

Tom replied, “Mother in law.”

“How may I help you, Mr Hutton?”

He recited the details of the kidnapping once again.

“One moment, please, sir.” He heard the line click as he was placed on hold, but there was no elevator music.

Seconds later, a familiar voice came on the line. “Tom! I’m goddamn sorry to hear this.”

“Thanks, Mr Secretary. I hate to involve you, but...”

“Not at all, Tom. I feel your pain. This is most distressing, and I want to help in any way I can.”

“I appreciate it, Ed.” Secretary of Defense Edward Hopper was a college buddy of Tom’s, and the two had watched each other’s careers and fortunes rise over the years. They were always quick to jump in if the other needed anything.

Hopper went on, “So, I think you’re on the right track—or tracks, to be precise. You’ve got to rule out a scam, and at the same time be ready to deliver the money to the motherfuckers as soon as they want it.”

“Anything you can do to help figure out if this is a goddamn hoax?”

“I’ll put some people on it right away. Give me your grandson’s cell number, and we’ll start some backtracking of calls.”

The Secretary asked a few more questions and then ended the call with assurances that his team was working on the matter.

Tom hung up the burner phone and put it back in the desk drawer.

He had used ten minutes of the thirty. After they were all used up, he would destroy the device’s SIM card, trash it, and buy another. His back-channel communications at the highest levels of several governments had proved life-saving on more than one occasion.

He leaned forward on his elbows and buried his face in his hands. This was his worst nightmare. As a multibillionaire, Tom was acutely aware of the dangers to himself and his loved ones from low-lifes who envied his success and money. No matter how much it cost, he would protect his family.

He turned his desk chair and looked out the window, his mind racing.

What if this is for real? If those motherfuckers harm one hair on his head, I’ll go down to that shithole country and tear it apart until I find them.

After a moment, he picked up his personal cell phone and speed-dialed his husband.

“Beau?”

“Hi, Lover. What’s up?”

“The shit has hit the fucking fan, big time. Can you come up here?”

“On the way.”

Beau Chapman and Tom were married eight years ago, much to the surprise of the widower’s family, since Beau was 20 years younger than Tom. They had met at a party in San Diego, and they had been together since then.

Beau now worked for Hutton Electronics in the marketing department. He was quite successful with the younger, hip crowd of consumers, as well as the LGBT community.

He entered Tom’s office through a private door. Only three other people had access through that entrance. Beau rushed in and lifted Tom from his chair into a bear hug.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Tom groaned as his husband held him.

“I’m here, Baby. Tell me what you need.”

“Just fucking hold me.”

Beau and Tom remained locked in an wordless embrace that spoke of their deep love and undying support for each other.

Tom had been devastated when Julia, his wife of 40 years, died of breast cancer at their home in Denver. Wandering the country aimlessly, he ended up at the Hotel Coronado in San Diego, where he met a trio of gay men.

Much to Tom’s surprise, they all had a lot in common, and Tom soon found himself a welcome member of the little band of pals.

Gradually, Tom admitted to himself that he had known he was gay his whole life long, but he buried all desire for men and gave his heart and soul to a loving marriage with Julia and their two children, Natalie and Bruce.

It was when his three new friends invited Tom to a private function in the hotel’s penthouse that he learned they all had young “boyfriends,” and one of them had brought a buddy to the party to meet Tom.

Beau was handsome and well-educated, and although Tom was, at first, reluctant to become involved with the young man, he found himself drawn to the thought of having at least a fling with him. One casual hook-up had slowly grown into a deep relationship.

The young man lovingly and gently introduced Tom to the pleasures of man-sex, and a year later they were married over the vehement objections of Tom’s son-in-law. Richard Bronson tried to have Tom declared legally incompetent to manage his own affairs, simply on the grounds that he wanted to marry a gay man. Everyone suspected that Richard’s ulterior motive was to take control of the Hutton fortune.

Natalie divorced him after that, and he moved east because he was not welcomed by any members of the family.

Tom knew attitudes had changed over the years. Other than his ex-son-in-law, family and friends quickly accepted their relationship and made Beau welcome. His husband had earned the marketing position within the company, talented in his own right.

Taking a deep breath, Tom stepped out of Beau’s embrace and summarized the situation in a few words.

“We’ve got a lot to do, so let’s get cracking.”

Beau nodded. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You don’t feel like calling Richard, do you? I told Natalie she should do it, but she refuses.” Tom said with a grimace.

“You’ve gotta be kidding. The son of a bitch still hates me, and the feeling is mutual.”

“Yeah, nobody wants to talk to that asshole. Shit! I guess I’d better get it over with.”

Grudgingly, he picked up his desk phone. “Kathleen, please get Richard Bronson on the line for me.”

Sighing, he steeled himself for more unpleasantness.

More shit for an already fucking shitful day. God, just let Keiran be okay—then it would be worth it.