Department insists that FBI negotiators can't be involved if they plan to assist the family in the payment of a ransom. After speaking with my father's business partner last night, my fear is that the kidnappers will demand a ransom that my family can't possibly pay. If that's the case, we might as well have the FBI negotiators on our side trying to get the kidnappers to release my father for no ransom. Let's just tell the State Department we'll play by their rules.
He smiled thinly, as if amused. That's a little transparent, don't you think?
How so?
If I were the State Department, I would suspect that your overall plan is simply to get the FBI involved, get them entrenched in the case, and then ultimately ignore the no-concessions policy and pay a ransom.
The guy was onto me. Do you have a better suggestion?
Yes. Take a step back and ask yourself why the FBI really declined the State Department's invitation to participate in this case.
I didn't like his tone. Things had suddenly moved from a friendly discussion to a subtle confrontation, one I didn't fully understand. You're going to have to help me out there, Mr. Huitt.
Did you know that your father has been stopped and interrogated by U. S. customs nineteen times in the last five years?
That one hit me like ice water. No.
Does it surprise you?
Not really. He probably fits an arbitrary profile the government has developed. As often as he travels alone between Miami and Central America, it honestly surprises me that he hasn't been stopped more often.
They just stared at me, silent accusers. Their gaze made me look away, through the conference room's glass wall. At one of the workstations outside the conference room, I noticed a bumper sticker tacked up on the bulletin board. It read, SO MANY COLOMBIANS, SO LITTLE TIME.
Am I in the narcotics unit? I asked.
Yes. I'm a squad leader.
My father's been kidnapped. Why am I talking to narcotics agents?
Because we're the ones you need to play ball with.
What?
You give us something, we give you something. Quid pro quo.
You'd better mean squid pro quo, because that's about all the Rey family can give you. My father's a fisherman.
Fisherman, huh?
Yeah. Fisherman.
Whatever you say. But if you stick to that story, we get nowhere in our efforts to resolve the so-called policy differences between the FBI and the State Department.
I leaned into the table and looked him in the eye. Let me make sure I understand. You're telling me that this deadlock between the FBI and the State Department can be cleared up if what?
If you cut the crap about your old man being a fisherman.
But that's what he is.
Humor us, said Huitt. For argument's sake, let's say he's not.
I was getting angry. Okay, let's play fantasy world. My dad's not a fisherman. Then what? You're saying that the FBI will help him get released from his kidnappers, but only if I give you information that will land him in jail the minute he returns to the United States? That's crazy.
We're not after your old man. It's his business partner we want. The Nicaraguan, Guillermo Cruz.
I barely even know Guillermo.
That's our point, said the female agent, her only contribution.
I looked at her, then at Huitt. Both were deadpan. There was nothing I could say in Guillermo's defense. I'd met him only once in my life.
Huitt said, Talk to your mother, see how much she knows. If you can come up with something compelling on Cruz, we're in business. We get the man we want. Your father gets an FBI negotiator working on his case. Your whole family can have immunity from prosecution.
Prosecution for what?
Talk to your mother. And take my advice. Watch yourself around Guillermo Cruz.
They rose simultaneously, as if on cue. It struck me as pure intimidation, the strategic moment at which an experienced agent like Huitt liked to end meetings of this sort.
The younger agent opened the door to escort me back to the lobby. As she led me away from the table, I stopped for one last
He smiled thinly, as if amused. That's a little transparent, don't you think?
How so?
If I were the State Department, I would suspect that your overall plan is simply to get the FBI involved, get them entrenched in the case, and then ultimately ignore the no-concessions policy and pay a ransom.
The guy was onto me. Do you have a better suggestion?
Yes. Take a step back and ask yourself why the FBI really declined the State Department's invitation to participate in this case.
I didn't like his tone. Things had suddenly moved from a friendly discussion to a subtle confrontation, one I didn't fully understand. You're going to have to help me out there, Mr. Huitt.
Did you know that your father has been stopped and interrogated by U. S. customs nineteen times in the last five years?
That one hit me like ice water. No.
Does it surprise you?
Not really. He probably fits an arbitrary profile the government has developed. As often as he travels alone between Miami and Central America, it honestly surprises me that he hasn't been stopped more often.
They just stared at me, silent accusers. Their gaze made me look away, through the conference room's glass wall. At one of the workstations outside the conference room, I noticed a bumper sticker tacked up on the bulletin board. It read, SO MANY COLOMBIANS, SO LITTLE TIME.
Am I in the narcotics unit? I asked.
Yes. I'm a squad leader.
My father's been kidnapped. Why am I talking to narcotics agents?
Because we're the ones you need to play ball with.
What?
You give us something, we give you something. Quid pro quo.
You'd better mean squid pro quo, because that's about all the Rey family can give you. My father's a fisherman.
Fisherman, huh?
Yeah. Fisherman.
Whatever you say. But if you stick to that story, we get nowhere in our efforts to resolve the so-called policy differences between the FBI and the State Department.
I leaned into the table and looked him in the eye. Let me make sure I understand. You're telling me that this deadlock between the FBI and the State Department can be cleared up if what?
If you cut the crap about your old man being a fisherman.
But that's what he is.
Humor us, said Huitt. For argument's sake, let's say he's not.
I was getting angry. Okay, let's play fantasy world. My dad's not a fisherman. Then what? You're saying that the FBI will help him get released from his kidnappers, but only if I give you information that will land him in jail the minute he returns to the United States? That's crazy.
We're not after your old man. It's his business partner we want. The Nicaraguan, Guillermo Cruz.
I barely even know Guillermo.
That's our point, said the female agent, her only contribution.
I looked at her, then at Huitt. Both were deadpan. There was nothing I could say in Guillermo's defense. I'd met him only once in my life.
Huitt said, Talk to your mother, see how much she knows. If you can come up with something compelling on Cruz, we're in business. We get the man we want. Your father gets an FBI negotiator working on his case. Your whole family can have immunity from prosecution.
Prosecution for what?
Talk to your mother. And take my advice. Watch yourself around Guillermo Cruz.
They rose simultaneously, as if on cue. It struck me as pure intimidation, the strategic moment at which an experienced agent like Huitt liked to end meetings of this sort.
The younger agent opened the door to escort me back to the lobby. As she led me away from the table, I stopped for one last
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