Tomás tried not to panic and to concentrate on the drills the bodyguards gave him and his brother when they were boys. First, stay calm and use your senses to help understand what is happening. Listen for voices or sounds, notice smells. All he could hear was the sound of the van.

Second, try to figure out what was happening. Who was taking him and why? If they thought they were going to get a lot of money from his family, they would be bitterly disappointed.

The van sped through the streets of the city. Why wasn’t it stopping? Were there no red lights? No traffic? In Bogotá, there is always traffic!

After a while, Tomás heard a plane landing nearby. The airport! They had driven right across the city. The van stopped and the door slid open. Tomás was jerked out of the car and carried shoulders and feet to another larger vehicle. Again, he was thrown onto a seat, this time sitting up, and the door slammed shut behind him. Tomás was aware of others breathing in the vehicle, so he knew he wasn’t alone.

A minute or two later, Tomás heard the familiar sounds of a helicopter rotor. The whooshing got faster and faster. “Holy shit!” The chopper lifted off. Tomás and his brother had been on hundreds of helicopters with his grandfather and his parents. “Where am I going?” he called out, his voice muffled by the duct tape. There was no response. “Please,” he said, trying not to sound as scared as he really was.

Once aloft, the black bag over his head was jerked off and the duct tape ripped from his face. He looked at the man beside him. He was young and had the buzz cut of a military man, but he was wearing a thick blue coat and Tomás couldn’t tell if he was wearing a uniform or not. Was it a coup? That would be crazy. The last coup was forty years ago. Yes, he was the son of Oscar and Maria Consuela Moreno. His father is Colombia’s Minister of the Interior, but everyone knows that it’s his mother who wields the power.

A flood of panic rushed through him. Was it like Chile or Argentina? He had read about prisoners being flown out to sea and thrown out of helicopters to their death. This wasn’t an ocean, but no one would ever find his body in the rugged mountains. He tried to remain calm, which was a real struggle. He was still firmly secured in the tightly wrapped and taped bedding. He could scarcely move a muscle. “Where are you taking me?” he asked the young man again, who silently shook his head. Tomás closed his eyes and said a prayer. If ever he needed God’s help, it was right now.

In the dark, it was difficult to see exactly where they were. The sun was rising in the east, so he knew they were flying in a northeast direction over the mountains. Tomás had been all over the nation in helicopters when his grandfather was President.

It was still before dawn when the chopper started to descend and Tomás could make out the lights of a town. The helicopter set down on a small airfield. The rotors slowed and stopped. A soldier came out with another man and opened the door of the chopper. Cold air rushed into the cabin. Tomás shivered under the sheet.

An older, grey-haired gentleman stepped up into the chopper and sat down beside Tomás. His skin was nut-brown and very worn and lined.

“My parents will never pay your ransom,” Tomás spat. “You men are so stupid! You took the wrong son. If you wanted money from my parents, you should have taken my brother. He’s the one who matters to them.”

The man smiled and put his hand on Tomás’s shoulder. “Hola, Tomás. No, they didn’t take the wrong man.”

“If you think my parents are going to give you a centavo for their marícon son, you are delusional.”

The man opened his overcoat, revealing a clerical collar. “We know that your family won’t be paying any ransom. I am Ignacio … and you are coming with me at the request of your father.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To a small village not far from here,” the priest replied.

“What is happening to me?” Tomás asked, more confused than ever. The door closed behind the priest and the rotors began to move. Ignacio buckled his seat belt. The roar of the engine as it accelerated made it hard to speak or hear, so the priest put his finger to his lips.

When the chopper was aloft, the priest turned to Tomás. “You are coming with me to a village on the Catatumbo River. It’s called La Corona. I am the village priest for a few communities in the area. Your father has asked me to look after you while you are there.”

“How long will I be there?” Tomás asked.

“I don’t know,” Ignacio replied. “I wasn’t given that information. I was just asked to look after you for as long as you were in the area.”

“What am I going to do there?” Tomás asked.

“I don’t know, son,” the priest replied. “I am bringing supplies to La Corona, and I added a box of materials for you. I thought you might teach the children to read. They have no teacher, and no real school. If that doesn’t work out, we can figure something else out. It really depends on you.”

Tomás was shocked and angered. “This is insane! There is no way I am going to rot away in some village. I need to talk to my father as soon as we get there.”

“I’m sorry, son,” Ignacio said, patting Tomás’s sheet-covered knee. ”There is no telephone service in La Corona. There are a couple of generators in the village, but no other source of power other than the sun.”

Tomás stopped. “There is no electricity. No phones. What kind of place are we going to, father?”

“It’s very modest, Tomás,” the priest answered. “You will see quite soon.”

“I need to get a message to my father. Right away.”

The priest put his hand on Tomás’s shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. “I am sorry, Tomás. I have very clear instructions. I am to look after you while you are in La Corona, but I am not to be your messenger. When your father wants to contact you, he will do so.”

Just then, a clearing opened in the canopy and Tomás saw a small field. Beyond the field, there were thirty or so ramshackle homes by the edge of a wide river. The homes seemed to be connected to the river by dirt paths. There were no roads in or out, just the clearing, the river, the huts and the jungle.

The helicopter landed. When the rotors stopped, the door opened. A soldier reached into the cabin and pulled Tomás out onto the ground on his knees. The priest looked down at Tomás as he stepped out of the cabin himself. “We will have to get you out of that sheet,” Ignacio said.

Tomás looked up at the priest. “Father, I am not wearing anything under it,” he said.

Ignacio walked to the cargo door of the helicopter. He rifled through one of the boxes and pulled out a t-shirt, a pair of pants and two old flip flops. “Here you go,” he said, holding them out to Tomás.

A soldier cut away the duct tape, and the bedding fell away. Tomás stood. He quickly put on the clothes and slipped his feet into the worn sandals. He started to walk away, and the priest stopped him. “Take the bedding Tomás. You will need it here.”

Tomás bent down and scooped the sheet and blanket into his arms. The priest led the way through a rutted path through the jungle into town. Tomás looked around in dread.  Welcome to La Corona.