He hatched a plan. It was quite simple: he would stay in the chapel after the noon service, get into the sacristy and go down to the cellar. This was what he did two days later. The door was locked, but he had a penknife and opened it without any difficulty. He ran down the stairs and came to a first room, which was a kind of prop room for the things used in the mass, and then a second, with a closet at the far end. Inside it was a smaller closet. He took out the key and opened it. The map said: below the closet, second tile. He stuck the penknife in at the side and saw that the tile was loose. He lifted it and saw a plastic bag with another one inside, then a third one, and finally, inside that one, a leather billfold. He put it in his belt, put the tile back in its place and closed the closet. On the way out he tried to conceal the fact that he had forced the lock, but it was impossible, because the wood was split. It was possible they would not realize, because they would not notice anything missing. He got back to the hotel with his heart pounding because of what he had done and had to lie on top of the bed for a while, before opening the billfold. He finally did so and found a couple of envelopes. In one of them was a sheet of paper that said:
“Father cubillos I know you dont aprove the way I earn my living but I am very grateful to you, and that’s why I want to give you this. you brought me up and the little education I have you gave me and when I was young I got in trouble and you helped me to get out of prison. thank you father cubillos. I prefer not to go and see you because maybe you will pull me by the hair and we will fall out and thats why I am sending you this with my little sister ester. I am leaving you fifty bills of a hundred dollars and a key with a number. that number is the number of a safety depozit box in the banco central of panama, in panama city, where you will find everything you need any time you have a problem or want to help somebody. its the way I want to give back to you all I got from you. thank you, father cubillos, you were the father I never had. Edwin.”
Ramón read the letter several times, then counted the money. There was five thousand dollars. Who was this Edwin? another para? a local drug dealer? It must have been something like that, although Father Cubillos had not gotten around to telling him. Almost certainly a para, well, with that five thousand dollars they were starting to pay him back for what they had taken from him. The next day he went to Bogotá and presented himself at the offices on Calle Cien, showed his ID card and asked for a passport. As he stood in line, he kept looking around. By the afternoon, he had his passport and he went to buy his ticket to Panama. He really wanted to call Soraya but he restrained himself, and what he did instead was say to a taxi driver, take me where the girls are, where are the girls here? Jacinto had been to Bogotá once and had told him that the brothels there were the best, that you could find women of all races, really amazing, gorgeous women, oh boy. The flight was not until the next day, so he wanted to go out for a few drinks anyway. The taxi driver looked at him in the mirror and said, how much do you want to pay? I want one that’s good, but not too expensive either. Right, boss, I know where. He took him to a place on Primero de Mayo called Luceros, he paid four hundred thousand pesos for a 22-year-old brunette and took her to the Paracaídas motel, near the airport. Everything was perfect. He could eat there, have a few glasses of aguardiente and enjoy the girl, who was really good. Jacinto was right, the girls in Bogotá were the best, even though this one was from Cali. That son of a bitch Jacinto, could it have been him? Better not to think about it.
The next day he gave the girl a hundred dollars as a tip and at eleven in the morning he set off for the airport. He had a feeling he was being watched, that somebody was walking behind him, but it was pure paranoia. Who could have followed his trail if he hadn’t dared to speak to anybody? Then something occurred to him that got him really worried: if his mother had reported his disappearance, then there was a strong possibility that the agents of the Security Service would grab him when he tried to leave the country. He walked anxiously to immigration and got in line. When it was his turn, he went to the window and, with his heart skipping a beat, handed his passport to the official. Of course he was from the Plains, which meant he was good at keeping a cool head, so he looked the official in the eyes and said, I’m going on vacation, one week, no more. The man put his name in the computer and a shiver went through Ramón. He had heard that the Security Service people were in league with the paras. But once again Father Cubillos protected him, because the official handed him back his passport and said, have a nice trip, next. He got on the plane and as it taxied along the runway it struck him once again that the kidnapping and all that violence were taking him toward something new, and he remembered the words of the priest when he had said, a person cannot understand the actions of God, because when God does what He does, He is taking into account the totality of a life. It was the first time he had left Colombia and he felt a mixture of euphoria and fear. Would Panama be safe?
In Panama City he took a taxi and as he only had a small case he went straight to the Banco Central. He looked at the avenue, the buildings, the cars, and the people. Just like Colombia, he thought, nothing special. The key had the number B-367. He went to the window marked Customer Service and when it was his turn he said, thank you, I need to see this box. One moment, somebody will go with you. A tall, sophisticated woman said to him, follow me, this way. They walked up and down stairs, past a reinforced door and then another and then an elevator to the second basement. B-367? this is it. She opened the cubicle for him and then left him alone and he took out an attaché case something like an airline pilot’s. He was stunned: brand new bundles of dollars. How much was there? A note on the bills, dated five years earlier, said: “Dear Father, by order of my client Señor Edwin I hereby deposit the sum of three million dollars. If you wish to open an account go to the Balboa Investment Bank and ask to speak with Señor Emilio Granada, who is in charge of offshore accounts. He will not ask you any awkward questions if you say you are a friend of Edwin’s.”
He took the case and went out on the street. To his surprise, the Balboa Bank was just opposite, on a corner. This must be the financial district, he thought. Señor Emilio Granada opened a numbered account for him and issued him with a card for taking out cash and making payments, and said, were you very close to Don Edwin? Ramón did not know what to reply, and said, I’m close to a priest he was fond of. If that’s the case, said the banker, let me give you my condolences, maybe you did not know that Don Edwin passed away last year, four bullets in the back. He crossed some men, and you know how dangerous that can be.
He still had about three thousand dollars left from what he had brought with him, so he did not make a withdrawal, but went to look for a hotel. He chose a Holiday Inn facing the beach, and that same night he sat looking at the ocean and telling himself, what a contradictory life this is, a few days ago I was dead and now I’m a millionaire, I’m here by the sea, I can do what I like. . But I’m alone. Which of the two was it? or was it both of them? or neither? were they bugging my phone? That could have been it, those sons of bitches have their noses in everything.
This is where the story of Ramón Melo García really takes off, because with that money he stayed on in Panama, first one week and then another, until he felt safe. When, after three months, he finally decided to call his mother, it was his aunt who picked up the phone and gave him the bad news. She said, your mother died, or rather, she let herself die, being left alone like that, and people here saying the guerrillas had kidnapped you and that you’d died on the road. Who said that? I don’t know, Ramoncito, that was what people started saying. That Señor Dagoberto came around a few times to talk to your mother. He told her he was going to do what he could to get you back but that she had to help him, keep him informed. Oh, Aunt, don’t tell anyone about this conversation, do you swear? Yes, sweetie, I swear, but where are you? A long way away, Aunt, a very long way away, but don’t worry, I’ll be back.