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Authors: Emma Kavanagh
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steadying their trigger finger so that no one gets hurt.’– Selena Cole
Based out of Riohacha, a wannabe city with desert one side, ocean the other, Selena was walking into a quagmire. You see, there are professionals in all walks of life, people who know how the game is played. And that brings with it a certain level of comfort, that everyone is playing from the same rule book, heading for the same destination. The same is true in the world of kidnap for ransom. The experienced players understand how these things work, that even kidnappers have a certain set of rules they must play by. It is an oddly comforting fact in a world that offers little in the way of comfort. But with the rise in criminal kidnappings throughout Colombia, the rules are changing. You get kidnappers now who simply do not know how much they can ask for, who begin by wanting the moon, who may get dangerous once they realise that they simply cannot have it.
This is where Selena Cole began, with an extreme figure, one that no insurance company would ever pay.
I cannot tell you what that figure is, mainly because I don’t know. It’s the rule in K&R. You don’t talk about the numbers. You don’t reveal how much you paid, in case the next guy asks for a little bit more, then the guy after that a little more still.
‘Negotiation is about building a relationship, allowing the kidnapper to see that everyone is working towards the same goal – a successful resolution, a safe release for the hostage. It’s just that some relationships are tougher to build than others.’ – Selena Cole
Day after day, Selena Cole sat in a dark hole of an office and worked the phones, talking, charming, occasionally chastising, until, gradually, the ransom figure began to drift downwards.
It’s a controversial business, the payment of ransoms to kidnappers. Recent legislation in the UK has made it illegal for insurance companies to knowingly pay money to a known terrorist organisation. And there is little doubt that the money used goes directly into funding criminal activities – drug dealing, terrorist operations. But those involved in the industry say that, at this time, there is no other way, that the payment of a minimal ransom is the safest and most effective way of ensuring the release of the hostage.
One Wednesday morning, the drop was made.
One Wednesday afternoon, five weary, frightened men were dumped on the outskirts of Riohacha. Exhausted but very much alive.
‘In those five days, I thought I was going to die. In my head, I kept saying goodbye to my wife, my three children, over and over again. I thought I would never see them again. But I am alive. And now I get to go home to my family.’ – Hostage, aged 42
‘It is an area fraught with moral ambiguity. You know that part of what you do is funding criminality, and the thought of that, it’s tough. And yet, ultimately, what we are doing is bringing families back together.’ – Selena Cole
There are no right answers in a question as complex as this. And whilst kidnaps keep happening, undoubtedly there will be ransoms paid. We can criticise, stand on our soapboxes and deride those who contribute to criminal enterprises, but ultimately we are not the ones who will have to make the sacrifice if they do not. So perhaps we should wait – judge not, lest ye be judged – and ask ourselves, could I make the sacrifice if it was me?
Coming home
DC Leah Mackay: Tuesday, 10.48 p.m.
I STARE INTO the night. The curtains are open, a gaping jaw framing the darkness beyond, the pinpricks of orange street lights in the distance. I should close them, should think about going to bed. But still I sit, my knees pulled up tight, laptop balanced on my lap.
I managed to finish on time today, there or thereabouts. Managed to get to the crèche early enough that the twins weren’t the last children there. Tess flung herself at me like she hadn’t seen me in a year, Georgia sparing a moment from the doll whose hair she
Based out of Riohacha, a wannabe city with desert one side, ocean the other, Selena was walking into a quagmire. You see, there are professionals in all walks of life, people who know how the game is played. And that brings with it a certain level of comfort, that everyone is playing from the same rule book, heading for the same destination. The same is true in the world of kidnap for ransom. The experienced players understand how these things work, that even kidnappers have a certain set of rules they must play by. It is an oddly comforting fact in a world that offers little in the way of comfort. But with the rise in criminal kidnappings throughout Colombia, the rules are changing. You get kidnappers now who simply do not know how much they can ask for, who begin by wanting the moon, who may get dangerous once they realise that they simply cannot have it.
This is where Selena Cole began, with an extreme figure, one that no insurance company would ever pay.
I cannot tell you what that figure is, mainly because I don’t know. It’s the rule in K&R. You don’t talk about the numbers. You don’t reveal how much you paid, in case the next guy asks for a little bit more, then the guy after that a little more still.
‘Negotiation is about building a relationship, allowing the kidnapper to see that everyone is working towards the same goal – a successful resolution, a safe release for the hostage. It’s just that some relationships are tougher to build than others.’ – Selena Cole
Day after day, Selena Cole sat in a dark hole of an office and worked the phones, talking, charming, occasionally chastising, until, gradually, the ransom figure began to drift downwards.
It’s a controversial business, the payment of ransoms to kidnappers. Recent legislation in the UK has made it illegal for insurance companies to knowingly pay money to a known terrorist organisation. And there is little doubt that the money used goes directly into funding criminal activities – drug dealing, terrorist operations. But those involved in the industry say that, at this time, there is no other way, that the payment of a minimal ransom is the safest and most effective way of ensuring the release of the hostage.
One Wednesday morning, the drop was made.
One Wednesday afternoon, five weary, frightened men were dumped on the outskirts of Riohacha. Exhausted but very much alive.
‘In those five days, I thought I was going to die. In my head, I kept saying goodbye to my wife, my three children, over and over again. I thought I would never see them again. But I am alive. And now I get to go home to my family.’ – Hostage, aged 42
‘It is an area fraught with moral ambiguity. You know that part of what you do is funding criminality, and the thought of that, it’s tough. And yet, ultimately, what we are doing is bringing families back together.’ – Selena Cole
There are no right answers in a question as complex as this. And whilst kidnaps keep happening, undoubtedly there will be ransoms paid. We can criticise, stand on our soapboxes and deride those who contribute to criminal enterprises, but ultimately we are not the ones who will have to make the sacrifice if they do not. So perhaps we should wait – judge not, lest ye be judged – and ask ourselves, could I make the sacrifice if it was me?
Coming home
DC Leah Mackay: Tuesday, 10.48 p.m.
I STARE INTO the night. The curtains are open, a gaping jaw framing the darkness beyond, the pinpricks of orange street lights in the distance. I should close them, should think about going to bed. But still I sit, my knees pulled up tight, laptop balanced on my lap.
I managed to finish on time today, there or thereabouts. Managed to get to the crèche early enough that the twins weren’t the last children there. Tess flung herself at me like she hadn’t seen me in a year, Georgia sparing a moment from the doll whose hair she
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