was a feature article from The Sarasota Herald-Tribute, dated almost a year ago.
A photo showed Miles and a woman wearing a cross around her neck, leaning on a cane and standing in front of an open-air clinic.
Below the photo, the headline read: Local Man Braves Nicaraguan Rain Forest To Help Nun. The story recounted the perils of Miles’ 110 mile journey to deliver emergency medical supplies to Sister Meg, an American doctor from Texas.
Hanna found the first part of the story intriguing , the later part informative. She learned Miles’ parents had fled Castro, settled in Miami. Miles had grown up in Little Havana, the youngest of three children. He’d attended the University of Florida on a baseball scholarship and graduated with a degree in Marine Biology and a ranking as the one of the top collegiate pitching prospects. Drafted by the Chicago White Sox, Miles spent three seasons with their AAA farm team. Although he had a 100-mph fastball and threw a decent slider, he never developed the curveball needed to pitch at the Major League level. After his contract was sold to the Minnesota Twins, Miles called it a career and took a job with the Woods Hole Ocean Life Institute. Two years later, he left the Institute so he’d have more time for travel. The article also went on to say Marin was 36 years old, unmarried, and had lived in Sarasota for the past six years.
Hanna put down the article, put together a quick email summary for Casper, moved on to the bigger challenge—contacting Mercedes.
CHAPTER 22
Gerhardt broke down and cried when Hanna told him about finding the ransom demand in the Mercedes. “It’s all my fault,” he wailed, “I talked him into meeting that woman, he would never have done it otherwise. I will never forgive myself for failing him.”
Hanna’s voice was comforting. “You didn’t fail him, Gerhardt.
You had no way of knowing this would happen. You can’t blame yourself.”
Gerhardt sniffed, dabbed at his eyes with a tissue.
“You have to pull yourself together, we need your help.”
Gerhardt took a couple of deep breaths, dabbed at his eyes, again. “Anything.”
“We need to inform the appropriate people at Mercedes, but we don’t know who those people are. Can you help us with that? Put us in touch with the right people?”
He nodded, sniffed a couple of times, broke back down sobbing.
“What if they won’t pay the ransom? What will happen then?”
“Let’s deal with that if and when it happens. What we have to focus on now is alerting the right people.”
The sobs became greater, his shoulders shook. Hanna waited.
Between sobs, he gasped out a word at a time. “They. Are. All. On.
Vacation. Hard. To. Reach.”
“They can’t all be on vacation,” Hanna said.
His head bobbed up and down. “Europeans vacation the month of August.”
Hanna knew of the custom. She’d heard companies literally closed, management and workers alike, going on holiday. Surely, they couldn’t shut down a company the size of the Mercedes’ parent, Daimler AG? “There has to be someone running the company.” She placed the phone directly in front of Gerhardt. “Time is of the essence. Find that person.”
He stared at the phone, pulled himself together, consulted his address book, began making calls. His first two went to voice mail. His third began a pin-ball game that bounced him from one Mercedes executive to another. Finally, his face lit-up, he conversed in German for over twenty minutes, hung up abruptly.
“Wait,” Hanna said hurriedly. “I need to talk to that person.”
Gerhardt seemed surprised. “There is no need,” he said defensively. “I have spoken with Dieter Albrecht, a senior executive director for Daimler AG, the person with responsibility for things like this.”
“Things like what? Kidnapping?”
“Yes. Threats against the company. Extortion. Blackmail.
Coercion. Kidnapping. I didn’t realize how often Mercedes has been the target of criminals.
A photo showed Miles and a woman wearing a cross around her neck, leaning on a cane and standing in front of an open-air clinic.
Below the photo, the headline read: Local Man Braves Nicaraguan Rain Forest To Help Nun. The story recounted the perils of Miles’ 110 mile journey to deliver emergency medical supplies to Sister Meg, an American doctor from Texas.
Hanna found the first part of the story intriguing , the later part informative. She learned Miles’ parents had fled Castro, settled in Miami. Miles had grown up in Little Havana, the youngest of three children. He’d attended the University of Florida on a baseball scholarship and graduated with a degree in Marine Biology and a ranking as the one of the top collegiate pitching prospects. Drafted by the Chicago White Sox, Miles spent three seasons with their AAA farm team. Although he had a 100-mph fastball and threw a decent slider, he never developed the curveball needed to pitch at the Major League level. After his contract was sold to the Minnesota Twins, Miles called it a career and took a job with the Woods Hole Ocean Life Institute. Two years later, he left the Institute so he’d have more time for travel. The article also went on to say Marin was 36 years old, unmarried, and had lived in Sarasota for the past six years.
Hanna put down the article, put together a quick email summary for Casper, moved on to the bigger challenge—contacting Mercedes.
CHAPTER 22
Gerhardt broke down and cried when Hanna told him about finding the ransom demand in the Mercedes. “It’s all my fault,” he wailed, “I talked him into meeting that woman, he would never have done it otherwise. I will never forgive myself for failing him.”
Hanna’s voice was comforting. “You didn’t fail him, Gerhardt.
You had no way of knowing this would happen. You can’t blame yourself.”
Gerhardt sniffed, dabbed at his eyes with a tissue.
“You have to pull yourself together, we need your help.”
Gerhardt took a couple of deep breaths, dabbed at his eyes, again. “Anything.”
“We need to inform the appropriate people at Mercedes, but we don’t know who those people are. Can you help us with that? Put us in touch with the right people?”
He nodded, sniffed a couple of times, broke back down sobbing.
“What if they won’t pay the ransom? What will happen then?”
“Let’s deal with that if and when it happens. What we have to focus on now is alerting the right people.”
The sobs became greater, his shoulders shook. Hanna waited.
Between sobs, he gasped out a word at a time. “They. Are. All. On.
Vacation. Hard. To. Reach.”
“They can’t all be on vacation,” Hanna said.
His head bobbed up and down. “Europeans vacation the month of August.”
Hanna knew of the custom. She’d heard companies literally closed, management and workers alike, going on holiday. Surely, they couldn’t shut down a company the size of the Mercedes’ parent, Daimler AG? “There has to be someone running the company.” She placed the phone directly in front of Gerhardt. “Time is of the essence. Find that person.”
He stared at the phone, pulled himself together, consulted his address book, began making calls. His first two went to voice mail. His third began a pin-ball game that bounced him from one Mercedes executive to another. Finally, his face lit-up, he conversed in German for over twenty minutes, hung up abruptly.
“Wait,” Hanna said hurriedly. “I need to talk to that person.”
Gerhardt seemed surprised. “There is no need,” he said defensively. “I have spoken with Dieter Albrecht, a senior executive director for Daimler AG, the person with responsibility for things like this.”
“Things like what? Kidnapping?”
“Yes. Threats against the company. Extortion. Blackmail.
Coercion. Kidnapping. I didn’t realize how often Mercedes has been the target of criminals.
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