Read Online We Are Holding the President Hostage by Warren Adler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Warren Adler
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him?"
"You would not agree with my solution."
It was more than enough of an answer to a man who did not
approve of his way of life. Maria, bless her wisdom, had never forced him to
justify himself in front of her husband. Maria had never needed such
justification. She was a Padronelli.
Of course the Padre understood the real intent of the
question. Deliberately he had let it hang in the air. But behind the facade of
silence, the Padre's thoughts whirled along a spiraled track of memory.
Kidnapping had once been a favorite weapon of organizations that vied for turf
in the early days of the century, before a sensible method had been worked out
to divide territories fairly. Men were picked up in the streets, held in
obscure cellars, guarded around the clock while demands were negotiated. He
remembered how his father had railed against the tactic. He had called it
cowardly.
But his father had found a way to put a stop to it. His
theory: Tear out the root and the limbs will fall away. The next time a man was
taken, he did not negotiate with the perpetrators. He punished those who had
ordered the act. And he did not stop there. He punished their families, their
friends, their sympathizers. He also punished their property and their possessions.
Homes were blown up, businesses burned and robbed. He was indiscriminate,
ruthless, swift, and sure. Blood ran in the streets. The innocent along with
the guilty. And it stopped kidnapping as a tactic against the Padronelli
family.
How could Salvatore Padronelli possibly explain such
actions to his son-in-law? More than once, in his courtship days, Robert had
arrogantly pointed out to the Padre that acts of murder for revenge or coercion
were characteristics of the jungle. The Padre had not argued, although to him
it was a total confusion of attributes. In the jungle, revenge was unknown and
animals murdered only for nourishment, rarely for ascendancy. Compared to
humans, the jungle beast was benign.
After a long silence, Robert again asked:
"So what would you do, Salvatore?"
"I would use my power," the Padre said, hoping
that all the suggested implications of this comment would suffice.
"How?"
He studied his son-in-law, who met his gaze. His eyes
seemed feverish, intense.
"Power is no good unless it is used," the Padre
said. "I would go against all who made this action possible."
"Then why doesn't he do that?"
"You ask me that? You of all people."
Robert was becoming more agitated. He stood up and banged a
fist into his palm. "He must know who they are, who finances them, what
countries give them sanctuary. He has information."
"Of course."
"Then why doesn't he do something?"
The Padre shrugged. In his mind, he had already put himself
in the President's place, assuming the characteristics of leadership and the
various options that might be available to such a powerful man. Like him, the
President was a leader. He had men who obeyed him. Why had he not used them?
The question rolled through his mind like thunder.
"Surely, someone at the meeting must have asked
him?"
"One person did. An old man whose son was one of the
hostages. The President answered him." He had grown thoughtful. "If
you're a civilized country, the President said, then you can't become as
ruthless and uncivilized as your adversaries."
"And did this answer satisfy you?"
He shook his head vigorously in the negative.
"It satisfied none of us."
"You want justice," the Padre said.
"I want my wife and child."
"With this President we will never get them
back."
Robert looked at his father-in-law with horror.
The Padre watched his son-in-law. He empathized with his
pain. He lifted his hand, palm upward, making a five-pronged claw out of his
fingers. The gesture, he knew, would appear obscene to his son-in-law.
"Only if we put his cojones in here." He moved
his fingers together and slowly brought them together.
Robert's eyes narrowed as they focused on his
father-in-law's closed fist.
"Whose?"
"The
"You would not agree with my solution."
It was more than enough of an answer to a man who did not
approve of his way of life. Maria, bless her wisdom, had never forced him to
justify himself in front of her husband. Maria had never needed such
justification. She was a Padronelli.
Of course the Padre understood the real intent of the
question. Deliberately he had let it hang in the air. But behind the facade of
silence, the Padre's thoughts whirled along a spiraled track of memory.
Kidnapping had once been a favorite weapon of organizations that vied for turf
in the early days of the century, before a sensible method had been worked out
to divide territories fairly. Men were picked up in the streets, held in
obscure cellars, guarded around the clock while demands were negotiated. He
remembered how his father had railed against the tactic. He had called it
cowardly.
But his father had found a way to put a stop to it. His
theory: Tear out the root and the limbs will fall away. The next time a man was
taken, he did not negotiate with the perpetrators. He punished those who had
ordered the act. And he did not stop there. He punished their families, their
friends, their sympathizers. He also punished their property and their possessions.
Homes were blown up, businesses burned and robbed. He was indiscriminate,
ruthless, swift, and sure. Blood ran in the streets. The innocent along with
the guilty. And it stopped kidnapping as a tactic against the Padronelli
family.
How could Salvatore Padronelli possibly explain such
actions to his son-in-law? More than once, in his courtship days, Robert had
arrogantly pointed out to the Padre that acts of murder for revenge or coercion
were characteristics of the jungle. The Padre had not argued, although to him
it was a total confusion of attributes. In the jungle, revenge was unknown and
animals murdered only for nourishment, rarely for ascendancy. Compared to
humans, the jungle beast was benign.
After a long silence, Robert again asked:
"So what would you do, Salvatore?"
"I would use my power," the Padre said, hoping
that all the suggested implications of this comment would suffice.
"How?"
He studied his son-in-law, who met his gaze. His eyes
seemed feverish, intense.
"Power is no good unless it is used," the Padre
said. "I would go against all who made this action possible."
"Then why doesn't he do that?"
"You ask me that? You of all people."
Robert was becoming more agitated. He stood up and banged a
fist into his palm. "He must know who they are, who finances them, what
countries give them sanctuary. He has information."
"Of course."
"Then why doesn't he do something?"
The Padre shrugged. In his mind, he had already put himself
in the President's place, assuming the characteristics of leadership and the
various options that might be available to such a powerful man. Like him, the
President was a leader. He had men who obeyed him. Why had he not used them?
The question rolled through his mind like thunder.
"Surely, someone at the meeting must have asked
him?"
"One person did. An old man whose son was one of the
hostages. The President answered him." He had grown thoughtful. "If
you're a civilized country, the President said, then you can't become as
ruthless and uncivilized as your adversaries."
"And did this answer satisfy you?"
He shook his head vigorously in the negative.
"It satisfied none of us."
"You want justice," the Padre said.
"I want my wife and child."
"With this President we will never get them
back."
Robert looked at his father-in-law with horror.
The Padre watched his son-in-law. He empathized with his
pain. He lifted his hand, palm upward, making a five-pronged claw out of his
fingers. The gesture, he knew, would appear obscene to his son-in-law.
"Only if we put his cojones in here." He moved
his fingers together and slowly brought them together.
Robert's eyes narrowed as they focused on his
father-in-law's closed fist.
"Whose?"
"The
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