Destruction of Innocence

iUniverse, Inc.

Chapter One

The airliner raced over steep, rugged Central American Mountains still covered with ash from recent volcanic eruptions. For days, nature's havoc had painted the heavens with bright, hot ash. Millions of shining particles remained suspended in the atmosphere. The residue that nature had left behind mocked the radiant, western sunset. I tried to focus my attention on the alluring crimson drapery to the east, but no matter how hard I tried, this beauty could not erase my despair. My mind kept centering on the race to find my missing daughter, Triana. I wondered if this search would ever end. I had first lost her when she was one-year-old, and it took me eight months to find her. This time she had been missing for over two years. I would search for her, and would do so until I found her, if it took my entire life.

For a few brief moments, the soft voice coming down the narrow aisle replaced my thoughts of Triana and my desperate search for her. I looked up, trying to focus my eyes on the stewardess. The crowded cabin had already darkened as the sun hurried toward the west. It was difficult to make out the young woman's features.

"I'm sorry," I replied, "I didn't hear what you said." "You looked as if you were about to drop off to sleep," the young woman said hesitantly. "I thought you might be more comfortable with a pillow and blanket."

Touched by her concern, I forced a smile but shook my head. "Thank you. No, I don't feel like sleeping. Maybe later."

Reality dimmed my smile. Even the power of the majestic sky had provided only a brief respite. My life had been a single grim reality my child had been kidnapped. My daughter had been barely seven when her father, Franco, had abducted her this last time; now she was nine. No passing stranger could understand my pain and determination; only devoted parents in similar circumstances, out there wondering whether they would ever see their child again, alive and free from harm, could understand.

Some of my friends were unsympathetic about my drive to recover my child. "You don't know what you'll get back, or if she'll even want to come back. Her dad wouldn't harm her. Leave her with him, go on with your life," one friend encouraged.

What would I find when the plane touched down in Buenos Aires? I had no assurance that Franco, Kitty and the three children would still be in Argentina. Perhaps it was already too late. With his almost superhuman ability to elude me, Franco may already have fled to another country, even another continent.

If they were in Argentina, how could I find them when a powerful, international detective agency had never found even the slightest trace of them? I had a lot more at stake and a lot more fortitude. I would find my child. My child had breathed life into the dry corners of my heart. The love my parents had denied me, I had given without reserve to Triana, and this gave my life meaning, self-worth and purpose.

I wanted to comfort Triana, protect her, to wipe away her tears and hold her when nightmares haunted her dreams. I desperately longed to explain why we had been kept apart. Losing her had left me isolated and overwhelmed by loss. I could neither change my own childhood nor rewrite the past. The only thing I could do was save my daughter's life. But the months and years were slipping away. Time had become my enemy.

My only clues to Triana's whereabouts were the names of an obscure city and a distant Catholic church, which seemed pitifully meager information on which to base this search. For one terrible moment, I felt hopelessly inadequate for the job that lay ahead. What if I failed?

No, I told myself. I won't fail. I'm stronger than Franco, more determined. This world is not big enough for him to hide in. No matter how hard Franco tries to keep me from my daughter, I will find Triana and bring her home.

The young flight attendant provided a blanket and pillow for the passenger in front of me, and then glanced in my direction. An expression of alarm crossed her face as our eyes met. It was a moment before I realized that she saw the slick of tears across my cheeks.

"Are you all right?" she asked quickly. "Perhaps a glass of water or ..."

I so desperately wanted company in my misery that, for a moment, I wanted to reveal everything to her, as if this stranger would have the time to listen to me and could somehow help me. Her words trailed off as I wiped away my tears and composed myself. "I'm fine, really," I said. Reassured, the young woman moved on to other passengers. I turned back to the window, staring down through the approaching darkness and the volcanic ash to the foreign land below.

When I had discovered that Triana might be in Argentina, I began to research South America, a continent that previously held little interest for me as a student. I learned that five hundred years ago Francisco Pizarro had destroyed over a million Incas with his small army of men. This army had come to plunder the untapped riches of the hemisphere, to wrench treasures from the virgin soil and the natives. The Spanish destroyed over half the populations of the Incas and the Aztecs through war and disease ruthlessly destroying entire cultures in their lust for riches, power and glory as they moved southward.

Argentina, a country about one-third the size of the United States, was a land of towering, snow-capped mountains and endless plains, of bustling modern cities coexisting with tiny rural villages. It was a country that had remained virtually unchanged since the conquistadores claimed much of North and South America for their Spanish king. I could not help but feel that no Spanish king or general, no mercenary soldier had ever fought for anything more precious than I did now.

I fought to control my emotions and the lump that crept into my throat whenever I thought of Triana. In the twenty-five months and twenty seven days since Franco had kidnapped our child, Triana had never been out of my thoughts. Even as I slept, nightmares of Triana-dirty, homeless, and starving-haunted my sleep. Every glimpse of a child of Triana's age brought back feelings of helplessness and despair. What had happened to her? If I could only know that she was well and happy! "Oh God, help me find my child; let me know that she is alive and safe," I prayed. I imagined the first heart-piercing moment when I would squeeze her tiny body in my arms, her face against my own, mingling our tears of happiness. Best of all would be the moment when I would take Triana's small hand and place it against my own abdomen to feel the new life growing there.

"I'm going to have a baby, darling," I would tell her, watching for her expression of delight. "Perhaps you'll have that sister you always wanted.

"Remember how you were always asking me for a little sister?" I could only hope that Triana would feel joy at the idea of a new sibling. A sudden chill passed through me as I remembered the bitter disappointment of each miscarriage. I wanted children so badly, but had lost each baby in the first trimester. Nine failed pregnancies. Franco had never been concerned. On the contrary, he seemed relieved. To him, it was another problem solved. To me each miscarriage had been the death of a life. Now I was scarcely three months pregnant, a dangerous time for me,...