Held for Ransom

BOGOTA, COLOMBIA—The nightmare begins in a bar. Roberto Carlos Castro still cannot reconstruct who slipped a drug into his drink in the early morning on Saturday, October 20. But when the 20-year-old business school student wakes up, a man is pointing a revolver at his head, telling Castro that he is being held for an initial ransom demand of 10 billion Colombian pesos (more than $5 million). The kidnappers bind Castro's hands and feet with duct tape, which they don't remove for seven straight days.

Posters of missing Colombian kidnap victims lie on a Bogotá square.

Castro has become another victim in a country known until recently as the kidnap capital of the world. For Castro's family, it is a tragically familiar experience. His father, a liquor and cigarette distributor, and his mother were kidnapped in separate incidents several years earlier, each spending months in captivity before being freed. "I never thought it was going to happen to me," says Castro. "I told [the kidnappers] we had already been through this, so why again? They had no answer."

In many ways, Castro's abduction belies Colombia's dramatic success in stemming what has been an out-of-control kidnapping rate. In 2000, at the peak, 3,572 people were abducted; this year, fewer than 475 cases have been reported, according to Colombia's Ministry of National Defense. Much of the improvement has come from a heightened security presence throughout the country, along with military advances against two major rebel groups, which have long used kidnapping to raise money. A training program launched by the State Department—and in the process of being handed over to the Colombian government—is also helping to strengthen Colombia's elite antikidnapping units, known as GAULA, which are drawn from both the police and the Colombian military. (GAULA is the Spanish acronym for Unified Action Groups for Personal Liberty.)

Following the abduction, Castro's case is assigned to GAULA Cundinamarca, a military unit in the midst of its own tumultuous year. Last spring, before receiving the specialized training, it was involved in a botched rescue operation where a hostage was killed, along with two GAULA soldiers. "There were some individual mistakes, so they discovered the proximity of the troops," says Col. Luis Erbin Guio, the overall commander of the military GAULA units. "The planning now is synchronized."

When Castro is kidnapped, part of the Cundinamarca squad is finishing up a six-week crisis-response training course funded by the State Department's Bureau of Diplomatic Security. It is the 21st of Colombia's 32 GAULA units to go through the U.S. Anti-Terrorism Assistance course, which focuses on close combat skills and operational planning for rescue missions.

The rest of the GAULA unit digs into Castro's case, trying to trace a series of cellphone calls to the young man's father, demanding the ransom and warning (falsely) that Castro is sick. Even as investigators work to isolate which cell tower is handling the calls, Castro makes a run for it, trying to escape his captors. They catch him quickly, yanking the rosary around his neck so hard that the cord slices into his skin. The group's leader brandishes two grenades, warning that he will throw one at Castro if he tries to escape again. Then, the man chains Castro's right leg to a metal bed in a windowless bedroom.

Setting the trap. Colombian investigators get their first break when a phone call is traced back to a Bogotá taxi driver. The same day that the cabbie is arrested, two other men call Castro's family to arrange the ransom delivery. They are quickly arrested, and a GAULA team is dispatched to their hometown of Villavicencio. After more than a week of intensive searches and interviews, the GAULA officers find two additional gang associates who can lead them to the suspected ringleader, a guerrilla fighter who goes by the alias Polla Ronca. In return for a lighter sentence, the two men agree to help set a trap for Polla Ronca, who is believed to be a key fundraiser for the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, known by the acronym FARC, which is the country's leading kidnapper. Over wiretaps, police listen in as Polla Ronca sets up a meeting with the men in custody.

Ahead of the meeting, scheduled for the afternoon of November 28 in a public square in Bogotá, undercover officers surround the area. As soon as Polla Ronca is identified, police arrest him and begin the interrogation. "When he realized how involved we were, he decided to cooperate with the authorities," says Maj. Carlos Bernal, the deputy commander of the GAULA Cundinamarca unit. Polla Ronca explains that Castro is being held in a ramshackle house perched on a hillside in a dangerous slum in southern Bogotá. But there is one problem—the gang is waiting for Polla Ronca's call. "At that point, we did not have much time," says Bernal. "Roberto Carlos's life was in danger."

With dusk approaching, GAULA Capt. Gustavo Adolfo Diaz briefs the rescue team on what will be its first operation since returning from the U.S.-funded training course. Each member gets a specific assignment. Using yellow tape to mark out the interior walls of the house, the team runs practice drills for 30 minutes. "If we make one mistake," says Bernal, "the operation will fail."

Around 6:30 p.m., Diaz and 31 members of his team begin creeping single file up the poorly lit dirt road toward the house. As some neighborhood dogs begin to howl, the soldiers worry that the kidnappers will hear them coming. Inside, Castro is watching television, still chained to the bed. Diaz's men attach an explosive charge to the metal front door and quickly receive the command to enter. They blow the door, and the GAULA team rushes inside. "Down on the floor," yells one soldier, grabbing a suspect. Other GAULA men hurry to the bedroom where Castro is being held, throwing a bulletproof vest over his head.

It is all over in less than 30 seconds. A relieved Castro is handed a cellphone to call his father. "Thank you, Papa," he sobs into the phone. "Forgive me. It's my fault that this happened. I give you my word I will change."

Quick work. Only three hours have passed since the team first learned where Castro was being held. Nine suspects are in custody. "We were able to apply all the lessons of close combat," says Bernal, "surprise, speed, the violence of the attack, and making sure the victim is safe." Castro is the 44th hostage rescued by military GAULA units so far this year; police GAULA teams have recovered an additional 97 hostages.

The GAULA Cundinamarca team is clearly proud of its performance, which is also a redemption of sorts for the soldiers after their troubled operation earlier in the year. "For us, it is very gratifying to know that we are giving happiness and tranquillity to his family in Colombia," says Bernal. "Our work should be known in the rest of the world so that they can see Colombia is really working against extortion and kidnapping and that we are really committed."

Today, Castro remains visibly traumatized by his 39 days in captivity. When asked whether he will go back to business school, he chokes back a sob. His father, Helmer Castro, who spent 10 months in rebel hands in 2004, credits the government for the rescue and the improving security situation in Colombia. But he is still trying to arrange for Roberto to resume his studies abroad. "It's not bad luck," Helmer Castro says, referring to his family's multiple abductions. "It's the country where we live."