COLOMBIA'S KIDNAP INDUSTRY A HARD REALITY FOR AMERICANS

High emotions, ransoms weigh on families, friends of hostages

BOGOTA, Colombia - It has been three weeks or so since Peter Chen, Todd
Marks and Louise Augustine left their idyllic world as birdwatchers and
donned new identities as America's newest hostages in Colombia.

But for their families and close friends, three weeks is probably looking
more like an eternity as the nightmarish reality of their captivity begins
to sink in, said those victimized by Colombia's kidnapping industry.

The idealism is fast eroding, they say. Hope is subsiding. The light at the
end of the tunnel is looking more and more like an oncoming train.

"At three to four weeks, you're starting to realize, 'They're not just
going to let my husband go quickly.' This is the point where you realize
the very big pit that you've fallen into," said Tania Rich, whose
missionary husband, Mark Rich, has been missing since his abduction in
Colombia more than five years ago.

"You may think three days is hell. For them [the hostage-takers], three
months is nothing," said Galveston resident Susan Hargrove, whose husband,
Thomas Hargrove, was held for ransom 11 months in Colombia and released in
1995.

In the dark and dirty world of kidnapping in Colombia, the time that has
passed since the American birdwatchers were snatched at a guerrilla
roadblock 30 miles southeast of Bogota is usually nothing more than a
"softening" period, hostage negotiators say.

Captors typically will attempt no contact with families or intermediaries
during the first few weeks because they want the reality and terror of the
abduction to sink in, according to veterans of Colombia's hostage wars.

It is only then, when optimism has turned to desperation and emotions of
the heart have overcome considerations of the pocketbook, that the
anonymous phone call, letter or radio message arrives with the initial
ransom demand.

"It doesn't matter if you're rich or poor. If you're American, they expect
millions," said a Bogota-based security specialist who helps in hostage
negotiations. "I don't believe that anyone is released without having to
pay something. This is a business for them."

Since 1980, more than 80 U.S. citizens have fallen victim to the
multibillion-dollar "K&R" industry in Colombia, as the kidnapping and
ransom business has come to be known among the diplomats, investigators,
insurance companies and negotiators who come in contact with the trade.

Currently, the U.S. Embassy and FBI are investigating the cases of eight
Americans in captivity here, including the three birdwatchers taken on
March 23, the three missionaries seized in 1993, a man seized at a
guerrilla roadblock outside Bogota on March 19 and another man grabbed by
guerrillas in northern Colombia 14 months ago.

This number of American captives has not been equaled worldwide since a
hostage-grabbing spree by Lebanese Muslim guerrillas during the mid-1980s.
But it pales in comparison with the average 2,000 Colombians seized every
year for ransom.

Kidnapping has become such an integral part of daily life in Colombia that
the government maintains the office of "kidnapping czar" to keep track of
individual cases and assist families in getting their loved ones out.

"In Colombia, freedom in every sense of the word is being held hostage,"
kidnapping czar Ruben Dario Ramirez said. "The citizens' freedom of
movement is being systematically jeopardized because, on any road in the
country, the enemy could be hiding."

Mr. Ramirez said he was hopeful that the birdwatchers would be released
soon because of a number of developments working in their favor.

46irst, he noted, was the escape or release of a fourth birdwatcher, New
York resident Thomas Fiore, 10 days after he and the other three members of
his group were seized. Second, he said, was the release on Wednesday of an
Italian citizen, Vito Candela, who was grabbed at the same guerrilla
roadblock moments after the birdwatchers.

Upon his release, Mr. Candela said the remaining Americans appeared to be
in good shape, although Ms. Augustine, a 63-year-old retired nun from
Illinois, suffered a serious fall several days ago and injured her hip.

Despite such unusual cause for optimism, veterans say it is a typical ploy
of the guerrillas to dangle promises of quick release before the hostages
and their families.

"There were six or seven times when they told me they were going to release
me.
They were just playing with me," said Mr. Hargrove, the former
hostage.

"They're just cruel little children," Susan Hargrove added. She said she
was forced to pay two separate ransoms because the guerrillas had promised
to release her husband after the first payment but then reneged and
demanded another payment.

It is the potential of a quick and simple resolution that keeps many
families on edge throughout the ordeal, but particularly at the beginning,
said Nancy Mankins, wife of missionary-hostage Dave Mankins.

"For the first three months, I didn't buy groceries for more than a few
days at a time because I was so convinced that they would be getting out
quickly," she said. "I didn't want to make plans or buy airplane tickets. I
didn't even want to leave the house because I was so convinced that the
phone would ring" with news from the captors.

She added that it was not until the second year of her husband's captivity
that she began to venture out on trips. "I still wouldn't do things like go
to his favorite restaurant. I wouldn't prepare his favorite meal," she
said.

It is impossible to gauge how the three birdwatchers and their families are
holding up in comparison with other Americans who have faced this ordeal.
Hostage negotiators typically advise family members and friends of captives
not to discuss any aspects of their loved ones' cases.

The reason, they say, is that any information could help the kidnappers
determine the net worth of the individuals they hold, and thus help them
raise the ante in ransom negotiations.

That is why the American public knows little about the plight of the
hostages in Colombia, one hostage negotiator here said. He and others said
that in 85 percent of kidnapping cases, they are able to bring captives out
alive - with the payment of a ransom - provided the negotiations occur far
from the view of reporters and television cameras.

The situation contrasts sharply with hostage-taking frenzy in Beirut during
the mid-1980s, said Terry Anderson, the former Associated Press bureau
chief in Beirut who holds the record as the longest-held foreign hostage in
Lebanon. His captivity there lasted from March 1985 to December 1991.

In the Lebanese case, profiles of the hostages were splashed across
newspaper pages almost on a daily basis. Yellow ribbons adorned trees
across the United States. The kidnappers, from the shadowy group known as
Islamic Jihad, appeared to relish the international attention they drew to
their cause.

In Colombia, officials and families are reluctant even to share the
hostages' names with the news media.

"You can't really compare the two," said Mr. Anderson, who arrived in
Bogota on Wednesday along with fellow ex-hostage Terry Waite and the wives
of the three missionaries in a bid to publicize the hostages' plight.

"There is a political element to it, of course, but the only reason
hostages are taken in Colombia is for ransom," Mr. Anderson said. "In
Lebanon, they had more of a political agenda," aimed largely at changing
U.S. policy in the Middle East.

"In Colombia, it's strictly business," said a Washington-based security
consultant who specializes in hostage negotiations. "Some of the guerrillas
survive off ransom payments. They establish people in the cities who 'spot'
potential hostages for them. They are professionals, and they're very, very
good."

It is their "professionalism," the fact that they are in the business for
the money, that offers a small ray of hope for the families worried about
their loved ones' welfare, Mr. Anderson said.

The fact that a dead hostage holds no value is what has caused the families
of the missionaries to remain hopeful that the three men are still alive,
Ms. Rich said. Still, she and the other missionary wives acknowledged that
the ordeal has tested their faith.

"It's a very difficult thing to handle. I can remember having talks with
God and saying, 'Wait a minute. How can you be letting this happen to me?'
" she said. "Then I realized that it's not God picking on me. It's just
the wickedness that's in the world."

1998 The Dallas Morning News