In early 2003, my law career took an unexpected turn into the dangerous world of international kidnapping. It began with a headline: “British Oil Worker May Be Dead.” The man in question was my client, John Buckley, a highly skilled oil technician kidnapped in Ecuador along with his local driver, Luiz Diaz, by ruthless Colombian bandits near the treacherous border of Ecuador. The pair were dragged deep into the jungle, where every shadow concealed a threat.
My team, experts in high-stakes negotiations, was called in to bring them home alive. We arranged a million-dollar ransom, discreetly passed through a middleman in Quito, believing it would secure their release. But before the money could change hands, Buckley and Diaz took matters into their own hands. Driven by fear and the flicker of hope, they managed a daring escape from their jungle compound. Navigating through the dense foliage, they evaded their captors for what must have felt like an eternity. But fate was not on their side. The bandits, furious and determined, recaptured them and, in cold blood, and shot them in the back of their heads. Their bodies were left to rot in the wild, claimed by the very jungle they had tried to flee.
This tragic tale was the dark backdrop to a complex legal and emotional saga. John Buckley had first crossed my path years earlier in the late 1980s. His wife, Ellen, a sweet and attractive Irish lady, had come to me for help with rent arrears on her property in Morecambe. I successfully handled the case, and Ellen took a liking to me, eventually naming me as an executor in her will alongside her husband. After Ellen’s passing, John and I remained in touch, and I managed his affairs, including drafting a new will that reflected his changed circumstances.
Over the years, I had come to know John as an imposing figure, both in stature and presence. Standing nearly six and a half feet tall, he was a man of few words but rich in experience, having spent his career working in some of the most challenging environments across the globe. His work often took him far from home, a fact that had strained his relationship with his daughter, Moya, and left him somewhat estranged from his family.
In March 2003, I was thrust into the middle of this high-stakes drama. Moya, now the sole surviving member of her family, walked into my office, desperate for answers and seeking my help to take matters forward with John’s employer, the Argentine oil company Techint, as well as the Ecuadorian government. Bia, John’s second wife, had her own Portuguese lawyer, but Moya trusted me to navigate the murky waters ahead.
Techint, concerned about the situation, invited Moya and me to Quito to discuss the case. They agreed to my condition: a kidnapping insurance policy on my life worth £10 million, to be shared between my family, my law firm, and my ex-wife Janet, should anything happen to me. It was a risk, but the opportunity for adventure and to make a difference was too significant to pass up.
Flying into Quito felt like stepping into a scene from ‘Proof of Life’. The 2000 film, starring Russell Crowe and Meg Ryan, depicted a similar scenario where an American engineer is kidnapped in South America, and a negotiator is brought in to handle the situation. The parallels were striking, and as I landed, the reality of the situation hit me. I wasn’t just handling a legal case; I was stepping into a world of danger and uncertainty, where the stakes were life and death.
Our arrival in Quito was met with the efficiency of a well-rehearsed operation. We were fast-tracked through immigration and customs and whisked away by my team from the Control Risks Group (CRG), a London-based consultancy specialising in international security and crisis management. In the limousine, we were handed body vests and debriefed on the meticulously crafted itinerary. The tension and intensity of the situation were so palpable that even my daily jogs through the streets of Quito were conducted wearing a bulletproof vest — a surreal juxtaposition of routine and extreme caution.
The following morning, I awoke to a breathtaking view of the snow-capped Andes from my hotel balcony 11,000 ft above sea level, a moment of calm before an intense day of meetings. The tension between Moya and her stepmother, Bia, was palpable, a reminder of the fractured relationships left in the wake of John’s work abroad.
The boardroom meeting at Techint’s plush office on the top floor of the hotel was a grand assembly of legal minds, diplomats and security experts. The case was complicated by conflicts of law, with John’s legal matter tied to English tort law and Portuguese inheritance law, while Luiz Diaz’s claim fell under Ecuadorian law. The disparities were stark, with Luiz’s life seemingly valued at a fraction of John’s. This inequity did not sit well with me, and I vowed to do right by Luiz’s family.
As discussions progressed, a chilling narrative emerged. The Ecuadorian police presented evidence suggesting that John and Luiz had been killed while attempting to escape their Colombian captors. The implication was that John had ventured into a dangerous area against orders, putting both their lives at risk. The concept of Volenti non-fit injuria - that one cannot claim for the harm they willingly undertook — was brought into play, potentially absolving Techint of liability.
After the meeting, I found solace in the camaraderie of the CRG team. They were a polished group, ex-intelligence officers with a wealth of experience in handling situations like ours. It was clear these men lived life on the edge, and I found myself both in awe and slightly unnerved by their cool professionalism.
The next day, a helicopter tour of the pipeline took us over the spot where John and Luiz had been kidnapped. The ride, meant to provide clarity, ended in an unexpected incident. As the helicopter hovered over the dense jungle, the reality of the situation overwhelmed Moya. Her composure shattered, and she suddenly turned towards me, her eyes filled with a mix of anger, grief and helplessness. Before I could react, her hand lashed out, delivering a stinging slap across my face. The shock of the moment hung in the air as she broke down, her emotions spilling over in a torrent of tears. It was a visceral reminder of the human cost of this ordeal, a pain too deep for words.
Despite the setbacks and emotional toll, the process moved forward. We followed the ransom trail, connecting the dots through a network of informants and intercepted communications. Working closely with the Ecuadorian high-security police, we tracked down the kidnappers. In a coordinated operation, the CRG team stormed their hideout, capturing the killers and ensuring they faced justice. Convicted and sentenced, these criminals now remain in prison.
We eventually reached a crucial point: seeking a legal presumption of death for John and Luiz, necessary to unlock compensation funds and provide closure to the families. The case was brought before a young judge in a remote jungle courthouse. The setting was surreal — a modest building surrounded by thick vegetation. The judge, despite her youth, carried an air of authority that belied her inexperience. However, as the proceedings began, it became clear that the gravity of the case was weighing heavily on her. The conflicting reports and lack of concrete proof of death left her hesitant, delaying the presumption of death. This delay was particularly frustrating as Ecuadorian law often requires a shorter period before a presumption of death can be declared, unlike in England, where the legal process can be protracted.
Frustrated but undeterred, I pushed forward. We needed more than legal arguments; we needed to appeal to the human aspects of the case — the loss, the grief and the need for resolution.
Ultimately, we managed to negotiate a settlement with Techint, including a significant compensation package for both the Buckley and Diaz families. The process was gruelling, involving legal manoeuvring, emotional confrontations, and a return trip deep into the Ecuadorian jungle. The conclusion was bittersweet. The bodies of John and Luiz were eventually found, and DNA tests confirmed their identities, rendering the earlier struggle with the presumption of death unnecessary.
The final chapter played out in another jungle courthouse, where we signed the necessary documents to release the compensation funds. The task of repatriating John’s body fell to me, a responsibility I had not anticipated. The funeral, held in a small village near Dublin, was a sombre affair, marked by the presence of John’s family and the weight of the experiences we had all endured.
As Van Morrison’s ‘I Will Be Your Lover Too’ played in my head I reflected on the journey that had brought me here. I had honoured my promise to a man who had trusted me with his most personal affairs, navigated the treacherous waters of international law, and witnessed firsthand the devastating impact of global politics on ordinary lives.
This was more than just a case. It was a reminder that the law, at its core, is about people — about their lives, their loves, their losses. And sometimes, it’s about being there when they need you the most, no matter the risks.
Philip George is a former badminton player and author of the book 'Racket Boy'. He lives in Tuscany, Italy.
