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Jessica and I were really looking forward to our trip to America. We had hotel accommodation right next to where the three-day music festival was taking place. We had never been before, so we were excited about seeing a new place and seeing all our favorite bands.

We disembarked from the plane and were put into a queue of people for customs. At some point, an officer asked us to place all our belongings into a tub. We were then searched and scanned to make sure we hadn’t held anything back.

In the back of my mind, I was thinking about something a friend of mine told me – “don’t take your phone. Buy a burner phone when you get there.” I guess I forgot or didn’t understand why. I know Jessica didn’t have hers.

The queue moved for a bit, and I could see that we were approaching a large metal door. As I got to the front of the line, a light turned green, and the door slid open. I walked through and was in a long hallway. A voice said, “please proceed forward” which I did. I noticed the hallway was lined floor to ceiling with scanners and cameras.

I came upon a man sitting at a desk, looking at a computer screen. “Good day”, he said. “We have a couple of questions for you as we found some things on your phone which authorities here are troubled by. Please step through the door to the left.”

A door opened to the left and I walked through. The door closed and the lights went out.

Jessica was next in line and when the light turned green, she walked through and approached the man at the desk. He smiled and said, “Everything looks good. Please exit through the door to the right and retrieve your belongings.”

The door opened and Jessica left. A tub was there with all her belongings. As she was gathering them up, she looked around for Jack. He didn’t seem to be anywhere. There was an officer by the door which she had just passed through, and he must certainly have seen Jack.

“Excuse me, but did a young man come out before me?”

“No ma’am. The person before you was a female.”

“But that’s not possible. My boyfriend was right in front of me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am. If there is an issue, talk to the men at that desk over there. They can review the video and clear everything up.”

Jessica went to the men, who were all intently looking at a variety of video screens.

“Excuse me, but my boyfriend went through customs before me, and I can’t seem to find him.”

“Let’s take a look.”

The man moved his mouse around a bit, switching from screen to screen.

“No ma’am, there was a woman in front of you and she was processed through. Here, you can look for yourself.”

Jessica looked at the screen. She could see the woman before her putting her belongings into a tub and then she was next – Jack was nowhere to be seen in the video.

“That can’t be right. He was right in front of me.”

“Sorry, ma’am, the video doesn’t lie.”

“But how do I find him?”

“Ma’am, I think a bigger question is how did your boyfriend get out of this airport undetected? I suggest you move along so we don’t have to ask any more questions.” His tone was menacing so Jessica turned and left the airport, grabbing a cab to their hotel.

The next day, Jessica called her country’s consulate and explained the situation. They said they would investigate it. Two hours later, a very nice lady called and explained that they had talked with the authorities who showed them the same video. She explained that it was noted that Jack did get off the airplane but apparently never passed through customs.

She went on to say that the local authorities were assuming that Jack had left the airport in an unauthorized and illegal way. He was now deemed to be a potential foreign terrorist who was somewhere in the country and that they were actively pursuing him.

Jessica was appalled. “Jack is a sous chef at a prestigious restaurant in our capital city. You’ve probably eaten the food he has cooked. He is not a terrorist.”

The woman was sympathetic. “Yes, I’m sure you are correct but all I can tell you is what I have been told. I would recommend that you return home at your earliest convenience as I was also told that you may be under investigation for aiding and abetting a potential foreign terrorist.”

Jessica sat in stunned silence.

The woman continued, “We have had a few similar situations over the past couple of years. It’s quite disturbing and we have inquired with other agencies here about it. The answer is always the same – there is no record, they never existed, inquiry closed. I’m sorry. Please, try to leave as soon as possible.”

A few hours later, Jessica was sitting on a plane on her way home. The seat beside her was empty as that was where Jack should have been sitting. But he wasn’t.
 
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After the lights went off in the room to the left, a cloth sack was put over my head and my hands zip tied in front of me. I heard a door open, and someone took me by the arm and walked me out and down some stairs, through another door and then I could tell by the sounds that we were now outside. I heard a car door open and was placed in the back seat of a car, beside what felt like two other people. They fastened my seatbelt, closed the door and the car started moving.

It wasn’t the person next to me, but the other person over, who I could tell by their voice was a man, started screaming loudly about where were they going and how could they do this?

I heard a sharp crack, like an electrical breaker popping and the man became silent. I figured this was a good time to shut up.

After a drive of about a half an hour, the vehicle stopped. I was removed and walked to a set of stairs and when I started walking up, I knew I was getting on an airplane. I was walked to a seat, and my seat belt fastened. I could not tell how big the plane was or how many people were on it, other than the person sitting next to me.

I heard someone complain loudly and once again, there was a sharp crack and the person went silent. Even more reason to keep my mouth closed.

The plane took off and reached a cruising altitude. I heard steps walking up the aisle. I said, “what happens if I have to go to the bathroom?”

“I’ll escort you. I’m sure you can manage it after that.”

“What happens if I have to take a shit? I can’t do that with my hands tied in front of me.”

“You’ll have to wait.”

One thing I noticed was that throughout this whole ordeal, the group that was holding me / us, never spoke to us. I did hear what sounded like a cockpit door open and a few words were exchanged with pilot, who seemed to be in good spirits. He was making some jokes about “high value cargo” and this was a very lucrative gig.

After a few hours, the plane started to descend. I could tell because the engines throttled back, and my ears popped. With a soft thud and a brief squeal of the tires, we were on the ground.

We were walked off the plane and then loaded into the back of what I assumed was a big truck. The back gate closed and the truck started moving. It was quite a bumpy ride, but we were only on the truck for ten minutes or so.

The truck stopped and we were unloaded. The sack with removed from my head, along with the zip ties on my hands.

I looked around. I had no idea where I was although it must have been farther south than where I was brought from. It was very warm, and the vegetation suggested a tropical environment. We appeared to be in a very remote area.

While there was a fence, it was obvious that even if one were to get outside the fence, where would they go? Without food, water and direction, someone would not survive long in this environment.

I had become familiar with my seatmate as he had an odd whistle to his breathing, so I knew he was standing beside me. He was a short, dumpy looking man who looked like he might be local to this place. I held out my hand and said, “Hi, I’m Jack. Where the fuck are we?”

The man looked at me with kind of sad eyes. In broken English, he said, “I’m Rico and I have no fucking idea. All I know is a couple of days ago, I was sitting on my front porch with my family and enjoying my day off from my job at the chicken processing plant. A black SUV pulled up, four men got out, all in black, guns drawn, put a sack over my head, tied my hands, loaded me in the car and now I am here. I miss my wife and children.”

About then, a man started talking through a bullhorn.

“Attention. You have been brought here and here you will stay until whatever issue caused you to be brought here has been resolved. You are our guests. You will work in that factory over there (he pointed to a large metal building) and your quarters are behind you. If you follow the rules, you will not be harmed. If you don’t follow the rules, you will be harmed. Don’t ask what the rules are, you will know if you do not follow them.”

At that point, a large man stepped out of our group, fists clenched, very angry, ready to fight. The man with the bullhorn produced a rod about two feet long, pressed it into the man’s chest, pushed a button and with a sharp electrical snap which I had heard before, the man dropped to the ground lifeless.

“He did not follow the rules.”

I noticed that not all the guards were the same. Most were dressed in well-worn khaki’s and carried rusty rifles. The man with the bullhorn and about a half a dozen others were dressed in dark gray, neatly pressed uniforms with a thunderbolt on the lapel. They carried shiny machine guns, side arms and one of those rods. They talked with an odd accent; I don’t think they were from around here.

We went into the barracks which was long and there were beds along both sides, each unit consisting of a top bunk and a bottom bunk. Rico and I sat down on one. “Top or bottom?”, I asked. Rico said he would take the top.

Shortly thereafter, we were marched to the end of the building where there were showers and toilets. Our clothes were taken and after getting cleaned up, we were given clothes to wear, plus two extra sets.

As the sun set and darkness fell, the lights were turned off. I sat on the edge of my bunk and wondered what happened. Why am I here? What gave me confidence was that I knew I had not done anything wrong, and that Jessica would contact my family, and they would resolve this in a few days.

Those “few days” passed and the days turned into weeks. We had no access to anything like a clock or calendar so all the days started running together. Every day was the same, we got up, went outside and a big table had food on it. We had something to eat and then we went to the factory, which made tee shirts. I always wondered who the “Toledo Mud Hens” were.

At lunch, we would be given some food and time to rest. Then it was back to the factory for the afternoon, after which we were provided an evening meal. Once that was done, we returned to the barracks for the evening, where there was a collection of rather ratty looking books, some in Spanish, some in English. There were also board games which we could play.

I spent much of my “free” time talking with Rico, as best as I could. His English was poor, and I was as ignorant of Spanish as he would have been with my native language. I helped him improve his English and he patiently taught me Spanish although sometimes he would laugh at my attempts. It was good; laughter was a rare commodity here.

With Rico’s help, I learned to read and write Spanish, and I helped him do the same for English. We had a game where we flipped a card; if the card was odd numbered, it was Spanish tonight, even numbered was English. He played chess quite well although I got better after losing a few dozen games.

I found the books to be helpful. Reading a classic like “War and Peace” in Spanish, where I had read it before in my native language was an interesting past time. When I got lost, I’d ask Rico for help. He would do the same with books in English.

Day after day, the same routine. I didn’t start keeping track of the days for a few days since that is all I expected to be there but now it had been around seven weeks. What kept me going was two things. First, I knew that back home, Jessica and my parents would be doing everything they could to secure my freedom.

The second thing was Rico. He told me how he had illegally crossed the border, found a job, got married and then had two children, a boy and a girl and I could see by the look in his eyes how much he missed them. He said that he had been deported three times before, this was his fourth. I marveled at his tenacity.

He said that when he had been picked up before, it was different. They picked him up at work, loaded onto a bus, taken across the border and released. He promptly returned across the border illegally, went home to his family and job at the chicken processing plant. No SUV, no sack on the head, no airplane flight. I believed he was concerned that he might never get home. So was I and I am sure he could see it.

New people would arrive on occasion and with each new set of arrivals came people with problems. Some refused to work, and others became violent. Some just suffered mental collapse, any of these actions would result in discipline, which was carried out by the guards in the grey uniforms.

They seemed particularly cruel and didn’t spare the rod on any disruptive individuals, quite literally. Large men, looking for a fight or to harass other guests were the most popular targets. They fell with a large thud and took a few guards to remove.

Because of thunderbolt on their lapel and their stick, we called them Bolts and everyone knew that any interaction with the Bolts would not end well. The best approach was to never say a word to them because the wrong one could be the last one.

The other guards didn’t seem like bad people, and in talking with a few of them, they really didn’t know anything. They just showed up for work and kept the guests going to work. They didn’t seem much different than us, other than they had guns which I suspect were not loaded for the Bolt’s safety as they would discipline the regular guards as cruelly as the guests.
 
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One day, I was in line for food, and I said to one of the people feeding us in my best Spanish that they had everything to cook good food, but the food wasn’t good. They asked me if I could do any better, which wouldn’t be stretch – it was bad.

Yes, I said, I can do better. He pulled me out of line and took me to the kitchen facilities. They had good equipment, although the sanitation was a bit sketchy. No matter, I had worked in the restaurant business for years, it was a comfortable place for me. Show me, he said.

I gathered some ingredients and threw something together that was way better than what they were serving. The kitchen crew gathered around to taste it. They all nodded and smiled and just like that, I didn’t have to work in the factory anymore. The food got a lot better, which made me a popular person not only for the guests, but also with the guards, whom I had all come to know. The Bolts never ate with us.

After a few weeks in the kitchen, I managed to get Rico added to the crew. His native cuisine used many of the same ingredients we had available, which was very helpful. Together, we created some really good food. The guards would bring us a few beers after service.
 
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One day, a new group of guests arrived and among them was a large, boisterous man. It seemed like everything he said was followed by a large belly laugh. There was something odd about him; he seemed quite carefree like he was on vacation. He said the food was better than in many places, but his bed was uncomfortable.

Since I was a cook and it appeared he liked to eat, I was one of the first people he introduced himself to. He was from a country near mine, and his experience was much the same – removed from customs processing and now he is here, with no explanation. He was fluent in English, Spanish, his own native language and mine too. I hadn’t spoken my own language in a long time so that was comforting. His name was Aldo, and his laugh made it clear whenever he was near.

One evening, I was playing cards with Rico and someone started singing. It was Aldo and I ran over to him and discouraged him from singing as the guards might consider it disruptive. “Good for them!”, he said to me in my language. He continued singing.

He had this beautiful deep voice and soon the guards poked their heads in to listen. They did not remove him. This became a nightly occasion. He would sing, we would sit and listen as the guards would.

One day, I was sitting with Aldo as he was getting ready to sing. He looked at me and asked, “can you sing?” I sputtered something about never having tried. “Well, there’s no time like the present. Sing these notes” and he sang a handful of notes. I did the best I could to sing the notes. It was quite bad; he frowned for a second and then burst into laughter. “That’s a start!”

He looked at Rico, “how about you?” He sang the notes and then Rico sang them back. Rico’s voice was much higher than Aldo’s but just as nice. Soon, Aldo was teaching Rico songs and the different parts. I kept trying and got to the point where I was helping, not hurting, the music.

In time, Aldo would talk to other guests and check their voices. If they had the interest and a little bit of talent, he would add them to the group. Some were very, very good, others not so much but it was a very entertaining way to spend the evening. The guards were entertained and a couple joined in to sing.

The collection of guests was quite diverse. Joey was a citizen of the country that abducted me. He had been an activist in pacifist causes until he disappeared. I guess they didn’t like it. Rod, Albert, Ben and Deiter were from countries around mine. There were a few from other parts of the world.

The oddest guest was a fellow we called Jocko. No one understood his language, so we had no way of knowing what his real name was. He could not understand anything we said, so we used hand motions. A hand to the mouth meant time to eat. Swinging a hand like holding a hammer meant time to work.

His most unique quirk was that he would tell stories, sometimes quite long, while gesturing with his arms. We had no idea what he was saying but we could follow the cadence of the story and tell when the end or punch line was presented, and then we would laugh or clap, which pleased him greatly.

Jocko died in his sleep, a smile on his face. I guess he was home again.

We weren’t going to let the Bolts take Jocko and do what they do to the other dead, whatever that was. Mick and Rod went outside and started digging a hole. Rico, Aldo and I started wrapping his body in his bed sheet, with the help of a guard, who we call Zeus. He was partial to Jocko for some reason and as he worked, he started crying.

I’m looking at Zeus and thought, “with all the suffering and death that we see, you are crying for an old, tired man who perhaps mercifully died in his sleep?” I started to cry and realized that I had not done that in a very, very long time.

We took Jocko’s body out and placed it in the hole. While we were filling it in, Zeus went and got some beers. When the hole was filled in, we placed an innocuous stone at his head so the Bolts wouldn’t notice the grave. We raised a toast to Jocko.

I looked at Aldo and I knew what he was thinking. I shook my head, please don’t sing, we’ve been lucky so far. But he did anyway, a low and soft melancholy song in a language I did not know, meant to evoke the loss and memory of a friend. We finished our beers and retired.    
Sometimes, I would lie in bed at night and become consumed by despair, it had been so long. “I wonder if they’re even looking for me. Is Jessica still waiting or have I just been written off as lost or dead?” I considered acting up so the Bolts would end my suffering. But no, not tonight.
 
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One day, I got up and headed to the kitchen. Something seemed odd, the factory was not running. There were almost no guards, and I could see people running off into the jungle, apparently with no effort to stop them. The Bolts had disappeared and sure enough, we found out that the regular guards’ guns were not loaded.

I asked one of the few left what was going on. He said something had changed and they were no longer being paid by the government that sent us. He said he was here to get something to eat as that was a benefit of the job. We went to the kitchen and most of the kitchen crew were there. They told me the same story, no pay but food.

I started cooking although I could see people continuing to leave the camp, running aimlessly into the jungle. I was beginning to think that we were only cooking for my crew and the guards. I could see Aldo outside and he was talking to one of the guards, who handed him a phone. He made a call, talked for just a minute and returned the phone. He slapped the guard on the back and laughed, as he always did.

Aldo came into the kitchen where everyone was eating at a common table. “Can I get a seat?” “Of course, Aldo!”, I fixed a plate for him, and he sat down. As he started eating, he hollered, “What we need is some beer!” Two of the guards looked at each other and left the room, returning with quite a few bottles of beer.

While our ordeal was apparently over, we had no idea of where we were going to go or what the future would bring but this meal was a celebration of the relationships we had built here. Respect, friendship and compassion still exist in the world.

As we were cleaning up, there was the sound of an airplane which we only heard when new guests arrived. Aldo excused himself and left with one of the guards, we did not know why.

About fifteen minutes later, the guard came back and asked Rico and me to come with him. We walked down a road for a few minutes and came to a clearing where a small jet was parked. The stairs were down, and the guard waved us to get on. I shook his hand and thanked him. Rico and I climbed the stairs and onto the plane.

I could see a flight attendant pouring champagne for someone. When the attendant moved, it was Aldo, sitting there, sipping a glass of champagne, not a care in the world. He laughed, his big belly laughs and welcomed us onboard. Where are we going, I asked.

“You’re going home! We’re all going home!”

“But what about Rico? He doesn’t live in either of our countries.”

“Not a problem! By the time we get back across the water, Rico’s family will be there waiting for him. You know, they weren’t living in a very good place. Once reunited, they will be free to go where they choose. One of my houses in the south needs someone to take care of it.”

“And don’t worry, Jack, your family has been notified. Someone named Jessica is very excited to see you.”

Rico and I took our seats, and the attendant brought us champagne. We raised a toast to freedom and soon, the stairs were up and the plane taxiing. I listened as the engines throttled up and we were soon in the sky.

When I was brought to the camp, I could not see out of the airplane, so I never quite knew where I was. Now I could look out and see the Gulf of Mexico passing by as we headed east.

I closed my eyes and thought about the whole experience and how it had changed me. In the beginning, I was expecting that someone would come and get me, and this was all just a mistake, so I was patient.

In time, that patience turned into a will to survive, which evolved into acceptance of my circumstance. The hope of leaving the camp and going home had become so remote that I didn’t think about it much. It seems strange to say but towards the end, being with my friends and doing what I liked to do, I was comfortable.

I thought about all those that I had watched as they arrived, how their spirits broke in time and finally ran afoul of the Bolts, ending their misery. In this case, resistance was futile and often fatal. I came to understand that to survive, I had to change and adapt, and I would never be quite the same again.

I was thinking about those left behind and asked, “what about our friends and my crew?” Aldo laughed, “we need a bigger airplane! This was the best I could do on short notice. They will all be out of there tomorrow, including Jocko. He will be going home as soon as we can figure out where his home is.”

“Your crew has jobs waiting for them at any of my restaurants around the continent as do you two. I have eaten your food, it’s very good!”, he said with a laugh as he always did. 

Aldo started singing and it was quite booming in the small cabin. I asked Rico, “do you think he’s going to sing for the whole trip?”

“More champagne, please.”

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