B009G3EPMQ EBOK, page 17
And the men’s medical condition—dreadful, even to the untrained eye. The inmates I see are all black African males, but most are literally ash gray in color. There is no natural human skin color like that. The question hits me, How long does a black man have to be held without sunlight for his skin to go so strangely gray?
Faces loom at me from the shadows of their cells, with shades of death stretched across their faces. My only purpose there is to help them. I have to find a way, but I don’t even know where to start.
I ask a guard if the men ever go out into the courtyard. He laughs and points out at the courtyard’s surface, covered in stones. “Too many rocks! The men get rocks and kill us!”
I tell him if he ever expects to get any help from my organization maybe they should go out to the courtyard and remove the rocks so there’s no longer a “security problem” lying around on the ground. Is it too much to ask, I want to know, to put in a little physical labor and clear the ground?
I am stunned with disbelief, not just by the primitive conditions but also by the laughing cruelty of the guards. The question of who would want a job like this is answered by their casual inhumanity. They appear to like their jobs for all the wrong reasons.
Finally, one of them begins tormenting an inmate by jabbing him through the bars with the barrel of his gun. He grins at me while he does it, as if fully expecting me to laugh along with him and encourage his behavior. Instead, my temper gets the best of me and I snap. I grab him by the front of his shirt, lift him several inches off the ground, and slam him back against the wall.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demand. “You bastard! You bastard! Are you out of your mind?”
The answer comes not from him but from behind me. It is a fast series of metallic clicks. I turn to see AK-47 barrels all around me. Every one of them is pointed directly at my head.
All right, perhaps not the best tactic. I lower the man back to the ground . . .
Erik woke up then, but couldn’t shake off the dream, which was all true, down to every haunted face. The question lingered—had he worked to release some of the men from that prison, only to return them to a life of crime—say, kidnapping for ransom? Could one of them be among the men holding Jess now?
His life was saved that day when the lazy prison commander showed up to calm the guards and escorted him out of the prison in one piece. Luck was with him; they won concessions from the prison to alter its restraint policy and went on to get releases for a number of the men being illegally held there. Those men escaped that hellhole with whatever health they had left. He could only imagine their joy and relief when they were shown the door and told to go, after giving themselves up for dead.
But while he lay in the dark and tried to sort his thoughts, bad ideas formed: Should he go appeal to the kidnappers on that basis? Let them know he had worked to free them, and if not them, then their brothers? Would they show Jess mercy in return?
It was only another extreme idea, based on nothing more than the frustrated desire to do something, do anything other than simply watch the clock. It echoed his wishful thinking for a time like that day at the prison when he was able to take effective action with no thought about risk to anyone but himself.
It was Thanksgiving morning when Erik’s dream was interrupted by a call from Dan Hardy saying another proof-of-life call was scheduled with the kidnappers. In a quiet voice Dan asked if Erik would be willing to reverse the strategy and speak directly with the kidnapper and possibly with Jess as well. The CMT’s hostage negotiation consultant chimed in and made it clear to Erik that every word he spoke would count. The slightest misstep could ruin everything, and therefore he didn’t dare indulge in the sort of anger-based response he had used in that prison.
He would have to make the call alongside their communicator, Mohammed, along with the professional negotiator, with the FBI and CMT members standing in the next room and listening in. Jess would be surrounded by those kidnappers. Still, if they agreed to put her on the line, Erik would actually hear her voice for the first time since this all began. He was cautioned not to express any emotion to the kidnappers, and to remain calm and steady. The CMT’s position was going to be that the Somalis had to advance the negotiations by coming down on their demands.
Beyond that, the Crisis Management Team was running out of options.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jessica:
The phone rings. Jabreel is there to chaperone, but Abdi and the Colonel are sleeping, and this time Jabreel actually lets me hold the phone myself instead of having him hold it next to my ear. I answer on the first ring, with the speaker off. The line is full of static and the connection is iffy, so I jump right in.
“This is Jessica,” I begin, holding my breath.
“Hey! . . . Uh, Jess, it’s Erik.”
And there it is. Now I get it.
Right there, in that first moment of hearing Erik’s voice, I suddenly grasp the reason why we were warned in our training that we would probably not be allowed to speak with loved ones if we were ever taken for ransom. The rule always sounded excessive to me. Okay, I thought. I get it now. I do.
Because I know Erik too well and I can hear, even in those few opening words, his pain and his fear for me. At the same time I know others won’t pick it up because he is so good at self-control under stress. I’d give anything to spare him this razor wire he’s trying to walk, and I’m already glad I pulled my determination together before we started. I can only maintain equilibrium in this moment by lapsing into my best business mode. We could lose the connection at any second, and we have to get this right.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey—Hey. How are you?” he begins, and somehow manages to communicate all his concern for me in those few words.
“Okay. Um, we’re okay.”
People in the background are milling around now, disturbing my concentration. Word must be out that we have a connection. Everybody knows its all about money.
“Jess, I cannot hear you . . .”
I hold the phone closer and continue with the business at hand. I’m acutely aware of those parts of me that could easily dissolve into panic and blow this whole thing unless I stay strong. “I need you to verify that Mohammed is the one appointed for negotiation for the family.”
“I can do that,” Erik instantly replies. He keeps his voice cool. “Mohammed is our family’s communicator, and he is our representative. For both families.”
“Yeah, don’t say anything about the organization, just say family.”
“Yes. And it’s just for our families,” he replies right on top of the question.
“Yes.” I turn to Helper and say, “Can you go get Abdi?” Helper hesitates because Abdi is sleeping off a khat high and nobody wants to be the one to wake him. I know Abdi’s ways so I understand the hesitation. Too bad.
I raise my voice and look him in the eyes. Doing that is risky, but necessary. This has to work.
“Go get Abdi!” I say, as if to imply that if he fails, this deal could be ruined. “Can you go get Abdi?” I add, trying to look as if it would be his fault if the deal fails. He still looks as if he wants to sit back down. I point right at him.
“No, no,” I tell him. “I want Abdi to hear!” He moves away on his mission.
But Poul snatches the phone away from me. He launches into a speech that comes from a dialogue he and I have shared over the past month, but it was also a conversation I didn’t expect him to have with Erik unless I was prevented from coming to the phone.
Poul begins in a determined voice. “Um, two things: Jessica has not been touched. She has not been harmed.”
“Good.” Erik says it quietly. His voice is grim.
“She is, ah, stronger than you, you may think.”
It’s nice of Poul to say this, but he hasn’t identified himself. I have to wonder if Erik realizes it’s Poul, through all the distortion.
Erik says, “I’m very happy to hear that and of course I’m very worried. And I’m here with Mohammed now, I’m sitting next to him, and I want to confirm that Mohammed is our representative.”
“Yes, from the family,” Poul prompts him. “Don’t mention any organization.”
But now I can tell Erik thinks Poul is one of the kidnappers. He’s not talking to Poul as if he knows him.
“Well, there’s no organization to mention.” Erik changes course so smoothly, even I barely notice. “It’s just our families.”
“That’s fine. That’s fine,” Poul says. “I just wanted to tell you those two things.”
“I’m very happy to hear that, and I hope that this will continue and that we can get Jessica out as quick as possible.”
“Yes.”
“Because we need to have her back . . . okay?”
“We need to have both back, I hope,” Poul responds, sounding hurt. I don’t think he realizes he’s never identified himself.
“Yeah, of course! Is it Poul I’m talking with?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t hear it was you, Poul. But of course we want both of you back!”
“Okay, but I am telling you these two things. She is stronger than you may think. And two, nobody has touched her. Nobody has harmed her.”
“Very good, Poul. And you have to keep on being as strong as her.”
“Yes.”
“And you can be assured that we are doing everything we—”
“Oh, I’m out. I’m out,” Poul says, just before I pull the phone from his hands.
“Erik?” I begin.
“Yes.”
“Okay. The leader of the militia is coming.”
“Okay . . .”
“So that he can hear what you’re saying.”
“Yeah . . .”
“Um, before he comes, I just want you to know I love you.”
That one nearly gets him. I hear a heavy catch in his voice. “I love you, too.”
“And I will get through this.”
“Good, Jess,” he says, but his voice is flat. He’s obviously in a room full of people.
“You know . . .” he continues. “You know . . . before you say anything else, I just want you to know I am doing okay. Your family, they’re all doing okay. We’re all doing okay. We’re just trying to solve this in the quickest manner we can. We’re doing everything we can. Everything.”
“Okay.”
“So you just have to believe me when I’m saying to keep faith. And we, the whole family, we’re praying, nonstop. We’re doing everything we can.”
My lifelong spiritual skeptic husband is praying right along with my family. Wonder of wonders. “Okay,” I softly tell him.
“. . . To get you out.”
“Okay. Um, is the family there, any of them?”
“. . . No. No. But we are in contact. And they’re doing just fine, Jess. They’re all together, where they are.”
What did he just say? They’re all together, where they are? My dad now lives in Virginia, my sister in Pennsylvania, and my brother in Tennessee. Erik’s family lives in Sweden. What’s he trying to say?
“Okay then.”
Erik’s voice takes on his negotiating tone. “But no one will be able to get in touch with us, any of the family, Jess . . .”
“I know,” I tell him. And I do know, now. As of about two minutes ago, I completely get it about not talking to loved ones on these calls. It’s a form of psychological torture that I’m certain would eventually break anybody who’s got a working set of emotions. But Erik’s warning is clear. There’ll be no more family calls; we have to win at this.
“But, Erik,” I add, “they need to understand, the leader here—he’s insane.”
“Oh, yeah. We understand that. But, ah, is the communicator for your side around? Jabreel? Or someone?”
“Yes, the leader is coming. Here he comes now. They’re going to put you on speaker phone.”
Abdi stumbles over to us still half asleep, face hanging forward, eyes puffy and nearly shut, chewing one of last night’s leftover khat stems. He chews and drools and listens while Jabreel steps close to me and I put the phone in speaker mode.
• • •
Erik made the call to Jessica while painfully aware it might be the last time they ever spoke. Still, there was nothing to do but try to exchange a few pieces of vital information as quickly as possible. Now while the kidnappers’ leader came to listen in, there were no good choices. The only option was to stall while justifying that stalling to the kidnappers, hoping to get them to come back to earth with their ransom demands before the victims’ health was broken.
The sound of Jessica’s voice made him want to pour out his heart to her, but there was the extremely sticky job at hand of confirming to these fearful drug-addled thugs that the NGO’s official communicator, Mohammed, was actually speaking for their side with Erik’s full support. This process would never get anywhere if the kidnappers didn’t believe in whoever they communicated with on their ransom calls. Erik had to confirm Mohammed’s validity, show no fear to the kidnappers, and also make it clear to them that from now on neither Erik nor anyone else on their side would speak, except Mohammed. The kidnappers could not be allowed to begin worming their communications into the family structure. It felt like working on a bomb squad. He was certain of nothing except that he couldn’t allow the bizarre nature of the conversation to get to him.
The kidnappers’ phone was still in the speaker mode. Erik heard footsteps approach in the background and then the sounds of someone taking the phone.
“Allo?” From the first word, Jabreel’s gruff voice was inflected with a thick version of the Somali accent Erik knew so well.
“Yes, hello?” Erik prompted him, without introducing himself.
“All of the others are—they are—the leader of the militia only wants to know you. This is the reason for calling you.”
“Okay. Well, if he needs to hear it again, I can verify that Mohammed is our families’ communicator. He is the only one with information, the only one you will gain anything from.”
“Okay. So now we, the militia, can verify the family, you are family, can communicate this one time, just for now, with Mohammed. So is okay now, we will be finish with negotiation.”
“Okay. And if this is Jabreel, I hope that you are taking good care of Jessica and Poul. Because we’re doing everything that we can to get them back. So, we cannot do more on our side, and you now have to do all you can on your side.”
“Okay, okay, I must tell you I am not one of them. Very difficult to reason with them. I must do as I am told. But if I have got the certification now, everything it will be soon. And they will come home to you as soon as possible.”
“Okay, that is very good, Jabreel, and I’m happy to hear that, because we need for Jessica and Poul to come back. We need to have them back here at home with us. Do you understand me? They came to your country to help your people. So now you must use your manners in the Somali custom and treat them as guests. Be nice to them, Jabreel.”
Through his foot-thick guttural accent and the crackling of a remote connection, Erik heard: “Yes I must be careful because I was just the NGO working that’s why they want me here helping. And anyway, to thank you for your calling, and to listen to all parties. Now everything it will be easy to come home to you for your wife.”
“Okay, I’m very happy about that. And now, I think, Jabreel, [after this verification] you can again talk with Mohammed here.”
Erik knew this was all he was supposed to say. Make the verification to them and get off the line before they can engage in any conversation. He found he couldn’t go along with the restriction.
“And Jessica!” he called out. “If you’re hearing this, know that we’re praying for you and doing everything we can to get you and Poul back! And I’m . . . we’re all so happy to hear directly from both you and Poul today. But . . . but this . . . will be the last time, Jessica. Until you come out.”
He couldn’t look at anyone while he spoke the words or his throat would have seized. He had to trust that she would understand that this hard stance was purely a negotiating tactic.
He had already lied to her during this call by saying her family wasn’t around, when in truth they were all right there in Nairobi, waiting with their lives on hold. And of course they wanted Jessica to know they were there for her, after coming all that distance. They wanted very much to communicate any sense of strength to her they could. But if he told her that, he had to assume someone else would hear it. And those men had made it plain they would try to put her family in play if they could.
Erik pitched his voice at a stronger level. “Mohammed will call you back in ten minutes! I’m now leaving the phone. I will not be on the phone again. So, Jabreel, please take care of my wife, and please take care of Poul.”
“Okay, but I am very, very, important. I must be careful. I must be careful. For the importance of my work, I must—”
“Yes, yes,” Erik cut him off. “Very good. Mohammed will call you back in ten minutes. So I’ll say good-bye now. I love you, Jessica, if you can hear this. Take care, both you and Poul.”
“Okay, I am listen to you. See? You love her, I must take care of her. Yes? Thank you very much.”
Jabreel hung up and it was done. Erik knew Abdi had been listening in the background and had heard the confirmation. Most important, Erik had been assured by Jessica herself, not some third party, that she wasn’t being harmed.
But to make their efforts effective and keep things from getting worse, he had to lie to her at a time when he knew without a doubt it would have given her real comfort to think of her sister, her brother, and her dad keeping the vigil for her, from right there in Nairobi. If something happened to her and this was the last conversation they had, he couldn’t see how he could live with the knowledge that he lied about something so important to her. Even if they got her back without a hitch, he had to hope she would understand when he tried to explain the deceit.
