Chapter 07. Rescuing twenty children.
It had been a long day we decided to go to the second floor and see if the family bathroom was standing open, we could sneak in and take a quick shower. After that we waited until 5:30pm and took a taxi to the waterfront, photographed the cargo ships and walked to a high dollar tourist hotel and ate at their restaurant.
Jen ordered a six ounce and I ordered the ten ounce ribeye. We split orders of mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli, and one trip to the salad bar each. We also ordered a bottle of wine. We left there super-stuffed and sat outside near the fortress wall to watch the people milling around and the lights on ships steadily passing through the strait. I bet we sat there by the base of the old city wall for two hours and finally took a taxi back to the hotel and crashed on the bed like a pair of exhausted spoons. Her hair smelled like smoke from the restaurant. Jen said it was a fantastic evening, I agreed.
BTW, if your waitress speaks Arabic when she says salad bar' it sounds like she's saying: saladabar.' Maybe there isn't a specific phrase in Arabic for Salad Bar.
We mellowed out for the rest of her time in Morocco. I got a confirmation text that the overnight package arrived in NYC and passed the DNA/fingerprint/blood type tests that the hand belonged to the guy with the warrants. It qualified for the $300k -US reward. They would issue the reward check tomorrow and overnight it. I had to let the hotel people know an express letter was coming in two days for me, please sign and slip it under my door. Then I went to a bank near my office and opened an account, and had them close my account in Barcelona. That bank would transfer funds to the new bank. I think I had something like $293k Euros because I had almost nothing to spend money on, except rent and electricity.
Oh! I just remembered something I wanted to tell you about this old hotel. It's owned by an older couple, they live in a small apartment behind the check-in desk. She works the desk 24/7 and he works the entire building as maintenance and bouncer. And their daughter is housekeeping. It's a family operation handed down generation after generation within the same family. I thought that was pretty neat. I sometimes wonder what a place like this would be worth today. You don't see any for sale signs inside the walled city.
We had two more days to spend together I asked Jen what she wanted to do and she asked to tour the Rock of Gibraltar so we rode the high speed catamaran across to Spain and shared a taxi ride to Gibraltar. On the trip around the bay I told her she should familiarize herself with the train system in Spain because if flights to/from Tangier were delayed she could always take a train to Tarifa and the ferry across the strait. She knew Tangier well enough now to walk alone to my apartment, which is in the far southeast corner of the walled city.
We left the apartment and walked to the pier to grab one of the ferries across the water. The catamaran ties-up at the commercial port in Algeciras, then you have to take a taxi around the bay (six miles) to get to Gibraltar and show your passport again. Then there's two ways to get to the 1200 foot peak: cable car or hike. You can always take the long and challenging hike up a paved road to get to the Top of the Rock, and shade is scarce. There are a bunch of wild monkeys living on the rock too that can bite but usually don't. But we took the tramway car up the mountain and stopped to watch the monkeys and drink some water. When we were there it was cool and windy on top. The peak is frequently closed due to lightning and sometimes it's literally in the clouds. But like I said, the view is amazing.
And the peak closes early, I think the sign said the last car down was just before 6pm. To ride the cable car to the Top of the Rock it costs something like twenty bucks each. You cannot bring your service dog up there because of the wild monkeys. There's like a hundred large monkeys and they could eat your dog, so no service animals. Maybe the only exception might be if your service animal was a 700 pound Eastern Gorilla, with a service gorilla vest and a leash too.
The entire attraction is designed to extract as much cash from the tourists as legally possible. You must exit through the gift shop! The bottom end of the tramway is about halfway down the peninsula on the west side. The cable cars are not very big. It might be a tight fit for any gorilla
We could not find a decently priced hotel room on Gibraltar so we had to share a taxi with another couple to get back to the port and ride one of the ferries back to Tangier. When we got to the pier the fast catamaran had just pulled away so we rode a regular passenger boat for half the price, but the ride took three times as long. But its only 22 miles from Algeciras to Tangier and it's a nice ride. The passenger boats have to yield to the slow moving cargo ships so it's often not a straight line across the Strait.
Remember, there is also a ferry that runs from Tarifa to Tangier and the distance is half, but getting to Tarifa from Algeciras can be a pain, just so you know, it's an option.
There are some ultra huge oil tankers now that won't even fit in the Suez Canal, they fill up along the coast of Israel and Lebanon and leave for the UK through the Strait of Gibraltar. The tourist boats crossing the strait have to remain at least 5 miles clearance all the way around as they pass, because they have no brakes and they stop for nothing. They're enormous, even from the shore line five miles out, they still look huge. When a super tanker approaches all other traffic in the strait stops.
After landing in Tangier on the big pier we stopped for a nice dinner at one of the cafes along the waterfront. Of course they had a seafood menu, we both got baked snapper (locally caught), with sauteed veggies and a salad bar. We had glasses of wine and sat in a small but intimate booth. Jen looked tired and her relaxed smile told me she was very happy. I saw her shoulders were low, and she looked totally relaxed. There's not that many girl friends that would participate in a legal killing, climb a mountain, feed the monkeys, drink wine, and still be extremely happy. Maybe I do love her. Jen truly is a one of a kind.
Dinner was expensive, $90 each with drinks, and I left a decent tip for good service.
We took a tuk-tuk back to my hotel, changed and went to the roof patio but there was another couple up there, so we went to the far side and sat on the roof and watched the stars and tried to pretend we were alone. We went to the room and left the lights off and snuggled in bed (but with two people in a twin size bed you have to snuggle anyway). In the darkness we talked for about an hour then Jen fell asleep mid-sentence. I kept my palm under her shirt on her tummy and strummed her belly button the entire time. Jen's belly button is so wide she's embarrassed by it, but I think it looks super-erotic. I think she should try erotic dance lessons sometime. She thinks I'm nuts for even suggesting it, I'll admit it's an autistic obsession. Mine are books and belly buttons.
Beauty is truly in the eyes of the beholder. I should look into buying her private lessons back in Austin.
The next morning we left for breakfast at 5:50am hopefully early enough to avoid the lines. Back at the hotel I helped her pack then took a taxi to the airport. On the trip home she was flying from Tangier to Madrid to Paris to Atlanta to Austin. It was tearful for both of us when she walked into the screening line with her passport in hand and sadness on her face. I rode the bus back to the apartment and checked voice mail but there was nothing from Rabat or the State Department. I took a nap because it's the best way to get over the sadness.
That afternoon I got a call from someone with the INR about possible serial crimes against children discovered in Oran, a possible sex slave prison in the rural town of Gdyel, Algeria. She said they were snatching kids off the streets around Oran (and surrounding towns) and storing them up for auction in Gdyel. She said buyers came from around the globe. They wait until they have at least 15 kids or the buyers won't come. Some slaves went to the Caribbean and the rest went to Afghanistan or Eastern Europe. They were averaging over fifty thousand Euros per child. I've read years ago there's a widespread pedo thing in Afghanistan and parts of the Middle East and even ancient Egypt, it goes back over 4000 years and has even appeared on American TV before. They dress young boys like little girls and have them dance for the old men and slowly undress while the music plays and alcohol flows. This place in Gdyel is one of their boy suppliers, once sold the boys are never seen again. But some of them go on to stay and become part of the family. If they resist being raped (a lot) there are a lot of places to bury a body in the desert! In Afghanistan the dancing boys thing is called bacha bazi.
The unfortunate boys that end up in places like Turkmenistan or Uzbekistan were usually dead soon after arrival. They were often purchased by wealthy weirdoes and used for sadistic entertainment that included being dissected alive. This was done without sedation so the perp could enjoy hearing them scream and watch then slowly die as they were cut open and had organs removed while they were fully awake and strapped down to a table. Their bodies were usually raped just after death, the remains fed to packs of coyotes or wolves.
What INR told me was they tied them down on a table and cut off the skin from their chest and abdomen, they cauterize and bleeding vessels to prolong life. Then they start removing internal organs and stop those from bleeding out too. The organs are fed to caged animals while the victim is still alive and able to watch. They remove intestines, stomach, pancreas, spleen, bladder, and prostate while the boy is alive and watching. If the child faints they wake him and continue the procedure without any pain meds or sedation. After the child dies they are cut into pieces and fed to the wild animals. And in many cases the perp that performs the procedure is welcome to masturbate and urinate on the body during the procedure.
After I heard this story I immediately accepted the mission, regardless of if it broke any laws going into another country to rescue the kids and kill the perps. They told me there was no indication any of that was going on in Morocco.
From ground and space intel the INR saw the property looked like a mini-prison that was minimally staffed, from the street it resembled an animal hospital except the cages held groups of children from age 9 to 19 waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. I told her we'd need an escape vehicle and one or two helpers. She said they'd contact their resource in Oran to see if a delivery vehicle big enough for twenty children and three adults could be obtained. I reminded her to specify it had to be fully fueled and roadworthy. We discussed using the food delivery scam again, since it always seemed to work well here. The target always opened their door with a smile to a plain white carry-out paper bag, better if it had oil stains too. The tease of free hot food being mis-delivered was something in their culture, like a blessing from the gods, like a gentle soaking rain that fell all night.
I've heard before that the INR was trying to put the child auctions out of business for decades now but it is nearly impossible trying to locate one person somewhere in Asia without some kind of satellite implant.
She said they stand the boys on platforms in a large room before the auction, wearing only a loin cloth and a number sign (Boy #4). Bidders are allowed to inspect the boys for fitness and health. Then the bidding starts. The bidders often raise their cloth to inspect all the private parts, front and back before the auction starts. It depends on their job after the sale and transport. If they are to be used as Dancing Boys the youngest looking sell for the most money. And if the boy has a feminine appearance it can dramatically raise the price.
Two days went by and INR called back, again without any ID. The caller ID screen said 'unknown caller from United States.'
"Yes?"
The female caller had the same voice as the last call, but she never identified herself. When she first started to speak at first I thought she was a computer reading a script. "This is INR. We've obtained a vehicle and two volunteers for your assignment. Both men speak Arabic and Spanish. When can you get to Oran?"
"Probably tomorrow by train to downtown Oran."
"Then go to your old contact by the technical college. She has everything you'll need." Out of curiosity I asked what we should do if we go in there and find the kids are diseased (I was thinking something like small pox or TB) or dead and she said to:'...go home and forget what you saw, but report it to INR over a secure phone.' When I asked if I had permission to kill anyone who jeopardized the mission, she said yes with full diplomatic immunity. And she reminded me to have no official contact in Algeria, this was a secret mission.
I simply hung up the call but my heart was pounding, I've never run an op like this before, ever. So I poured myself a glass of wine and got my thoughts quieted down and considered what to bring: cash, passport, badge, cell, and a knife. Knives are never suspect in Algeria because everyone carries one; it's a cultural thing for the Arabs and the Berbers. I also wore my Djellaba.
At 04:30am I took a taxi to the train station (one mile south of my apartment) and paid for a tourist-class seat on an early morning train to Oran, its 300 miles across the desert, with a few stops, maybe five or six hours so I'd arrive around noon. The train left Tangier when it was still dark outside. Everyone who got on the train shuffled down the platform in solemn pre-dawn silence, many holding a coffee thermos and a roll in a paper bag. There's some kind of bakery roll that's popular here but I don't know what they're called. All the bakeries sell 'em. I think it's a variation on a common east coast bagel but it's flaky and soft like a croissant.
Jennifer and I spent so much time outside during her visit I no longer looked pale white, or I would have stood at the bathroom mirror and darkened my skin before applying my fake moustache and sideburns. Under my clothes I was still the same skin color as Santa Clause.
Oh yes, I should update you that my Arabic has improved slightly, I think I know enough now to order an espresso, and haggle over prices. Believe it or not, Arabic and English are related, based on the same ancient language. There's a lot I could say about languages since I speak two and sort of understand one more. I've learned enough here about the history of humans and written languages that I've learned most of what we were taught about human history in school was bullshit. Arabic is really hard to learn as an adult American because it requires so many mouth sounds we never make in English.
A lot of people think the ancient Egyptians were the first modern culture but that's very much not true. The Nile River basin was settled by people from the Silk Road (today known as The Stans, Tibet, and China/India). The Berbers were there but they stayed along the coast and the Nile delta. People following the Silk Road, migrated west because of drought settled along the Nile river and brought their language, culture, animals, and knowledge of farming. The Nile River was one end of the Silk Road. The early pictographic language used in Egypt probably came from ancient nations in east central Asia along the Silk Road regions. That also explains the similarity between Egyptian and Chinese written language.
The ruins of Egypt are more visible today because they built with stone, due to large areas of surface breaking stone. Along the Silk Road they didn't have access to rock quarries so their walled cities were made of what they had: weeds, sand, and rocks; ideal for making mud bricks. In the right weather conditions mud bricks can last a very long time.
Many historians now believe the Stans and Iran (and northern Africa) were much greener five thousand years ago, but a change in the sun turned them into deserts and caused huge populations to migrate west toward Europe, then those kingdoms fell and became ruins. Those cultures pre-dated Egypt. There are vast ruins of ancient cities buried in the sand all across the Stans.
I rode in the last passenger car on the train, behind the passenger cars they had two freight cars, probably cargo and food being imported to Oran, food is their biggest import. The car I was in looked to be about 70% full.
I closed my eyes and considered how we were going to rescue the children and what I'd do with them after we got them back in Oran. I felt that in Oran if that was where the older kids came from we could simply release them in a public place and let them run home. But with the smaller kids the two volunteers might need to drive them home. Hopefully, all of them came from Oran, but we will soon see. I also considered we might need a bolt cutter and pry bar for opening cages. My mind saw chain link fence and tubular steel frames and chains and heavy key-operated locks. INR said the property used to be a horse clinic, I guess selling humans pays better in this economy. They gave me the coordinates for the place and I got it programmed in my cell already. I don't know if my cell has city streets in Gdyel programmed in. I'm not even sure how Gdyel was pronounced in Arabic.
I fell asleep for three hours on the train and had a dream that I ended up being stuck with three very young children because we couldn't locate their families.
By the way, if you never looked at it on a map Algeria is enormous. It's nearly bigger than Texas and Alaska combined. 71% of the Muslim population is Sunni. The population is 75% Arab and 25% Berber. The Berber people are the original inhabitants, they lived all along the north coast of Africa, going back before the invention of farming. And for the sake of honesty I'll admit I have no idea what Sunni Muslim means other than they follow the Quran and are considered by many to be orthodox Muslim (orthodox=tradition follower). I suspect Sunni is a branch of Islam like Catholic or Protestant in Christianity. They might consider Sunni to be a race but we might consider them a religious sect, like I said I got no clue and everyone you ask has their own explanation.
At 11:47am the train rolled into the last station, the whistle woke me up as it slowed to a stop. I waited until most of the people in my car were gone then I got up and walked off the train. The platform was concrete with a small roof for shade. Like in Tangier I saw plenty of slender military age men standing around watching everyone walk off the train. I turned and followed the crowd, hopefully to the street. I was supposed to meet someone.
The platform was long and the crowd moved slowly, lots of the passengers were short older ladies carrying packages. Then everyone made a turn to the right and we entered a station building but most everyone kept walking forward to the exit doors and outside by the street where they met someone to drive them home. I walked out the old swinging doors and two older men standing off to the side nodded and one waved at me so I approached them hoping they weren't Algerian military intelligence.
The taller-older man held out his hand and whispered he was our contact, they volunteered to rescue the kids but first we needed to see Aafia. I flagged a taxi and sat in back with the taller guy since he did all the talking (in Spanish). Again, we asked the driver to take us to the Technical University which was on the southeast side of Oran, near the apartment complexes (Section-8 housing I'm sure). Traffic was hell but we got there in 20 minutes with lots of horn honking. I never understood horn honking like they do routinely around the world except in the States. On the way we confirmed we were with the correct people going to the correct place!
We got out of the taxi after being dropped off at the university library. The car left and we walked across the parking lot, across the road, and onto the far northeast corner of the vast apartment complex. We still had a half mile walk and I was very thirsty.
The walk seemed to take forever, and then finally we were walking across parking lots and getting some shade from buildings in the complex. Finally I recognized the signs and said 'Up there, on the 2nd floor in Building-5.' We changed course, crossed the driveway and walked toward her building. All the buildings looked the same but had large number-signs facing the parking lots. The three of us trudged up the stairs; I looked down to make sure I didn't step on the bottom of my Djellaba. I glanced at my cell on the long walk it was 2:45pm already.
Aafia checked the peep hole then opened the door without a smile and gestured for us to enter quickly and we sat around her small kitchen table. I asked for a glass of water. She clearly knew the two men with me, they spoke in Arabic briefly. They studied a map of a small city out in the desert east of Oran. She also produced aerial photos of a fenced property on the outskirts of the town with trees, and flat roofed buildings. She also showed pictures of the front and back of the property, all I remember seeing was sand, weeds, shacks, and lots of chain link fence. The buildings looked like mud brick with corrugated tin roofs, but it did have a power line running off the pole on the street. If this place used to be a clinic for horses they had to have water, but I saw no evidence of city water services in the area, no signs of city sewer either. That entire area was not much but farming.
Suddenly, Aafia stood and shushed us. The crew at the table became silent and we heard a group of men walking down the outside hallway but they continued past her door, then we heard heavy footsteps on the steel staircase going down to ground level. She got a look of relief on her face and returned to the table with keys on a ring. She slid it toward the older man in my crew (or maybe I was in his crew). Aafia (Ah-FEE-ah) went back to her refrigerator and filled my glass again. The younger man stood and walked across the apartment to use her bathroom. The older guy with me explained in Spanish what she said in Arabic.
"Aafia has provided us with a delivery truck, the fuel is full and the tires are good. This is what we will drive to Gdyel." He showed me our route on the maps. "From here we'll take the 4E bypass (a 4-lane divided highway) north to the N-11 freeway (a 4-lane divided highway) which runs east to Gdyel about 15 miles east of Oran." The pictures showed the entire area is thick with olive tree farms, trees grown in rows and harvested by machines. They also grow some lime and fig trees. I asked about a cutter for opening locks and the tall man (I never heard the names of the two volunteers) said there was one in the truck (and a hack saw) along with jugs of water and crackers in case the kids are starving.
"Please ask her about releasing the older kids once we arrive at the port?" I asked. Then the tall man translated her reply.
"Yes, older children, maybe over age 12 should be able to walk home alone or with another prisoner."
"Good, I agree. And I hope they will be more careful about walking around Oran, if we release them they should consider themselves to be very lucky to be alive. Once they were sold they faced a short life of forced sex and hard labor. Some would be tortured and killed for entertainment." I added. So it was good we were in agreement. We discussed when to leave, the drive would take an hour or so and we should arrive early in the day, maybe just before sunrise. I asked, "What about weapons? I have a knife."
"We also carry knives. Both of us are skilled with knives."
"Good." I looked around the table and told Aafia I was satisfied and ready to go. Everyone glanced at each other. I asked Aafia what time it was here and she said "4:14pm" So I asked "We can go now? Yes?"
The tall man spoke in Arabic to the other volunteer and then to Aafia and said we could leave now but we might have to wait for kidnappers to leave so we can free the children. The tall man slapped his hands on the kitchen table and gestured toward the door. I looked at Aafia and she smiled and said we'd be fine but we had to move quickly. Then she told me there was a diesel fuel ship in port until tomorrow morning, if we were taking any children to Barcelona we had to get them onboard the ship tonight.
I asked her if we could leave the truck at the fish auction in the parking lot and she said that would be fine, she would have it moved overnight. It was one of the few locations I knew well in Oran, it was easy to locate from a distance because of the tall cranes, they can be seen far away. We all stood and shook her hand. Aafia escorted us to the door, but I asked to use the bathroom one last time.
We walked out into the exterior hallway, over to the corner and down the outside stairs to the parking lot. We got in the truck with the maps, and our other stuff (flashlights, food, water, bolt cutters, and knives). I sat in the front seat and the tall man drove, he said he knew the entire route; he's been in that part of Gdyel many times in the past.
Traffic was heavy as hundreds of students were leaving campus for the day. The university is large and spread out. This apartment complex is next to the university campus. It took us half an hour to make it to Highway N-11 that took us to Gdyel. The sun was above the mountains but getting lower by the minute, the tall man said we'll get there before dark.
The second volunteer relaxed in the back of the truck but didn't have much to say. I asked if he wanted to play the radio but the driver said it didn't work. I asked the driver to tell the man in back to lecture the kids on being more careful in the city so this never happens again.
It took a while due to afternoon traffic, but we finally got on N-11 and headed east. The roads were in great shape (and had lane lines too). Out the window the scenery was distant mountain ranges and olive trees planted in rows as far as I could see. On the way I started to feel sickly, nauseated and headachy and my heart was pounding in my chest but I tried to hide my anxiety. I was sure all three of us were scared.
We arrived in Gdyel and exited the highway heading south away from the city center. The land between Gdyel and Oran was farmed desert the entire way, but most of what I saw were citrus and olive trees and small fields of cotton. The further south we drove the fewer homes we saw, it was mostly a vast area of trees planted in rows in sand.
We drove into what looked like a tiny farm village of mud brick shacks, there were power lines but I doubt they had indoor plumbing. At the end of the block was one larger property with fenced in areas like they kept animals and had two mud brick buildings with metal roofs but there were no signs anyone was there. I saw fresh tire prints in the sand out front. We drove past but didn't stop. At the next intersection he turned around and stopped. We watched the place from a quarter mile away for any signs of movement. The sun was halfway set behind the mountains off to the west.
Out here it was flat sand desert; in the distance in almost every direction were distant mountains. With the windows down I smelled the air was clean and very dry. It was actually very beautiful out here.
We drove slowly back down the street, stopped and backed up to what looked like the front entrance. One of the men said the place used to be a clinic for farm horses back in the era before they struck oil in the Sahara.
We all got out of the truck and walked to what looked like the main entrance. The guy who rode in back hid the bolt cutters behind his back.
I opened my knife but cupped it in my left hand. The gate was chained shut with barbed wire on top, like the rest of the compound it was topped with razor wire. The second man stepped up and raised the bolt cutter and moved it so one side of the pad lock was between the jaws, he pulled the handles together and it bit into the U-shaped steel bar and snapped it. The top half of the U-bar spun loose and the chain dropped out, he let the rather expensive looking padlock fall to the ground, which was just loose sand. It landed in the sand face down and partially buried the body so it appeared undamaged!
Without making much noise we loosened the chain and silently opened the gate enough to squeeze through. Like Greek soldiers silently climbing from the belly of the wooden horse on wheels we moved inside and stopped near the first corner. I heard a noise and raised my knife, we all stopped. I pointed in the direction of the noise, I thought I heard chains clinking. I gestured for the guys to move closer to me. I whispered I would find the sound, they should go in back and start cutting locks off cells.
This entire place reeked of piss but the flies didn't seem to mind.
I stayed in the front part of the facility and found a closed door and silently opened it a crack. Inside there was a light on and I saw what looked like a naked man standing beside someone hanging by his wrists from chains that came down from the roof. I paused to look around me but the two guys were already cutting locks in back. I heard the sound of another lock being cut.
Back at the door I silently opened it again and stepped inside and saw a man with gray hair, he was standing upright with his hands on someone's shoulders, it looked like he was fucking a prisoner from behind. I silently inched forward; the guy was vigorously humping what looked like a pale white young man. I took my knife and turned it around and stabbed him directly in the heart through his back, the man briefly froze stiff then collapsed in a heap on the concrete floor and never moved again. Blood spurt from his stab wound because I hit his heart or his aorta, but that son of a bitch bled like crazy!
The young man was hung by his wrists on log chains coming down from the roof trusses. The guy on the floor had a slimy wet erection still but I saw he wasn't breathing. The guy on the chains had his head hanging down like he was unconscious. I stepped forward so I could see, it looked like a teen boy, very small area of pubes and an otherwise hairless body, and he was pale and naked. His entire weight hung on his wrists but his feet touched the floor. I leaned over and checked his face. His eyes were open but expressionless. I tried to find a pulse on his wrists and neck but found nothing. I leaned my head over to listen to his chest but heard no heartbeat and no breathing. Feeling his flesh he was cold to the touch. I guess that guy was fucking a dead teen, which is totally disgusting and a major sin.
I walked around the room and sprayed everything I saw that looked like people would touch with their hands to bring anthrax into their noses. I use almost an entire spray can doing that one room. I sprayed the computer and mouse, drinking glasses, the refrigerator handle, and the light switches, and a box full of thick steel padlocks. I left the room and joined the party. They just cut the third lock off and I went up to the first cage and shone my flashlight inside and saw about five male children in the back corner on a pile of straw, I slowly opened the gate and gestured for them to come out silently.
Next, I did the same thing with the second cage and saw about 5-6 more boys and got them into the open area outside the cages. Many of them cried and trembled and they all looked filthy and malnourished. We opened the last cage and saw three of those boys looked very young, under ten years of age. In the last cage I briefly counted almost ten boys. We got all of them standing in a line in the open area and gestured for them to walk in a single file line to the front door.
Once we got them to the entrance we opened the front gate slightly and let them squeeze out and gather at the back of the truck. One of the guys lifted the back door and one at a time they climbed inside. Some of them were so weak they needed help climbing up. The floor inside the truck was about chest height to me standing behind it, so it was a bit of a climb.
I fully expected one or more of them would make a run for it because they didn't know who we were or where we were taking them, but none of them ran. I think most were too weak and tired to run.
I carefully closed the gate but left the lock on the ground so you couldn't tell it was damaged. Then I sprayed it. I replaced the chain as if the gate was still locked. The last boy got inside the truck and we pulled the cargo door down and latched it.
We casually got inside the truck and drove back to the N-11 highway. I told the tall man to drive us to the fish auction building at the Port of Oran; he nodded yes and kept one eye on the road, the other eye on the mirror. I sat in the front passenger seat facing the driver so I could watch everyone.
They passed around the gallon jugs of water, then the crackers. Most of the boys looked like skin-and-bones. Some of them cried because they didn't understand what was going on and they were as frightened as us. I asked the guy in back to tell them we were taking them back to Oran so they could run home to their parents, and they must be more careful not to get kidnapped again. Next time there would be no rescue. After the water jugs made one pass to everyone I asked him to ask the boys which ones were trying to get to Spain. Three boys immediately raised their hands, the smallest kids in the truck. I had him ask where their sister was and one child said she was sold weeks ago. I asked him to tell them I will take them to Spain. They all smiled and clapped.
Then I mentioned the name Octavio Bustamante and three of the boys said 'Grandfather' in Arabic. It sounded like they said 'Zhid-dawn.' They repeated it over and over. I had to gesture to them to stay down on the floor since we were moving.
I had him ask if they wanted to live with Octavio and they all said yes. One of them explained "When we first got on the boat we saw a bomb in the bilge so we jumped off and swam back to shore but were caught and sold to the child auction. I had him tell the brothers they should stay close to me and do what I say and I will take them to their Grandfather but it will take a week to get there, they must do as I tell them and be very quiet. They all nodded yes and held their hands together as if they were praying for deliverance and thanks. When the three raised their hands to pray in my direction I noticed they were filthy, well beyond filthy actually.
It didn't take very long after we started moving that the strong odor of filthy boys started to fill the entire truck, they were nasty stinky like rotted piss and butt odor. It was worse than a high school boys locker room.
A few minutes later we were on the highway driving back into Oran. Once we were on the highway I had him ask the older boys if they were okay being set free near the fish market in the port, and all the boys loudly said they'd be fine finding their way back home, and then they clapped and cheered. Possibly the first good news since being kidnapped.
Ninety minutes later we drove into the port and parked in the loading area outside the fish auction building. I gestured to the three youngest boys, ages 7, 9, and 12, and noticed they looked like brothers too, they all had similar eyebrows, noses, and chins. We got out of the truck and they stayed close to me. The man in back started to release the 17 older boys two at a time. Before they left he asked each one if they knew their way home from the port and they all nodded yes. We watched as they casually walked out of the parking lot and crossed the boulevard and vanished into the city. Before walking away I stopped at the driver's door and thanked the men for helping. We all waved and walked northwest toward the Spanish cargo ship that should be loading diesel fuel.
By then it was nearly dark outside and it took us an hour to slowly walk to the ship. I hid the boys between two sheds nearby but said in Spanish 'Do not move, stay here. Understand? Stay here." I pointed at the ground and they agreed. The oldest boy grabbed his youngest brother and pulled him against him and held him.
I walked up the gangway and then located the captain; we recognized each other and shook hands. I asked if he had one room and he said yes, he told me two hundred Euros for one-way to Barcelona and I paid him in cash.
Once they start loading diesel there is only one crewman that balanced the load by adjusting valves while they watched an inclinometer to make sure the ship stayed level. Most of the crew was gone from the ship eating and playing cards (and perhaps clandestine drinking) so this was the best time. I stood on the boat deck and called the kids one at a time, the youngest went first. He ran across the pier, up the long steel gangway then I took his hand as if I was family and walked him to our room and set him on the top bunk. It took almost 40 minutes to get all three kids inside the tiny cabin, the two smallest brothers bunked together on the upper.
Next, I went to the dining room and got two bowls of rice with gravy and spoons. I grabbed several soy sauce packs, salt, butter, and a tall cup of water with ice and brought it to the cabin and fed the boys equal parts. The oldest child seemed to understand some Spanish; maybe they learned some Spanish words watching TV as kids. When I asked them "Spanish?" they all shook heads no. But they responded to certain Spanish words, so I guess they heard it before but didn't know they were Spanish.
As soon as they started eating I about choked because of the stench, so when I returned the empty rice bowls I stopped in the bathroom and grabbed a wash cloth and three towels. I stood one boy at a time in the center of our cabin and took off his Djellaba and hand washed him. The oldest boy was modest and had already started puberty but he got washed too. His brothers laughed at his nakedness so I turned him around so his hairless butt cheeks faced the bunks. They were truly filthy after maybe three months without a bath, so all I did was get the stinkiest parts cleaner but it helped the way our cabin smelled a lot. They had been forced to poop into buckets with no toilet paper but I guess after a while it dries and flakes off. I gagged when I first removed their Djellabas. I also checked their hair for lice but found nothing.
The two small boys seemed excited to be standing around naked, it was funny to watch. I reached over to the sink and opened the valve and wet the wash cloth and soaped it and did the face first, then neck and ears, then arm pits. I rinsed the cloth, re-soaped, and turned them around and scrubbed butt cracks, then turned them around and washed between their nuts and thighs then their little penises and all around them. I did belly buttons then heavily rinsed the washcloths in the sink. Then I dried them off and put their nasty clothes back on and went to the next older brother. The last boy he didn't want to cooperate at first so his brothers screeched at him and I shushed them and then they scolded him at a whisper and he handed back the wash cloth and let me do his face, neck, and ears. Then I did his belly button and his butt crack and rinsed the cloth and did around his balls and his dick. With all three boys I checked each penis to make sure they didn't have some horrible infection growing under their foreskins, but they were all normally colored. I've seen long neglected penis heads turn a flaky green with a thick growth of bacteria under the foreskin.
I tried to learn their names, as I washed them they told me their names. The youngest (age 7 or 8) was Naji, the middle boy was Zaki, he was 9. The oldest was Hadi, he was 12-13. They knew to show fingers to show me how old they were, they laughed at me when I flashed 34 fingers to show how old I was. It was nice to hear them laugh. I would have liked to comfort them but I had no way to tell them not to worry, those bad men would all be dead by the end of the week. In fact once people started dying after going in that place the locals would probably assume it was evil spirits and maybe they'd burn it down and bury everything.
It was a long day so I showed them how to use the sink and toilet in our cabin and we all went to bed. I told them (with cell phone translation) to stay in the room or they would be in danger. Early the next morning while breakfast was being served the ship departed for Barcelona, I told the boys 'two days to Spain.' The oldest one translated with two fingers held up. I repeated to them to stay in the cabin. I knew I'd have to stay with them too or they might not follow my instructions. When we were in port where there was cell coverage I could use my cell to translate Spanish to Arabic. But once we got away from shore there was no cell signal and no more translation. The most important points I stressed were: remain silent, stay close to me, and do not leave the cabin unless the ship is sinking. I showed them were the life jackets were in a cabinet in the hallway.
I only left the cabin for food. We all ended up watching each other use the toilet because there was little else to do. The next morning after two of the boys peed I slid up my Djellaba and took a crap. All three of them rolled over and carefully watched. They all smiled and laughed when I farted and wiped myself. But since they barely ate any food they didn't need to poop, only pee. I got them one medium size scoop of rice, four slices of bread, and a tall cup of water for each meal and added some boiled vegetables on top of the rice, like spinach or small pieces of fish fillet. The boys looked sort of jaundiced to me, I wondered what diseases they might have caught in the prison, like hepatitis or TB. I wanted to clean their clothes but there was no way to do it on this 1940s cargo ship. It was too humid on the Sea to hand wash their clothes in the sink too, they'd still be wet when we parked in Barcelona.
I tried listening with my ear against their ribs to see if they were wheezing while breathing but their lungs sounded clear and the whites of their eyes were white so I had to assume some of their jaundice color was ground -in dirt.
Those two days crossing the Mediterranean were some of the longest days of my life. But I knew we faced a dangerous time getting them to the embassy without getting caught. Luckily, the ship was due to dock around 5:40pm, about 45 minutes before sunset so we should be able to stall our departure. After connecting the fuel lines to the ship they used two cranes to place the gangway and then begin to unload the cargo trays. After all that was done they came into the rooms with hoses and power washed every cabin after removing the mattresses and spreading them out in the sunlight to kill any insects.
Hopefully when it's dark we can sneak out the same way Dan and I did earlier this year. Luckily all of us were all dressed like locals and should not attract attention. The port in Barcelona is divided into sections. The cruise ships tie up at the modern part with barriers so everyone had to go through immigration, but the old cargo parts don't have much security (just a tall perimeter fence) and I knew the location of two disguised fence holes. The ports are also in their busiest tourist areas, so a lot goes unchecked. I was prepared to make a big distraction should it be needed to walk away from the ship without being checked.
I was also prepared to use my knife and fists in case someone caught us crawling through the fence. I've wiggled through that well hidden cut in the fence several times before, and a few with Daniel, but I never did it with three little kids before.
While we were crossing the sea I got to thinking about what could go wrong, like what if Octavio died of old age last night and now I was stuck with three boys in the wrong country? What happens if we get the embassy and Octavio arrives and says those are not his grandkids? About the only thing I was confident in was the boys were probably brothers, based on their appearance. And since I saw them naked too I can say their bodies are nearly identical in shape too, so I was confident they were brothers.
Our trip across the Mediterranean went smoothly and we were tugged into port a little later than normal, it was almost dark out when they tossed lines to the longshoremen and tied up to their usual spot on the pier. A crew of ten men connected the ship to the oil lines and we heard two engines start on board to pump diesel off the ship with compressed air. Once that was going they placed the gangway and all the passengers and some of the crew were allowed to leave. Once the other passengers were gone I got the boys out in the hallway and out on the deck then casually walked down the gangway but headed the wrong way, toward a corner in the fence where the hidden cut was located but hard to see from outside the port, luckily nobody shouted that we had to go through Immigration -'it's the other way!' We silently crawled through the cut in the fence and out to freedom. But we were in a bad part of town for three kids to be walking around at 8:25pm so we tried to stay in the shadows. Finally, I was able to flag down a taxi and we had him drive us to the embassy. The taxi driver kept glancing at me in the mirror like he suspected I was up to something, maybe my moustache was partially peeled from my upper lip.
We put the boys in one of the locked interrogation rooms and I got on the phone and called Octavio and told him to come immediately to the US Embassy in his car.
Ninety minutes later an old diesel Mercedes SUV pulled up to the gate outside the sally port and honked. We checked his vehicle and his driver's license and had him drive inside the embassy and turn around and park in the sally port facing outward. After greetings I gently held his elbow and walked him inside to the interrogation room he recognized when he asked for help finding out what happened to his grandchildren, he knew they drowned when their fishing boat sunk 50 miles from shore.
I walked Octavio to the room, opened the door and he took a few steps inside and raised his hands to his face and shrieked loudly. I helped him inside and shut the door. The boys ran to him and held him tightly. Slowly Octavio lowered to his knees and held his grandchildren and kissed each one on the cheek over and over while everyone wept with joy. I cried uncontrollably.
The steel door behind me opened slightly and an arm reached in with a box of tissues. I helped Octavio into a chair and his youngest grandson sat on his lap and held him tightly. The tallest one explained that they lost their sister weeks ago, they had no idea where she went. I was surprised he didn't say more. They must have witnessed her torture before she was sold. Or maybe like the dead boy I saw, she hung from chains in another room.
Octavio turned to me, gripped my hand, pressed his face into my hand and softly said (in English), "Thank you, thank you, thank you, much much much much." He had a twinkle in his eyes and his face was wet with tears of joy. He let go and held the youngest boy tightly and kissed his cheek several times.
The three grandsons he already buried in his heart were in fact still alive and they would significantly alter his life, and theirs. I told the old guy to wait for a week then come back and discuss applying for visas for them as refugees from a child slave auction in Algeria. The process of applying would go much differently for him when the initial call to the Spain Immigration Department came from a US Ambassador appointed by the US President! He nodded yes and I knew their reunion might go on for hours so I got the four of them in his vehicle and on their way home. I stood outside on the sidewalk and watched them drive off into the night. Those kids were at the perfect age to start learning Spanish in public school, but I think Octavio might put them in Catholic School instead.
I walked across the campus with a big smile on my face, then upstairs into my apartment and went to sleep on my musty smelling old bed. It's been months since the last time I slept here, my stuff was still in this apartment but I think they removed Daniel's stuff already. Once I get a bigger apartment I can move all my stuff to Tangier.
The next morning I took a shower and got a taxi ride to the train station, the train took me to the Port of Tarifa and from there I took the old car ferry across the strait to Tangier and walked two miles back to my apartment. It took me four hours to write my report, and I also wrote a supplement about the kids and their deceased parents and how Octavio was their only living relative and the US should endorse their acceptance for Visas in Spain on an emergency basis. I also recommended Aafia should receive a bonus for her risk taking, selfless attitude, and how she made it possible for us to save twenty children from slavery and murder.
Contact the author: borischenaz mailfence com
Remember, nothing is this story is true.