Impossible Odds

behavior. Once several catnaps and numerous trips to the bush for a makeshift toilet passed without a physical attack, I was able to relax a bit.
    There appeared to be some measure of discipline among them that restrained the worst of their savagery, even as ragtag and drug-addled as they were. I found when I had to pass by them to visit the bushes, they more or less ignored me. Abdi’s initial prediction that we were to be protected for our cash value appeared to be genuine, at least for the time being.
    Whoever controlled this operation, the Chairman or whoever else it might be, was obviously using a regular supply of reliably fresh and therefore effective khat leaves each and every day. Addiction bonded the men better than actual loyalty. A happy side effect may have been that common to any form of heavy stimulant use: temporary physical impotence.

CHAPTER TEN
    Jessica:
    The second day melted into a third day. Our kidnappers subjected us to a routine of daylight hours spent under a scruffy stand of old acacia trees surrounded by giant termite mounds. The whole night was spent under open sky. It was a strange pattern. The men showed such extraordinary concern over concealing us during daylight hours that it was obvious they were afraid of aerial surveillance. At night, however, we were force-walked out into open fields to throw down our sleeping mats and sleep away from the trees. It was as if the men’s fear of being seen from overhead didn’t apply to nighttime. Perhaps they had never heard of infrared cameras. I wasn’t about to bring the subject up.
    That second night they walked us out into the desert again, just as they had done the night before, and once again there was the sour fear of an apparent execution. After an hour or so of stumbling around out there, they ordered us to the ground.
    This time, instead of putting us on our knees for another ghoulish performance, they just yelled once again for us to “sleep!” There seemed to be no reason for the protracted night hike. I wondered, did these guys actually think the U.S. government would senddrones to spy on us? And did they actually think that could happen this fast?
    Still, the shouted order to “sleep!” soon became recognizable as a more general form of command and control. The kidnappers kept moving us on foot every couple of hours, then stopping again and commanding us to “sleep!” whenever we halted. It felt crazed and pointless and did nothing to convince me they had any idea what they were doing. The only logic to it was that same concern about secondary kidnapping by roving gangs. On top of the heavy weaponry our captors flaunted, they seemed to be taking no chances of letting word get out about our location.
    It appeared that when it came down to rank, among this group, the rank below Abdi was held by the “Colonel,” and above him was the Chairman. But I wondered, was the Chairman actually the one in charge? It was clear we had no chance of getting out of there unless we could deal with someone who had decision-making power. The most authority the guards seemed to have was the power to grant us permission to make a toilet run to the bushes.
    If the Chairman was really running the show, he was likely to be the money man behind this. This would be true whether he used his personal funds or someone else’s invested money. It was puzzling; I didn’t think the Chairman gave off the air of the complete alpha dog.
    But if not him, who was making all these decisions?
    Somebody had a substantial vested interest here, and these squabbling, prancing morons didn’t seem like they could organize a decent picnic. Did they even know who pulled their strings?
    I had to wonder: Did I just happen to get picked up along with Poul, or was my kidnapping also intentional? Because even though I only recognized a few words of their dialect, I kept hearing the term “Amer-ee-cahn” over and over while the men pointed toward me. Some appeared to be nervous and unhappy at the sight of me. Great. So if I’m a fly in the ointment for them, the question is: Are they afraid an American will draw the ire of the U.S. military?
    And will they feel safer if they just kill me or sell me off to other criminals, or worse yet, to Al-Shabaab?
    For an instant I also wondered whether I might get released just so they could reduce their risk. But that thought felt like the empty hope it was. I let it go.
    They kept us silent, as if afraid we might come up with an