Held (23 page)

I walked into the hotel, trying not to let my nervousness show, and made my way to room 2111. The key worked; I entered the room and locked the door behind me. It was an ordinary room with blue walls, a large bed, white curtains. There were jeans, a T-shirt, shoes, and a white plastic bag on the bed.

I looked out the window and burst into tears. I didn’t know whether they were tears of grief, relief, or tension—probably all three. I was relieved to be back in the world, relieved that I could see the city from my window. But I didn’t want to be in that world without my hostage-taker.

I finally calmed down and undressed. While I was stuffing my clothes into the plastic bag, the phone rang. I jumped, terrified. I wasn’t supposed to call anyone; no one was supposed to know I was here. Should I answer? What if it was important?

I picked up the phone.

“Room service,” the voice said. “When would you like the meal you ordered?”

“I’ll let you know,” I mumbled. Talking to someone other than my hostage-taker felt artificial, as if I were reading a script in a play.

I washed my face and stared at the mirror. The expression in my eyes reminded me of my hostage-taker. Some of his seriousness had become a part of me; I hoped some of my hopefulness had become a part of him.

I stepped into the shower and tried to scrub away all possible clues from my body. When I was finished I wrapped myself in an oversized bathrobe and quickly set the bag outside the room.

Then I leaned back in bed and turned on the television.

It was like coming back to civilization after a hundred years. The ads, the shows, the news—it all seemed wildly unfamiliar.

I began channel surfing; I couldn’t focus on anything. Suddenly I saw Mom on CNN. It was only a photo, and I missed the news report that went along with it, but I was suddenly desperate to let her know that I was back, safe and sound. And yet at the same time I didn’t feel ready to face a barrage of questions coming at me from every direction. They’d want to know everything, and I wanted to say nothing.

My hostage-taker had been right: it was good that I knew so little. It freed me; I didn’t have to carry a burden of secrecy. Only my feelings of love were my own, and those weren’t a burden—they were a secret treasure.

My heart ached for my hostage-taker. Somewhere on the planet he was removing all traces of me. I knew he was thinking about me, but that only made it worse. I rushed to the door and opened it; the bag had vanished. The last tie between us was gone.

I took another quick shower, just to be sure, and dressed in the clothes they’d chosen for me. The jeans didn’t fit all that well, but the shirt, bra, and shoes were the right size.

I couldn’t stay in that hotel room another minute. I almost ran to the elevator.

I walked down the street in a state of stupefaction; it was as if I’d never been in a city before. I felt completely out of place, and I was surprised people weren’t staring at me. I walked four blocks, as instructed, and hailed a taxi.

“The United States Embassy, please,” I said.

The driver didn’t give me a second glance. At the first red light I remembered with a start that I was supposed to lose the hat and sunglasses on the curb.

“My shirt’s caught,” I said, opening the door and quickly dropping the cap and sunglasses on the road.

The driver glanced at me through the mirror. I hoped he hadn’t seen.

He stopped a block from the embassy, which was as close as he could get, and it was only when I paid that he squinted at me with a puzzled look on his face. I turned away, hurried up the street, and approached one of the Marines guarding the building.

“I’m Chloe Mills,” I said.

And then there was a big hullabaloo.

Washington, D.C.
Saturday, 9:30 p.m.

I’m running out of time: soon I will have to submit my formal report.

And I will have to destroy what I’ve written on these pages.

But I had to write it all down; I had to relive it one last time before I face my life here. What I can’t put into words is how desperately I miss my hostage-taker.

Today I asked Mom to show me some of the magazines that carried the story of my abduction. She’d brought a bagful with her to the hotel, but I hadn’t wanted to see them until now.

We looked through the magazines together. There I was, on the front page of
All People
, wearing a white-and-silver dress. It was a flattering, full-length photo that Angie had taken at a school dance. Underneath the photo it said:
Who
Are the Terrorists? / World’s Hottest Bachelors Wait for Chloe /
Her Mother’s Secret Fear
. I felt as if I’d been transported into some sort of alternate universe.

Mom and I laughed at some of the stories. People who barely knew me pretended they did and gave interviews: a ski instructor who had given me one lesson, a neighbor whose dog I walked when I was ten. There were also ads for a scary Chloe doll, a book about me called
Chloe from Inside
, and
I
love you Chloe
T-shirts.

Chad had been forced to retract his story. He was accused of fabricating everything, including the two dates we’d actually had. Mom’s “secret fear” turned out to be concern about my diet. There were photos from my gymnastics days, including a few of me screwing up. “
She never gave up
, fellow gymnast Liza Saturnov remembers.” I had no idea who Liza Saturnov was.

The story
Who Are the Terrorists
? was based on speculations from all sorts of experts. A different set of experts analyzed the two letters I’d written; they were sure I’d inserted clues about where I was.

I couldn’t read any of the articles all the way through. Apart from everything else, they were full of errors. Some magazines got almost everything wrong: a photo of me at age four with my granddad was captioned “
Chloe, at five, with her
uncle in Seattle
.”

“It’s my fault, darling,” Mom said. “I said yes to almost everyone who asked for interviews. I was so happy they were interested—I didn’t want them to forget about you. At first there was a media siege outside the house, but then the guys on top decided it was a security risk, and they sealed off the whole street with armed guards—can you imagine?” She laughed, but I noticed new lines around her eyes.

“Are the security people still there? On our street?”

“Oh yes. There are security people all around the house, and they’ve supplied me with bodyguards.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said for the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time she answered, “I’m so happy to see you in one piece.”

She said, “You’ve changed, honey. Grown older.”

I want to tell her more about my conditions—what I ate, what I did, the movies I’d watched—but I’m not ready. I need time to sort everything out.

    
To the CIA
    
My report

I don’t have anything to add to what I already told you about the
ride to the warehouse and the ride back to Athens.

I don’t have much to add to what I told you about my captivity
either. The days were all the same. One time I got sick with a stomach
virus or flu and my hostage-taker gave me pills and medicine until
I was better. He told me his father had been a doctor and that he
too had studied medicine a long time ago but his studies were
interrupted. The chest I traveled in to the new location was an
antique—I can try to draw it for you. I think there was a pool near
the second location because I smelled chlorine. One night I thought
I heard machine-gun fire, but it turned out to be a hallucination.

My hostage-taker told me he’d been in prison, where he was
tortured. It was a dictatorship, he didn’t say where, but he said the
community was Christian.

It drizzled a bit now and then, and there were a few rainstorms.
On my birthday he brought me purple irises and sherry.
I often lectured him about taking the law into his own hands.

I don’t have any more clues for you. My hostage-taker had a
briefcase, but he kept it locked. He once took some books out of it—
I think they were all in English, but I didn’t see any titles. I already
told you about the films I saw. I can’t think of anything else.

Chloe Mills

Memorandum number:
CM1172-13.

Classification:
Secret

Subject:
Preliminary Notes on Report Submitted by Chloe Mills

Prepared by:
Dr. Geraldine Marlowe, Dr. Anil Rajan, and Professor Erez Shaked

A. Chloe’s Report

Chloe Mills took nearly a week to write her report; however, the resulting document could not have taken more than a few minutes to compose. Only a few brief details have been added to the information recorded at the initial debriefing.

B. General Comments
1. Brevity of report.

i. Most, if not all, released hostages remember and reveal many mundane details (e.g., food they ate, thoughts about their release, etc.), as well as the ups and downs of their emotional state. Memories of events experienced during captivity are typically very vivid and victims feel a strong need, even a compulsion, to communicate them in detail.

ii. Chloe appears to be exhibiting emotional detachment and depression, common symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). General erratic behavior exhibited by Chloe also points to pervasive PTSD. Chloe has not contacted any of her friends or relatives, other than brief calls to Angie Shaw and her grandparents. She has shown no interest in the gifts that were sent to her and has not tried on any of the clothes. She continues to wear the same outfit, which is washed every night and returned to her in the morning.

This erratic behavior suggests depression, guilt, and difficulty in adapting to her changed situation. Chloe has not reported nightmares, insomnia, or any other sleep disorder, but it is possible that she would not report these even if she were experiencing them. When the possibility of taking mild antidepressants or sedatives was discussed, she vehemently refused. It is almost certain that additional, delayed PTSD symptoms will appear at a future date.

iii. The brevity of the report may be accounted for by Chloe’s efforts to protect her captors (see 4.i and 4.ii. below). It is possible that she rejected the idea of sedatives because she wishes to remain alert for that reason.

2. Compatibility of report with typical hostage scenarios.
The report is for the most part incompatible with parallel political hostage situations, and fits in more with sexual predatory kidnapping, where gifts and food may be given to the victim. However, it may also accord with systematic brainwashing strategies, used for example by cult leaders (see 4.i. below).

3. Compatibility of report with Chloe’s physical condition.
i. The report is compatible with Chloe’s general good health.

ii. No signs of torture or violence were detected. However, Chloe may have been subjected to forms of torture that do not leave any marks, such as confinement in a small, dark space, stripping, noise, dunking, threats, exposure to phobia-inducing stimuli such as spiders, etc.

iii. Substantial quantities of midazolam (one of the so-called rape drugs) and meperidine (Demerol) showed up in Chloe’s blood, along with a smaller amount of diazepam (Valium), which may have been administered later. The latter seems to have been administered intravenously; Chloe either has no memory of this or is withholding the information. The drugs correspond to the report of sedation, which may have lasted as long as 24 hours, possibly even longer, if administered at intervals.

4. Possible explanations for Chloe’s behavior.
As far as we can determine, there are three possible explanations for Chloe’s erratic behavior.

i. Chloe has possibly been manipulated into developing a strong attachment to and identification with her captors. In this case, it is likely that she dealt with only one male captor, with possibly a charismatic personality. Using strategies familiar to cult leaders, such as food incentives, a show of caring and concern, ultimate control, inconsistent withholding / providing of needs, isolation (in this case conveniently built-in), physical affection, sexual seduction, infantilization, etc., Chloe’s captors may have brainwashed her into experiencing feelings of love and devotion. Brainwashing and emotional manipulation are easy to achieve in kidnapping circumstances, especially if, as in this case, the terrorists are experienced.

ii. Identification with the aggressor is adaptive in hostage situations. Chloe may be suffering from the so-called Stockholm Syndrome and is therefore trying to protect her captors. Chloe would be inevitably traumatized by being helpless, isolated, terrified, blindfolded, and in danger of her life. The likelihood of deviant or disturbing behavior on the part of the terrorists is also high and sexual assault almost certainly occurred. Chloe would be inclined to give herself the role of willing participant in order to ease her mental anguish. In hostage scenarios, the syndrome typically fades quite quickly when the victim returns to a normal environment, sometimes within a day.