When Hope Calls: A Human Trafficking Story

2:31PM

Ring ring, ring ring.

The team, who had grown numb from waiting, were shocked wide awake. Morris made a mad scramble for the phone.

"Hello!" What he really wanted to do was shout into the receiver, telling Mya that it's okay, that they were trying everything they could to save her, that he would never give up. But it might have been someone else in need of help, so he had to revert to protocol, speaking in Thai. When he heard the familiar shallow breathing on the other end, he almost choked on his excitement, throwing a smile at his expectant team. Jeremy shot his arm into the air, fervently displaying the word CAR written on it.

"Mr. Morris...I do not know if I can call again...why are you taking so long, why...?" Her voice choked up. Try as he did, Morris' voice fared no better.

"Mya...I...we're doing everything we can. We –" here he had to hold back a sob, pushing down his emotions, "We are making progress! We need to know what car you are in; is it a car, or a van? What color is it? Do you know the license plate number?" Chariya gestured for him to slow down; they had to give Mya time to collect her emotions and memories. He gave her a nod and took a deep breath to calm himself.

The sobs subsided, to his relief. "The car is a white van...they keep me locked in the back," she said. "I am sorry, I cannot remember the license plate number..." She broke off into repeated murmurs of "I'm sorry, I'm sorry". Chariya shook her head and sniffed; this was beyond anything she had anticipated when Margaret had brought her in.

"It's okay, Mya, it's okay!" Morris reassured her in the most heartening tone he could muster, as he wrote WHITE VAN in his notebook. "That is all the information we need for now. We will search out some possible locations. Mya...Mya...?" But her murmuring had given way to uncontrollable crying and stammered apologies, heavy with remorse at a situation that was not her fault. Morris knew that she needed some light, something to hold on to. He had an idea.

"Mya, can you tell me where you're from? I am from Bago, in Myanmar."

Mya managed to reply through her sobs, "I am from Yangon..." Although the most developed region of the country, the location of the Yangon division makes it a hotspot for cross-border human traffickers.

"And your family?" Morris continued. "Tell me about them, Mya." He had to tread carefully here, because the line between loss and hope was thin, and he had to keep her on the bright side.

"My family is small...there is my pa, my ma, and my older brother..." she replied, sniffing, "They all love me so much. We are poor, but they give me everything. They wanted me to have a better life outside the village..." As the tears returned in full force, Morris could hear her self-reproach. In her mind, she had let her family down, bringing dishonor to them for their love and care. It pained Morris to hear a victim blaming herself...a heartbreaking phenomenon he had witnessed among many other victims. He had to lead her to greener pastures.

"Mya, remember those mountains that you saw earlier? They remind you of your village, don't they?" A wild guess, for sure, but he was grasping at anything that could buoy her spirit.

"Yes," whispered Mya, "we had beautiful mountains around our village. In the spring there were so many colorful flowers everywhere." Her voice took on a faraway tone, as if she was looking at the rural scenery in her mind's eye. "My brother would take me to the most lovely spots in the forest. Sometimes I made flower necklaces for him, but he does not like to wear them." She chuckled, sending a wave of warmth down Morris' back, "He thinks wearing flowers is for girls!" Morris couldn't help but chuckle along with her; Chariya was all smiles as well.

Knowing there might not be a better chance, he ventured: "Mya, your family still loves you so much." He paused and willed his voice to be more persuasive. "They understand that this was not your fault. You have not let them down, Mya. Trust me on that, okay?"

There was a brief pause, where he heard her wipe her tears, then her still, small voice: "I trust you." That simple expression of faith hit home. If there had been any shred of doubt in this operation so far, it had disintegrated at the touch of those three simple words.

"Never forget that they love you!" He emphasized, wiping the sudden tears from his eyes. "Mya, I promise you that I will never give up on you," he asserted. "You must promise me not to give up either. Now, you must keep the phone on so that we can hear what the bad people say, okay?"

"Okay...I have to go now, please hurry up!" The rustling of the cell phone being put away. The muffled sounds of a door opening, then men's voices, then a car door opening and closing.

Once again, Morris put the phone on speaker mode, Margaret, Jeremy, Aat, and Chariya huddling in with notebooks and laptops in their hands, hungry for any new information. Thanks to Chariya's written translations, all of them had red eyes from the emotional phone call...but they were all business now.

The road trip conversation resumed, and before long took a favorable turn. "...so many temples in this area. Did you know? My parents actually wanted me to be a monk." This confession from one of the captors was met with raucous laughter from the other.

"You? A monk? Hahaha, if only your parents could see what you do for a living now!" Morris, Chariya, and Aat winced at the irony, and the apparent nonchalance in the speaker's response. Morris did not forget to scribble down, HIGH DENSITY OF TEMPLES; Aat jotted down a few locations as well. "Look at that huge temple! Maybe you can work there, haha!" Another note, LARGE TEMPLE. Jeremy and Margaret set to work on their laptops. After a few more back-and-forths, they lapsed into silence. The office quintet was silent as well, barely daring to breath.

"Turn left at the next street." Five pairs of ears perked up at the foreshadowing of a critical clue (even the Americans understood such basic Thai), their pens poised. Margaret's hand gripped her cellphone tighter.

"No, no, I'm sure it's the one after that...Sathon road, not Khaosan road." Mad scribbling ensued – this information had considerably narrowed their search area. Beads of perspiration lined Jeremy's forehead. And being of like mind, Aat peeked at his notes, like a bloodhound straining to begin the hunt.

"You're right for once," the driver's voice grunted. A few minutes of silence elapsed. "How much do you think they'll pay for this one?"

"She looks like at least 20,000 baht to me...maybe even 30,000 if they're in a good mood." The young men chuckled, as if they were merely anticipating a good meal, or a new phone. Those who understood the dialogue grimaced in disgust.

Then one of the captors excitedly hollered, "Let's have a celebration at the Spicy Nightclub!" The other seemed to like the idea. Aat perked up at the mention of the nightclub, scribbling down a name and phone number in his notebook. The others looked at him with curiosity, but were afraid to speak with the phone on speaker mode.

Without warning – yet with frustrating familiarity – the line went dead.