Dream of: 11 September 1999 "Thunderbirds"

Several men in business suits had seized Carolina and me and forced us into the front seat of a car. Two of the men were in the front seat, one driving, one in the middle, crowding Carolina and me together on the passenger side. I had no idea what the men wanted, and I feared they intended to kill us. Carolina was also terribly frightened and she cried a little. I tried to talk to the men, but no one would respond. Just total silence. I knew not what to do.

When the car finally stopped, and we were pushed outside, I saw we were on the outskirts of town, in a poor ghetto area where blacks lived in little shacks. As the men in suits also climbed out of the car, I thought they would simply kill us here. It was a safe place for them to do so, for none of these impoverished souls standing at their doors and windows would have the courage to report the killings.

However, to my astonishment, instead of killing us, the men gave both Carolina and me guns of our own. The guns were large silver handguns, like futuristic ray guns. All kinds of little buttons and knobs were on the guns, very complicated objects, and I was unsure I would be able to use them.

On the edge of the town, where the streets ended, a barren brown hill stood before us. Seeing a path up the side of the hill, I thought I might have found an avenue of escape, and I signaled Carolina to follow me. Our captors didn't stop us, and I even had the feeling they intended for us to climb the hill. Still clutching our guns, we began making our way up the dusty rocky path.

I was curious about the guns – why had they been given to us? I concluded that the guns were probably also tracking devices, that as long as Carolina and I carried the guns, our captors could tell where we were. I looked at the buttons, thinking it might be possible to turn off the tracking mechanism. The buttons were indecipherable. Of course, I reflected that we could simply throw the guns down, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. I had the feeling of being somehow connected to the guns, as if these new-found weapons were going to play some important role in my life.

I also began to think that the guns had yet another function – that through the guns, our captors were somehow communicating with us. I had the distinct impression that we weren't escaping our captors, but that we were – through the guns – being led somewhere. So when we reached a building on top of the hill, walked inside and found several people in the room, I felt as if the place was just part of the continuing saga with our captors.

The room had a bright hardwood floor, but no furniture. Six or seven people were either standing or sitting around the perimeter of the room. One man sitting on the floor spoke to us, and said something about "Thunderbirds." I didn't know whether he was calling Carolina and me Thunderbirds, or whether he was referring to our weapons. Clearly he recognized the weapons and he knew something about them. I wanted to know more about what he knew, and I started to speak to him. Suddenly, one of the men in suits who had originally kidnapped us walked into the room and snapped at me, saying I shouldn't talk with the man on the floor. He indicated the man on the floor might be an agent.

I was beginning to understand what had had happened to me. The men who had kidnapped me now considered me to be under their control. I had been recruited to work for them, and if I continued in their service, I could be ordered to perform tasks without question. I might even be ordered to kill the man sitting on the floor.

I could still back out of this. I didn't know what the consequences would be, but I didn't have to stay in the service of my captors. However, by this point, I was more than curious – I felt somehow tied to my captors, as if to some degree, I wanted to work for these men. Even if it meant I must be an assassin, I was inclined to stay with them.

My former captor seemed to be ready to begin training me for my new role. As what appeared to be the beginning of the training, he pointed to a woman sitting on the floor and ordered, "Go over to Rita and make a pass."

He meant I should strike up a conversation with the woman and try to pick her up. I was unsure how to approach a strange woman like this. If I had a cigarette, perhaps I could ask her for a light, but I didn't have one. I would need to think of some other way to approach her.

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