Candice sat in the back seat of the car and looked out at the beautiful landscape. The ride up the dusty road over the past hour had been uneventful. Densely forested mountains rose to either side. All of the windows in the dilapidated car were open against the sun's brutal heat.

For the short drive, the young actress had chosen to wear a sleeveless cotton dress with an orange floral pattern, white cotton panties and bra, white sandals, and a Yankee baseball cap. Her passport and a great deal of other incidental junk were in the white handbag at her side. Her hair was again tied back into a ponytail.

After fifteen minutes of fruitlessly attempting to engage Pepe in conversation, it became painfully clear from his terse answers that he did not want to talk. For some reason, she had the impression that he was very nervous about something. Perhaps, she reflected, it was because of the circumstances of their first meeting.

Respecting his silence, Candice relaxed back into the seat and tried to enjoy the drive.

The first clue that anything was amiss was the steady stream of tense expletives coming from Pepe's lips. Looking ahead through the cracked windshield, Candice could clearly make out the military roadblock ahead.

Terrified, as much because of Pepe's reaction as her past torture, she gazed with mounting fear as their car slowly approached. Once close enough for her to examine these soldiers in greater detail, it became apparent, both from their attitude and disheveled appearance, that these were not members of the government militia. However, their widespread formation and automatic weapons, held at the ready, also made it clear that they were prepared to stop the car by any means necessary. From the car window, Candice counted twelve soldiers and, with some relief, noted that four of these were women.

Pepe looked back at her in terror. "Rebels. Please senorita, don't let them know that you're American."

Quickly and as discreetly as possible, Candice removed her baseball cap and passport from her handbag and jammed them into the crack between the seat cushion and backrest.

"Halto!" commanded a male Rebel who stepped forward into the path of the moving car with his Russian AK47 cradled in his arms.

With a loud screech from worn brakes, the car came to an abrupt stop. Quickly, the Rebels moved in to surround the car pointing their rifles menacingly.

"Get out and keep your hands where they can be seen," ordered the same man.

Both apprehensively opened their car doors and did as instructed. The Rebels quickly herded them at gunpoint to a position ten yards from the driver's door.

Gesturing with his machine gun, a different Rebel commanded, "Put your hands behind your head and don't move." Standing next to the car facing outward into the glaring sun, they again did their best to follow instructions.

Reaching into the car to get the keys, one of the Rebels opened the car trunk. Others went through the car looking for anything useful. Candice heard what she assumed was her purse being opened and dumped onto the ground.

Moments later, Candice saw one of the females approach the Rebel who had initially stopped their car holding a piece of paper out in front of her. Gazing quickly at the paper as the woman walked by, Candice recognized the letter, addressed to her old roommate in New York, which had been in her purse. The man took the offered document and came to stand in front of her.

"So, you're American," he said with a reasonably good American accent.

"No senor," Pepe immediately spoke up. "I'm Pepe and this is my sister Candice. We're on our way to visit relatives in Atitlan."

Just then one of the Rebels going through the car shouted, "Miguel, Miquel."

All three looked at the Rebel soldier inside the car waving Candice's blue U.S. passport triumphantly outside the backseat door. Moving forward to take the passport and then return, Miguel held the passport picture next to Candice's face.

Reaching forward with his left hand to grip her left earlobe, Miguel wrenched the girl painfully down to her knees and then forced her to press her face into the dirt.

"So," Miguel said while brutally twisting her ear, "are you from the Estados Unidos?"

"YES!" Candice screamed in pain and terror. "Please don't hurt me."

At that moment, apparently overcome with terror from his duplicity, Pepe chose to try and make a break to freedom. Twenty strides and as many bullets later, he lay in a bloody heap on the ground.

Candice screamed, first in terror at the gunfire and then in horror for her late companion's meaningless death.

Lifting her to her feet by her ear, Miguel grabbed her by the shoulders, turned her around and shoved her viciously against the hot car hood. The other Rebels gathered closely around the two. Following Miguel's terse orders, her luggage was brought forward and placed onto the hood in front of her so that he could search it.

Looking at two of the women in his squad, Miguel ordered, "Lucinda, Wanda, strip this capitalist bitch! Ricco, go cut a pole strong enough to bring our guest back to camp."

The women handed their rifles to nearby compatriots and moved behind their captive. Ricco obediently jogged off into the surrounding forest.

Tears of terror and humiliation began to stream down Candice's face as the Rebel named Wanda grabbed her left shoulder, lowered the zipper on her dress, and then ripped it completely open down the back.

Yanking her painfully around by the ponytail so that Candice now stood facing the Rebel assemblage, Wanda and Lucinda each grabbed one of their captive's dress shoulders and swiftly yanked the dress from her body. Callously, Lucinda threw the ruined garment to the jeering circle of onlookers.

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