A short, stubby man with an impressive gut peeking out beneath a stained and holey T-shirt stands expressionless, studying Jack and Matías. A mop of black curls is sweat-pasted across his forehead. He wears dirty blue workpants, and black rubber boots up to just below his knees. “This is Carlos,” says the man who just hauled Jack and Matías out of the truck.

Jack nods. Unsure what is happening or what he should say, he takes a good look at his kidnapper: dark acne-scarred skin with dead eyes, a knife scar from one corner of his mouth down to his neck, pinstriped short-sleeved button-up shirt and loose-fitting, lived-in Levi’s jeans.

“This is your new home,” he tells them. Then looks to the potbellied man and tells him, “Alfonso dice que los traigamos aquí . . .” Then followed a brief torrent of incomprehensible Spanish, ending with “pasta.”

Pasta? Jack glances at Matías, who smirks.

The kidnapper leaves. Carlos waves at his new charges to follow him and leads them to a small, run-down outbuilding constructed of boards, concrete block, and a rusty tin roof. Inside are two beds. A bucket. He points. And Matías tells Jack, “Our new home. Our bedding and bathroom.”

Jack drops his pack on a bed. Then the man leads them back outside. Jack looks around them. They are surrounded by green, steaming jungle, in a place that doesn’t even exist on a map. Carlos grabs two large cloth sacks, hands one to each of them, and leads them down a narrow forest path. Across the dirt road, they cut through an expanse of trees and bushes, to a clearing where small children stand picking green leaves from rows and rows of bushes. “Coca plantation,” Matías whispers to Jack.

Carlos turns and nods at Matías. Yes. Confirming his whisper.

Carlos talks to Matías in Spanish. Matías then tells Jack, “We are to help the niños harvest these leaves. Fill the sacks Carlos gave us. When they’re full, we go back and empty them in the courtyard, walk back up the trail at the farm, and do it again. We do this until dark.”

Coca. Jack is on a plantation for cocaine—not a place he ever planned to be.