IT’S JUST PROTOCOL

My college years were, without a doubt, the best years of my life. Upon graduating from High School, I left home the very next day, and went and found me a town job. I thought I was smarter than my dad and stayed mad at him most of the time anyway, so I thought I would do something on my own until college started three months down the road. Ha Ha, the joke was on me. I quickly found out that I really wasn’t much smarter after all. That job building houses in the high country of Colorado was tough and I hated every second of it, but as it turned out was the best thing that ever happened to me. When College began, the homesickness was behind me and I was ready to make my way into the world. So, I did.

My first two years was spent in Cheyenne, Wyoming at a little community college on the edge of town. It was a perfect fit for me. Everyone was agricultural oriented; the city was fun and the parties were…..non-stop. Sorry mom. After two years there I transferred down to West Texas and continued to have fun, grow up a bit and meet even more people, incredible people whom I have formed lifetime friendships with. Two such people were a dating couple named Joe and Jenny. I had several classes with them and they seemed strangely familiar to me and we became friends quickly. As it turned out Joe and Jenny were close friends with my aunt and uncle and we had many friends in common throughout the central plains, thanks to church. They got married and we have remained friends down through the years and continue to keep in touch.

Joe is a very smart individual who has worked in the highest echelons of Agriculture and in 2010 was working for a pharmaceutical company in Argentina overseeing their operations down there. I was always intrigued with the cowboy and cattle culture down there so one evening I called Joe and Jenny and told them I was coming to see them. We set a date, and we made it happen.

Now, as it turns out my thirst for exploring South America was……a bit under-thought and it took more doin’ to accomplish the task of getting ready for the trip than I had ever dreamed it would. Of course, most of my far-off travels were just going to college and traveling back and forth to our operation in Texas. I decided I needed an experienced, world traveler to go with me so I called up an old friend named Jazzy and asked her if she was interested in going with me down there. Jazzy was also a pharmaceutical rep at the time so she had extensive experience in traveling all over. She excitedly accepted the invitation and the date was set for our trip to Argentina.

The day to leave had approached so I traveled down to Texas and we were set to fly out of Dallas/Forth Worth International Airport the next morning. Now, my roundtrip traveling from Ordway, Colorado to Buenos Aires, Argentina and back would take a full two weeks so I packed appropriately but not out of hand. Of course, like any woman, when I got to Texas Jazzy hadn’t even started packing and her family and I spent the evening helping her fill her new/used fancy Tumi luggage brim full and then some. That suitcase was as big as a Home Depot shopping cart and weighed like an overfed steer. And it was the largest of the 15 bags she was bringing for me to drag and sling around. But, she was proud of it. Apparently it was a highfalutin bag that she bought on eBay out on the East Coast. It was so valuable that she left it on her front porch in its box for a month before we left on the trip. Everyone who is anyone has Tumi luggage, don’t ya know? I should have known then.

We had to be at the airport at 5:30am the next morning a full five hours before takeoff, so we left early and made it to check-in. Of-course, Jazzy’s bag was over weight and we had to pay an extraordinary fee to get it on the plane but we got it on and went on through security unscathed. Obviously, with a five hour wait, there wasn’t much to do except walk around, eat, drink and for me…. worry. I had traveled a little bit within our own borders through the years, but never had I spent 12 hours in the air, non-stop on a plane filled with 350 disease-ridden people from who knows where and I got lucky enough to get the middle seat, in the middle section, in a row of five. My gosh, didn’t they know I weighed 250lbs? Needless to say, I was nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof and when I get nervous, I get hot. And when my body gets hot, it gets stimulated…..and not in a good way. So, I spent the next five hours jumping from bathroom to bathroom in that airport, always trying to find a private one. I don’t do public bathrooms unless things are getting bad. Admittedly, the closer to the flight we got the “badder” my stimulation became and I thought it was weird that every time I came out of the bathroom a little old lady, maybe in her seventies, wearing a DFW vest was there to greet me. For a minute I became suspicious of her and asked Jazzy why that lady kept following us around, to which Jazzy replied, “you’ve lost your damn mind.” She was right, so I went on and got in line and prepared to board. I should have known then.

Now, I have never had the greatest hearing, but when there are three hundred people standing around talking in a building that echo’s like the Grand Canyon, I dang sure can’t decipher anything. It was loud! Suddenly I heard a voice over the intercom and I couldn’t hear a dang word that guy said, and Jazzy said she couldn’t either. I sure wish we could have heard what they were saying. Like the rest of the sheep lead to slaughter we found our place in line and began to load on that monstrous plane. It was crowded and I was uncomfortable and somehow as the line moved forward Jazzy got two or three people ahead of me and we lost contact in the confusion. When I finally spotted her, she was talking to a security guard and I heard the words, loudly this time, “Ms. Jazzy where is your traveling partner, Mr. Sullivan?” Jazzy instantly turned and pointed me out to this man and said, “come up here Shad, this guy wants to talk to us!” I don’t know if she felt famous or special or what, but when he escorted us into a curtained side-room, Jazzy assured me that this was protocol and that when traveling internationally, they often just select people to question for safety purposes and we would be on the plane in no time. “OOOH KAY,” I said. I should have known then.

As he escorted us around the corner into a grungy side room, I was taken a-back by the prison like feeling of the room. It couldn’t have been 10 feet wide and about fifteen feet long. There were tables on one side and two security guards and a passenger were inspecting his bag on one table. Our escort asked if we would empty our carry-on bags so they could inspect the contents. Jazzy kindly obliged as I nervously unpacked my unusually organized bag. We were standing side by side and I elbowed her a bit and she quietly said, “its just protocol Shad, everything is fine!” I was beginning to know then.

As the security guard started through my bag, another security guard stepped up to start on Jazzy’s bag when he asked if we were carrying any money on us. I answered honestly and said, “of course, I have five hundred in cash in my wallet,” while Jazzy said she didn’t bring any cash, that her plan was to get some when she got to Argentina. While these guards pillaged through our bags asking questions we were both standing with our faces to the wall away from the entrance. Meanwhile, the other guy that was being inspected was escorted from the room and I thought to get on the plane, but now I can’t confirm this. However, the guards were very nice to him, while I kept getting a feeling of unease with ours. As we were working on our bags they were relentless in asking how much cash we had and if we told them once, we told them a hundred times the exact same thing. Unbeknownst to Jazzy and I, as our faces were turned towards the wall several other “agents” had slipped into the room and when I turned around there were 13 security agents staring us down. 13. I could feel my face get red and hot and that room just got a whole lot smaller. I knew then.

Except for the two who were inspecting our bags and asking us questions the other guards remained quiet, yet intimidating. As more of the cash questions came along, a short little Cuban girl with tattoos from top to bottom (I guessing on that one) walked into the room and took over with a punch. She suddenly told us to stop lying and just confess, that it would make it a lot easier and we could all be on our way. I was stunned, surprised by her force and confused. She immediately took over the whole room and I felt I was in the firing line in a far away land being held by the Cartel. Apparently, DFW hires a lot of Cubans because there were only three white people in that room; me, Jazzy and the first guard. I think they used him as the lead steer, to get us to follow him. A bit racist if you ask me. Anyhow, that lady owned that room and gave us another chance to confess and asked a couple more times how much cash we had on us. For the zillionth time, we told her and I finally piped up and said, “ma’am, your going to have to be more specific, because we don’t know what your talking about.” It was on then

By this time Jazzy was gettin’ figured out that this was a bit more than protocol, because we heard the plane leave and everything get really quiet on the other side of the wall. We were alone with the cartel. When I told the lady that she was going to have tell us what she meant, she replied “we found an enormous amount cash in Jazzy’s bag, and we believe you are laundering money to Argentina.” Now, I knew we had to declare any amount of cash over ten thousand and because Jazzy was a socialite I instantly asked her if she forgot to declare some money in her bag. I was thinking like $10,000 and Jazzy assured me that she didn’t have any money that she may have forgotten. In my sweet way, I said, “ma’am Jazzy doesn’t have $10,000 in her bag,” to which she replied, “we found $50,000 in Ms. Jazzy’s bag!” Because things don’t come to me fast, and apparently I didn’t appreciate the seriousness of the previous hour, I blurted out a hearty laugh and said, “is this a hidden camera show or just a funny joke?” Oh mighty! You would have thought I pulled a gun on this ol’ gal when she yelled, “does this look like an effing joke!” My lands I wasn’t used to hearing women use the F word and I quickly coward to her and said, “no ma’am it doesn’t.” Oh boy.

Just like in the movies another agent came quickly through a secret door, seriously secret, carrying a large duffle bag, red in color and he emptied the contents on one of the tables. As the cash kept flowing out of the bag I was shocked and blurted out, “that ain’t our bag!” and Jazzy instantly starts crying and say’s, “that isn’t my effing money!” Let’s stop there. Two women using the F word in one day was a lot for me to take, but this crying had to stop! I told Jazzy to stop her crying and to help us get this figured out, because by now…..I knew this was serious. Now the bossy Cuban lady is really putting the pressure on us and Jazzy is sitting down almost in a fetal position balling her eyes out! Heck, for a second I thought she was guilty the way she was carrying on. I told the boss that the duffle bag did not belong to us and she said, “are you stupid,” that’s our bag that we put the money in! I will admit, by this time I was past the nervousness and getting pretty serious and stern, Jazzy was still crying and I told the boss lady that I wanted to call a lawyer. Like I had a lawyer to call. What was I thinking? She immediately told me that I wasn’t calling anyone and I barked back at her and said, “are we under arrest?” “No” she replied, “then I want to go home.” She said, “why do you want to go home now!” then said that we were being detained and that under the Patriot Act passed after 9/11 we could be detained up to two weeks and we had no rights in that time. This ain’t good.

My mind was racing and I was seriously thinking about how I was going to get us out of this mess. Jazzy was still over there crying, like a kid who got caught stealing cookies in the night, when once again she pipes up and say’s, “that ain’t my effing money!’ I have to give myself credit here, because I’m starting to wise up to the play, except, my mouth. My dang mouth got me in trouble because I told Jazzy right there in front of the Cuban goddess “shut the heck up, that might be our money!” Well, that was all it took. They immediately took me by the arm, with a guard escorting me on each side out and down the corridor, while they slipped Jazzy through the secret door and down some stairs. Now, I don’t know what happened to Jazzy but I can tell you they were prancing me down that international corridor like a proud Clydesdale on their part and a freshly castrated mini donkey on mine. My gosh, people stare at the law breakers and I needed a bathroom. Suddenly they quickly turned me and we went through a steel door that slammed just like they do at Ft. Leavenworth. And that’s where I thought I was heading. Ok, there’s something you need to know about the DFW International Airport. The bowels of the place are the single largest, tallest and longest walk I have ever been in or on…. all underground. This place is unreal, so when they talk about the conspiracies at the Denver airport, I fully believe them because this place is real. I mean REAL and scary. They took me into another security area, where they brought out all of my bags and went through my person really well. I told them to hurry up and get the body cavity search done and over with and that I was willing to whatever they wanted to prove my innocence, which led to more questions! This still ain’t good.

Along with the guards and myself there were a family of Iranians that a whole other set of guards were giving hell to, but they didn’t seem to mind. They just kept staring at me like I was a criminal. As they went through my bags in another secret room, they sat me on a bench right outside the door. Suddenly I heard a girl crying a long way off. As it happened the echo in that long chamber of death, easily one mile from where we started that morning, was that of Jazzy. Dad-gummed girl was still crying! I finally had enough and I told those guards that we didn’t know where the money came from and that this was all crap. I told them it must have been planted and that we were just ranchers, but we had already been over this a million times. I got pretty angry at them and they made it clear that they were not afraid of me, so I better shut up. Just then two men came around the corner and introduced themselves to me. They were very friendly and told me they were FBI. Good gosh, what else?

As the two FBI agents rounded the corner they introduced themselves to me as agent so and so, just like they do in the movies. Of-course they already knew my name and spoke to me respectfully, yet sternly. They too, spent the better part of two hours asking questions that I had answered a hundred times before. Back and forth and up and down the hall way between Jazzy and I the conversations continued until late into the night. Apparently they were trying to see if one of us cracked under the pressure, but I guess we passed the test because the head FBI agent finally took me into a room and said, “Mr. Sullivan how are we going to get through this?” By now, I was on my last leg of trying to prove to them that we were not launderers and I had gotten out my little pocket bible that I had brought along just in case we were kidnapped in Argentina. I thought maybe a bible would convince him that I am a good guy and he would let us go. To no avail, I don’t think he was impressed with my spiritual side and I had a gut instinct that he was wanting to get home to his taters and gravy. I asked him if he had tested the money for drugs, that could lead to a criminal which would prove our innocence, and he laughed and said, “every single bill in the USA has drugs on it.” I asked if they had checked on the seller of the bag, to which he replied, “I opened his account and he is clean, he just sells stuff on ebay.” Hold on a minute, I said, “you got on his eBay account without him knowing it?” “uh, yeah and I got on to Jazzy’s and I notice you don’t have one.” That was a quick lesson learned.

When the agent finally gave up on me, he escorted me down the corridor to where Jazzy was being held hostage so he could talk to us together. I was glad to see her and she had finally settled down and was smiling a bit. I supposed she threw her sugar all over those gentlemen or just ran out of tears and there was nothing left to do except smile. As I remember the senior FBI agent sat us both down in that room, they had scattered our belongings from all of those bags everywhere, when Jazzy say’s, “did you look at the photo of the luggage on eBay and compare it to it sitting here?” It was like a light bulb went off in that guys head and he immediately left the room. Jazzy and I were happy to see each other and started talking about what was happening when about thirty minutes later the agent comes in and informed us that he had proof of our lack of knowledge of the money being in the bag. As it turns out, Jazzy was right and there was an incredible difference in the size and shape of the bag when comparing it to the photo. Not only did it weigh eighteen pounds less without the money, but the money, which had been hidden in between the walls of the luggage, cause a pronounced “pooching out” of the sides which was easily detected when compared to the photo. The crime was solved, but it wasn’t over.

Back came the original DHS agents and the FBI agents disappeared into the night. Much to our dismay, the Cuban interrogator showed her sweet face and asked us to pack our belongings that we needed to go to her office to claim Jazzy’s money. “What?” That’s right, after going through all of that hell, Jazzy had to claim the money as her own, and because it was her money we had to sit down in the Cubans office and count it ourselves. Now…….. I’m not sure if you have ever seen $49,520 in cash bills of twenty’s, tens and fives, but it’s truly an impressive sight. It’s about two feet long, 10 inches wide and a foot tall. It weighs 18 pounds and it’s the prettiest green you have ever seen. I remember sitting there and looking at that nicely stacked pile of cash and thinking to myself, “what in the world just happened?” Be that as it may, the sweet Cuban handed us each a sheet of paper to sign, which declared the money to be Jazzy’s outright. Just when you think you win.

I think Jazzy was thinking she had just won the lottery, and it truly was unbelievable. But, that ol’ Cuban had a trick up her sleeve. As soon as we signed the declaration, Jazzy say’s “how are we going to carry this out?” “You’re not,” the Cuban says as she handed over another sheet of paper in which she explained that the federal government was confiscating the money and we must sign these papers to release it to the Feds. I vividly remember saying to Jazzy, “I’m not sure you want to do that,” but was met with a basic, “you are going to do that” from the Cuban. Heck, we were discombobulated and confused and by this time didn’t know who’s right was who’s. Jazzy signed and we sat there for a second in relief. One of the DHS agents who had been there from the beginning started to laugh a little and that lightened up the Cuban. He said, “I knew early on with the country accents these two had that they didn’t know a thing about the money!” I laughed a little too and the Cuban said, “you are free to go.” I looked at her confused and said “free to go where?” “Home” she replied. I looked at her dumbfounded and told her we had no transportation and no place to stay. She explained that the International Airport closed at 9pm and that they would escort us to the door and that there was a Renaissance Hotel straight above us. I asked her if they were going to pay for our hotel room and she quickly said, “no! here are your tickets for tomorrows flight to Argentina.” And the door slammed behind us.

At that moment I felt like a homeless man and we had a passel of bags to get to the hotel, including that dang Tumi bag. I asked Jazzy if next time she could just go to Walmart to buy her luggage like everyone else. The time is was exactly 12 midnight and we got us a $500 dollar hotel room and got settled in. Of course, my nerves were on edge so I told Jazzy that I was going down to the bar to have a drink before it closed, so we did. That late at night nobody was in the airport bar except me and Jazzy. As we ordered our drinks and continued conversation two gentlemen sat down beside us and bellied up. One was on my side and the other on Jazzy’s side. The man on my side quickly struck up a conversation and I could easily tell he was from Russia. The other gentleman, who looked and sounded to be Arabic, started in conversation with Jazzy. At first I thought nothing of it but then something cold came over me and I elbowed Jazzy and told her it was time to go. I quickly asked the bar maid for my check and she asked me what room to charge it to and I said, “336.” My Russian counterpart also asked for his check and low and behold his room was 338. Right next door! I grabbed Jazzy by the elbow and made a dash to the elevator and got the door closed before he got on. Jazzy’s interest in her surroundings leaves a bit to be desired, but I was on high alert. We shut the room door, turned on the lights and didn’t sleep a wink. Jazzy, called her parents to ask them if they could drive back to the city and stay with us until we could check in again and they did. I called my banker and told him I might need a lawyer, and if something happened this is why. I couldn’t get ahold of anyone in my family as they were in route to Pendleton to watch the rodeo. Before I knew it, the sun was rising.

Early the next morning my phone rang and it was my dad. He had been diagnosed earlier in the month with bone cancer and he was doing some things on his bucket list, which included the Pendleton rodeo. His voice was animated and he said, “Shad are you guys alright?” I said, “yes, why?” He explained that he had went to breakfast and met a gentleman from Texas who told him about our ordeal. I have no idea how that guy found out about it, but what a small world that my family found out about it clear out in Oregon. As the rumor of ordeal began to break, we started getting calls and texts and I told Jazzy we needed to call Joe and Jenny and tell them. When I got in touch with Joe he had already figured out something was wrong and when I told him what happened, he said he would contact the US ambassador to Argentina, who happened to live close by.

Later that afternoon, after half of the day trying to rationalize the ordeal we went through, we checked our bags in again. Surprisingly the lady that checked us in was the same as the previous day and when she read Jazzy’s name, looked up and said, “I thought I check you guys in yesterday.” “You did,” Jazzy replied and smiled and the woman said, “does this have anything to do with a bunch of money?” We all laughed and breezed through security like we were all old friends. They did, however, go through our bags again and search thoroughly for the unknown. The Cuban and two DHS agents met us in the corridor and escorted us to the gate, making sure we got on. I told that ol’ gal that I was going to hug her some day to which she just rolled her eyes and disappeared. We loaded on the plane and I figured out really quick that our experience from the previous day was a lot better than flying twelve hours non-stop.

I will never know how in the world I was they guy who drew the middle seat, in the middle isle of five. So, I squeezed my butt in and settled in for the flight and for twelve hours I sat there totally still, barely able to move a muscle and scared I was going to make somebody mad by accidentally touching them. As a small child our mom taught us early on to sit still in church and to not get up and go back and forth squeezing through the people, and that’s all I could think about. When the plane landed, I immediately knew I was in a foreign land and was never so happy to see my old friend Joe. At least with him I knew we were safe and we loaded up and headed to his home in Buenos Aires.

Our time in Argentina was educational, informative and fun. Joe and Jenny showed us the greatest time and I will forever be in debt to them, although, to be really honest the experience in Dallas over-shadowed the trip a bit. It seemed like every conversation we had would gather back around to our ordeal. And though I don’t remember meeting the ambassador I do know that he informed Joe that we should be thankful that they found the currency in the United States. Had they found it in Argentina, the money would be gone and Shad and Jazzy would have disappeared. Somewhere along the way, we met and ABC News correspondent who wanted to break the story. I told Jazzy that we were not going to do that because someone out there was looking for their 50 grand and her little sister was staying at that delivery address alone. She agreed. As quick as the trip began, the trip was over. Time to head home.

As we waited in line to board our plane back to Texas, I realized how lucky we were to have been detained in the United States. I felt the corruption in the air down there and the security check in BA was lackadaisical at best. I told Jazzy before we boarded that hell would freeze over before I sat in the middle seat of the middle row and that if I had to spend $5,000 dollars on a first-class seat it was happening. Well, lucky for me there were no first-class seats available but the Lord showed me his favor and I was put in the very back row in an isle seat, with the seat beside me empty. That was first class to me and I settled in for our flight. I don’t think I was ever so grateful for something so minute….. but I was.

We landed in Dallas in a heavy rain and unloaded the plane to head on in to customs. Jazzy, made the comment that she wondered if our friends would be there to greet us and I said, “no way, not a 5:30 in the morning.” As we walked down that long, ramped corridor to the luggage claim, I could see what looked to be a Cuban lady standing there waiting…… and sure enough there she was. As we started through customs they, again, took us aside searched our bags and informed us that we were on the no-fly list for six months. That was ok with me, I didn’t plan on flying again in my life. Jazzy, flew again and had trouble at every boarding for several months, but it ended well as she was usually able to catch the next flight and first class. Jazzy’s parents picked us up and I can’t tell you the relief I felt inside. I had never been so happy to see my people and be on American soil. I was almost home.

I could write a book on our trip to Argentina. Our time was spent with great friends enjoying each other and exploring a huge part of that country. We packed a lot into that twelve days and I will never forget it. I could also write a book about my trip home from Texas to Colorado and finding a half-dead elderly couple laying in the ditch suffering from exposure from the sun. But that’s a story in itself.

You may be asking the question of what happened to the money. It seems that after we left for the hotel the subject of the money just disappeared, doesn’t it? Well, after the Feds confiscated it many rumors floated around. It was said that the DHS Agents got to split portions of it, or that the DFW kept it and I even heard the sweet Cuban got a large portion of it to split with the Feds. And the truth is, I don’t know what happened to it and neither did Jazzy. After a bit of time, however, Jazzy decided to hire an attorney (and rightfully so) to go after the money. Of course, she had to fight it tooth and nail in litigation for a year, but in the end the Federal Government paid Jazzy every single dime back.

Certainly, this was a story for the ages, one to hand down the family line. But the question remains; did I ever get that hug from the Cuban? No. I guess it was protocol

Copyright © Shad Sullivan