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B riana Diaz stood on the dock, looking at the boat. It was an older boat. Its once beautiful teak decks were now grey and cracking from exposure to the relentless tropical sun. The blue trim had faded and the Gelcoat was peeling away in chunks. The weathered cabin cruiser was bigger than the boats in her village on the north side of Cuba, but it was smaller than Briana expected. It did not seem big enough to get her and the ten other girls standing on the dock to America. The idea of crossing the Gulf of Mexico in such a small boat scared her. Leaving everyone and everything for a chance at a better life in the United States was scary, but crossing an ocean in that boat was truly frightening. Still, the young woman was determined. The man who contacted her promised she would have a job and a place to live when she arrived in Houston.

“Bring nothing to the boat but a small purse with personal items,” he had told her. “Upon arrival, someone will meet you, and they will take care of you.” The man added that he would reduce the usual five-thousand US dollar smuggling fee to one-thousand if she would carry “something” when she arrived in Texas and deliver it as instructed.

It is too good to be true, Briana thought. But it was worth the gamble for the nineteen-year-old Cuban girl hoping to start a new life in America. So she took a deep breath and followed the others up the ramp and onto the small cruiser.

The few small lights on the dock at the west end of Cuba soon faded into darkness. The boat had been at sea barely an hour when the scruffy crew ordered the girls to line up on the afterdeck. All were young – in their teens and early twenties – and all were attractive. Briana Diaz was beautiful.

“Hola,” said the man who appeared to be in charge. “I’m your captain,” he continued in Spanish. “Gorgonio and Nestor are the crew. They will take care of you. I suggest you do what they say.” With that, the captain left the aft deck.

Gorgonio, a large, unkempt man, said in Spanish, “We are smuggling you into the United States. To do this, you must, as the captain said, do exactly as we tell you. If you are unwilling to do this, Cuba is about ten miles that way.” He pointed into the darkness. “I suggest you jump now and swim slowly to conserve energy.”

Most of the girls kept their eyes focused on the ground, only taking occasional glances at each other. Doing as the big man asked should not be difficult. Swimming back to Cuba was not an option.

“We don’t plan on getting busted. To make sure none of you are working with the feds, are wired, or have a hidden phone, I’m going to search you,” Gorgonio walked straight to Briana Diaz. She wore a light purple t-shirt, white shorts, and sandals. “Raise your arms.”

Although Briana understood what he said, it took a second for the command to register. The delay was too long for Gorgonio. He grabbed the petite girl by the wrists and jerked her arms up. “I said raise your arms! Keep them up.”

Gorgonio patted Briana down, beginning under her arms and moving to her breasts. Instinctively, she dropped her arms and swatted the man’s hands away.

“You must have something to hide.” Gorgonio held both of her hands and groped her. “Nothing there. Maybe you put something inside you.”

Briana helplessly struggled as Gorgonio slid his hand down the front of her shorts.

“Gorgonio! Stop. Don’t touch the goods,” Nestor yelled in English.

Gorgonio sneered at the fellow crewman but removed his hand from inside her shorts. He then firmly rubbed her crotch and butt. “I will have this one before we reach Texas. I don’t care what nobody says.”

Briana spoke fluent English – a tidbit she hadn’t shared with anyone on the boat – so hearing Nestor refer to the girls as “the goods” or that Gorgonio would “have her” was particularly disturbing.

Gorgonio moved to the next girl, who raised her arms and allowed the disgusting man to fondle her in the guise of a pat-down. When he finished, she walked over to Briana.

“Do you think it’s too late to jump?” Briana asked her.

The girl looked out at the dark sea. “Maybe not. Worst case, we’d drown.”

Briana looked at Gorgonio, who was taking great pleasure in his “search” of the remaining girls. “Drowning may not be the worst case,” she said.