Aid Worker Kidnapped: Held Hostage in Haiti (Part 1 of 2)
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It's April 2023 on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. A white SUV speeds through a maze of narrow, twisting streets.

It bumps over potholes and screeches around hairpins, black smoke sputtering from the exhaust, tires splashing through brown puddles. Stray dogs scamper out of the road as the SUV plunges deeper and deeper into this dense shanty town. On the back seat, Jeff Frazier cannot see. The brim of his cap is being pushed down over his eyes by an aggressive hand. He tries to peek out from beneath this makeshift blindfold.

Down to his right, he can make out a pair of skinny legs in scruffy ripped jeans and the jet black muzzle of an assault rifle laid across them. The masked men who have hijacked this vehicle are taking Jeff and his two security guards to an unknown location. Jeff counts the left and right turns, trying to commit the route to memory. He attempts to stay calm, but his heart is pounding as the car starts to motor up an incline.

As you go higher up the hill in this area, you're going deeper into King territory. And so when we're headed up that hill, I know that we're being kidnapped. He soon loses count of the endless zigzag turns. Wherever they're going, it's deep inside a part of the city that humanitarian aid workers like Jeff normally avoid. A place governed by gangs who trade in human lives.

It is so frightening. It's a strange realization to go from free to captive and to not only be captive, but to think that your life is in jeopardy. You know, I've been through scary situations in the past, but none of that compares to this situation. Never wondered what you would do when disaster strikes? If your life depended on your next decision, could you make the right choice?

Welcome to Real Survival Stories. These are the astonishing tales of ordinary people thrown into extraordinary situations. People suddenly forced to fight for their lives. In this episode, we meet 45-year-old Jeff Frazier. Jeff is an aid worker who runs food distribution in Haiti, a beautiful, culturally rich Caribbean nation which has, in recent years, struggled desperately with extreme poverty and crime.

About 20%.

of kidnapping victims are killed in the process. You hope that the calculus plays out in your favor so that they see you as more valuable alive than dead, but how certain are you that they're gonna do that math? - I'm John Hopkins. From the Noiser Network, this is "Real Survival Stories." It's April, 2023 in the town of Jacques-Melle on the south coast of Haiti. Jeff Frazier reaches into the back of a delivery truck and pulls out two sacks of rice.

Heaving them onto his broad shoulders, Jeff carries the food into a large warehouse, where more humanitarian volunteers sort the sacks into separate piles. The 6'2 American then heads back out to the truck and hops up into the passenger seat, grateful for the cool blast of air conditioning. It's early, but already swelteringly hot. As the truck pulls away onto the next food distribution site, they pass the crowd of hungry, impoverished people forming outside the warehouse.

The work he does here is not for the faint-hearted. It requires dedication, emotional resilience, and a resolute sense of purpose. These days, Jeff possesses all those qualities. By his own admission, he wasn't always this way.

I was a pretty troubled teen. Didn't do well in school, barely graduated high school and luckily joined the army at about 19, 20 years old, the US Army. And that straightened me out. I always joke it took a literal army to get me on the straight and narrow, but it worked.

I came out the other end pretty tough to beat. I could withstand a lot of pressure and that hit every edge of my life. Everything that's hard in our lives, whether it be emotionally or physically or financially, all of those things require grit and toughness. It was fundamental for me and became a tool that I leveraged for ever after that. Jeff left the army and went into tech, building a comfortable life for himself and his family.

But throughout his time in the private sector, he maintained a strong social conscience. As a devout Christian, this impulse to help others is rooted partly in his faith. It also stems from a tragic loss that Jeff suffered following his parents' divorce. Unfortunately, my mom remarried an abusive guy who eventually killed her when I was 14. You know, the more that I look back on my

challenges growing up, particularly the trauma around losing my mom. You know, I think there was a deep scar there that made me really hate that I wasn't able to save her from him and produced this, what I'll call a hero complex that I have now that really drives me to want to help those who can't help themselves.

About a decade ago, Jeff began volunteering with an anti-child trafficking organization. Like his transformative experience in the army, the work was an eye-opener. It's one thing to recognize people have need. It's another thing to realize that you can't with fairly significant ease meet that need. When he sold his company in 2019, Jeff felt inspired to roll up his sleeves and dedicate himself full-time to humanitarian work.

He decided to focus his attention on Haiti, where foreign aid has long struggled to make a lasting impact and where human trafficking is a major problem. Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere by a wide margin. Probably half of the country is in acute starvation, maybe more than half of the country is in acute starvation. So you're looking at about five or six million people in acute starvation.

In recent years, natural disasters and political instability have brought Haiti to a crisis point. Following the assassination of the president in 2021, the political vacuum was swiftly filled by criminal gangs. The presence of these groups makes the work of humanitarians not only logistically difficult, but dangerous. Jeff's NGO, Stimpak, does intense work on the ground.

We just started gathering food and water and going down there and getting it to the people that needed it the most. So we would partner with the World Food Program to go into areas that they couldn't get into for safety reasons. So we would make deals with these gangs to go behind enemy lines, so to speak, and go do these food and water distributions.

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It's mid-morning on April the 12th. Jeff sits in the back of a white SUV as it drives east through the outskirts of Port-au-Prince. He has finished his food drops for the day and is now headed back to his hotel in the capital. His two Haitian security guards, DJ and Reggie, sit up front. They are driving through the sprawling district of Martisson, once a semi-rural neighborhood on the leafy southern slopes of the city. Martisson is now considered a no-go zone due to gang violence.

Ordinarily, Jeff would hire a small Cessna airplane to make drops like this. But due to the political instability, most of the pilots have shut down operations. Unable to fly over this dangerous neighborhood, Jeff has to drive through it. Still, Jeff isn't naive. He understands gang politics and has established relationships with community leaders who act as mediators between him and the criminal kingpins. Through these contacts, Jeff has an agreement in place.

to travel through Martisson safely they just need to grease a few palms so we'd made the deal with this gang to pass through this area called Martisson which is a known area had been there many times before in previous years when it was safer and their the gangs weren't in charge but now they had this like toll booth where they they sit in the middle of the road under a blue umbrella with you know AR-15s and AK-47s and you have to pay them their toll

Jeff watches from the backseat as one of the guards manning the toll booth stands up and slopes over to the SUV. He approaches the driver's window and eyeballs the passengers, his gaze lingering on Jeff, who glances at the rifle resting on the man's hip. After exchanging a few words with DJ, the guard takes the envelope of cash and motions for them to carry on.

And we drove through, kind of waved. I'm in the backseat of the truck with the windows rolled up and my security team is in the front with their windows rolled down. Because if you have your windows up in this kind of area, they assume you're a threat and so you'll get attacked. A few weeks ago, still at home in Florida, Jeff read a story in the Miami Herald about two American visitors to Haiti who were kidnapped here in Martisson. The news wasn't exactly a shock.

Abductions have become a regular occurrence in the country, a grim reality of life under the gangs. They drive on for a while longer. Soon, the stretch of disputed territory marking the border between Martisson and Port-au-Prince comes into view. We're almost to safety. There's a no man's land in between Martisson and Port-au-Prince proper. And just as we're maybe a couple hundred yards away from safety, motorcycles roll up alongside us and

I start to realize, you know what, this is not good. It all happens so quickly. A door flies open and a masked, armed hijacker jumps in alongside Jeff. Another man opens the driver door and forces DJ to scoot over. Within seconds, the SUV has been turned around and is heading back towards the toll booth. I was hopeful that when they jumped in that it wasn't what it looked like. I was thinking maybe we just have to go to the toll booth. Maybe they want more than what we've paid or...

And I had about $4,000 US on me for the food distribution project because we buy all kinds of stuff while we're doing that. So I was hopeful that I could just buy my way out of the problem. But when they reach the checkpoints, the SUV doesn't stop. Instead, the driver turns left and starts speeding uphill through a labyrinth of tight, twisting alleys.

As you go higher up the hill in this area, you're going deeper into gang territory. So imagine in a military environment, high ground is advantageous. So we're going to high ground. And I imagined that we were going to where the gang kingpins are. Clearly, this is no ordinary shakedown. When the hijackers first stopped them, Jeff instinctively threw his cell phone onto the floor at his feet. Now the man next to him is demanding he hand it over.

There's a pile of bags in the middle seat, partially obstructing the hijacker's view. Using this to his advantage, Jeff reaches down and pretends he's looking for his phone on the floor. In fact, he's trying to sneak out a text to his contact, a local humanitarian coordinator named Bill, with the hijacker barking orders at him. Jeff frantically taps out the letters on the touchscreen before he can send his message.

I'm reaching down, trying to get a text out, and I just can't do it in time. And he kind of, within maybe 30 or 45 seconds, realizes that he needs to work harder to get my phone. And so he starts moving luggage around, and there's no way for me to pretend anymore, so I have to give up my phone. The hijacker snatches Jeff's cell phone from his hands. Then he reaches over and yanks the brim of Jeff's baseball cap down over his eyes.

Unable to see where they're going, he tries to commit the route to memory, but it's impossible to keep track. I know that we're being kidnapped, but I'm also very optimistic that I can get out of it. Because I feel like I know enough guys who know these gang leaders at the highest levels that they're going to say, no, no, no, he's one of our guys that does food distributions in our area. We want to protect him, let him go. Eventually, the vehicle comes to a stop.

Jeff is bundled out of the SUV and marched towards a low-slung brick building. They appear to be in some kind of gated compound, surrounded by 15-foot walls topped with razor wire. It's surprisingly lush, with tall, leafy trees casting dappled shade. There's a handful of outbuildings, all spaced generously apart, in contrast to the cramped shantytown beyond the perimeter wall.

Armed guards in basketball jerseys and flip-flops watch them from their posts. Before he can take in any more of their surroundings, Jeff is pushed through a low doorway. He, Reggie, and DJ are led into a dark, cramped cell about 10 by 14 feet, empty except for two blood-stained mattresses. A mouse darts out from behind one and scurries across the concrete floor. The guards pat Jeff down.

taking his watch, passport, credit card and driver's license, before leaving the room and locking them in. In hushed, frightened tones, Jeff consults with Reggie and DJ. They reassure him that Reggie knows one of the gang members. He'll be able to pull some strings and get them out of here pronto. A few moments later, the cell door opens and a different guard comes in, brandishing a pistol.

a guy comes in and inspects one of my security guys and he finds some rings, some jewelry in his shoe that he had obviously been hiding. Then he begins to beat the heck out of this guy. Just of course startling because I was hopeful for a fairly civil business-like ability to negotiate my way out of this. All of a sudden I realized I'm in a very different environment.

The shocked, dazed Reggie lies on the floor, and Jeff and DJ quickly attend to him. But it's not long before another gang member in a mask strides into the cell. This man is well-dressed, in crisp white jeans and a counterfeit designer t-shirt. Gold rings gleam on his fingers. He must be a higher-ranking officer in the gang, a chef as they're known in the local parlance. The chef looks around at the three prisoners,

pausing when he sees Jeff. He yells loud, blah, blah.

which is kind of hard to translate. It literally means white, but it really means foreigner, right? And he's talking to me, right? And he's gloating. He's excited that, you know, he's caught me. He's caught a big fish. I do speak some Karel, but he gets in my face and starts speaking Karel to me, and I'm just not understanding. He's got a mask on, so I can't see his mouth, and he's using a lot of slang, a lot of gang slang that I don't really understand, a lot of cursewords.

a cursing that I don't understand. And so I look over at one of my security guys to translate. Jeff looks over at DJ, but he's got his head down, staring at the floor. He's pretending to not speak English. So he's already, my security guy, is already positioning as a poor, helpless Haitian. And if he speaks English, he's essentially saying, I have money and I can pay a healthy ransom. DJ is thinking ahead.

focusing on his own self-preservation. And as the gangster looks Jeff up and down, it becomes clear that he will have to start doing the same thing. It's around midday, an hour after their arrival at the compound. Jeff is being moved to a different cell. Why, he doesn't know. But for whatever reason, his captors have decided to keep him separated from Reggie and DJ. They march him down the corridor to a nearly identical second room. There are more prisoners inside this cell,

Two young men and a woman. They watch the tall, blue-eyed American with furtive, bloodshot glances. A string of blinking red and blue fairy lights hangs from the ceiling. At the far end of the cell, a small adjoining bathroom contains a toilet and a bucket. When the guards leave, Jeff introduces himself to his fellow captives.

To my amazement, two of them, actually all three of them speak English, but two of them are actually Americans. And I got to know their names and I said, wait a second, I know this story. I read about this in the Miami Herald a couple of weeks ago. Jeff is stunned. The smiling faces he remembers from the pages of the newspaper look back at him now, haggard and drawn. They introduce themselves as Abigail and Jean Dickens Toussaint, a couple from Florida.

They were passing through Martisson on a bus on their way to visit relatives when they were abducted at gunpoint. That was a month ago. The other prisoner, a young Haitian man who introduces himself as Kervin, has also been here for several weeks. Jeff's new cellmates proceed to tell him all about the gang's methods and motives. Evidently, this is a "kidnap for ransom" operation. The Toussaint's have a negotiator on the outside who is speaking directly with the kidnappers, trying to reach an agreement.

Jeff sits down on one of the filthy mattresses and leans his head against the painted cement wall. Being trapped here for a night would be bad enough, let alone a whole month. But he's still got a potential get-out-of-jail-free card in the shape of Bill, his colleague with connections to the gang leadership. As soon as they let him place his first phone call, Bill will come to the rescue. Later that afternoon, the Toussaint's sit up, suddenly alert. A month in confinement has sharpened the couple's senses.

They could detect so much with just their hearing alone. And so when they kind of got their eyes big at some of the sounds, they said, what's going on? They said, more people. I said, what do you mean more people? They're like, like you, right? New kidnappees, new victims is what they were trying to say to me. Sure enough, moments later, the cell door squeaks open. The new victims start piling into the room. There's five of them, two females and three males all come flooding into the room.

The new prisoners are all young Haitians. Shortly after their arrival, the three men are taken into the first cell, where DJ and Reggie are being held. The two women stay here with Jeff, Kervin, and the Toussaint. Their names are Sarah and Stephanie. They're co-workers who were kidnapped on their way home from the office. The two women sit down on a mattress against the opposite wall. Jeff looks around at the faces of his fellow prisoners. He doesn't know these people.

but there is an instant profound sense of solidarity among the hostages it's important to understand how important your fellow captives become to you and your survival i remember i think he was on probably day one or day two somebody made the comment well we're gonna know each other for the rest of our lives now right because of how unforgettable that trauma is

That evening, a guard enters the cell and tosses Jeff his cell phone. He is allowed to make one call. He dials Bill. By now, through the course of his conversations with his cellmates, Jeff has worked out that he's been kidnapped by a local kingpin called Tilepli. He communicates this intel to Bill, but with the guard listening in, he has to tread lightly.

So I send that message to Bill over the phone, I coded it. So Tilapli means little rain in Creole. And so I translated that as small precipitation. I said, "Hey, a small precipitation has captured me. Do you get my meaning?" He's like, "Yeah, I know exactly what you're talking about. I know where you are." There's little else Jeff can do. The word is out now. He just has to pray Bill comes through for him. He slumps against the wall and pulls his knees up to his chest.

As his fellow hostages lie down to sleep, Jeff sits there, wide awake. It is so frightening. It's a strange realization to go from free to captive and to not only be captive, but to think that your life is in jeopardy.

I know kidnapping about 20% of kidnapping victims are killed in the process. For whatever reason, the families don't pay enough ransom or something goes awry and the gangs have to keep up their reputations in order to get people to pay ransom. And so they have to kill some of them. And so you know that going in and you hope that the calculus plays out in your favor so that they see you as more valuable alive than dead.

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After all, using NerdWallet is more than smart. It's genius. Not all applicants will qualify for the lowest monthly payments. NerdWallet Insurance Services Incorporated, California resident license number OK92033. It's three days later. Jeff paces restlessly around his cell, listening out for approaching guards. The last 72 hours have been deathly monotonous. A nightmarish blur of little sleep and less food. There have, however, been some positive developments.

Firstly, the Toussaint's have been released. Two days ago, a guard came to tell them that a ransom had been agreed, and they were being driven to the designated location to make the exchange. Assuming the gang is true to their word, the release of the Toussaint's gives Jeff reason to hope. Plus, with the money they received in exchange for the couple's freedom, the gang has provided the remaining four prisoners with a few modest creature comforts.

They bought us a fan, which was great, and gave us fitted sheets for these nasty, bloody, bug-infested actresses. So it felt like we were headed to relative luxury. Jeff has also been able to speak to his wife, Mary. She was notified of his kidnapping by the U.S. Embassy in Haiti, who Bill must have contacted on day one. Mary is, of course, beside herself with Wari.

But Jeff has tried to reassure her, saying that he's coping and will try to be back with her and the kids soon. And so I was able to communicate that to my wife, like, I'm okay, right? I'm not, you know, strapped to a torture chamber. I'm okay, right? I'm going to be fine. And I was trying so hard to communicate that to my wife, but she wasn't buying it. As well as speaking to Mary, Jeff has been back on the phone with Bill. But their last conversation wasn't comforting.

Bill sounded shifty and evasive, as if the influence he claimed to have over the gang leadership wasn't quite as clear-cut as he promised. Bill has given Jeff another phone number, somebody he says will be able to negotiate his release. But after calling this number repeatedly, he hasn't been able to get through. He's running out of patience with Bill, and soon the gang will run out of patience with Jeff.

I realize he's not going to be able to help me, that he's given me this contact that's not answering the phone and it's just breaking down. And so I realized that my get out of jail free cards have failed and I need to find a new negotiator. But who could that be? Jeff needs a negotiator who is well-versed in Haitian gang culture. They should be able to speak some Creole and they need to know the logistics of conducting a ransom exchange.

There is only one person he knows who meets all these criteria. I just didn't know anyone like that except me. I was the most qualified person I could imagine on how much I would need to pay and to whom and how to logistically make that happen. I am the most qualified operator on all of those things that I know. So why don't I just negotiate for myself? Later that day, Jeff asks his captors if he can barter on his own behalf.

They agree. On the afternoon of his fourth day in captivity, a guard escorts him from the cell. As he follows the man down the corridor, Jeff has to suppress the urge to make a break for it. It's hard to quantify how powerful the drive to get home is, to get home to your family. Like, you have to be talking yourself out of attacking these guards

often because they come into the room and they're tiny. And I have a lot of military training. These are not trained individuals. I'm at that time was probably 250 pounds and six foot two. And these guys are 135 pounds.

But you have to really suppress those thoughts because that's obviously a terrible idea. Yeah, you can get through that guard, but then there's 200 soldiers within a mile of this place that are all armed. Where are you going to go? Yeah, you can get outside the building, but then what? Like it or not, Jeff is going to have to play by the rules. The gang member takes him into a kind of kitchen area, stripped bare except for a small Formica table and a couple of chairs.

All this time, Jeff has been anticipating a business-like negotiation. He'll say a number, they'll go and run it by their boss, then come back and counter, etc. But he soon sees the naivety of that assumption. What really happens is they come with chalk treatments and they've got packing tape that they're going to tape me up with and they set it on the counter and they're buzzing the taser, which is a loud, scary noise, right? While negotiating with me.

The gang member aggressively demands two million dollars, a ludicrously large sum. He's probably just highballing, setting the ceiling absurdly high to force Jeff to cough up more. So he counters. Maybe he can scrounge together thirty thousand? The man fixes Jeff with a menacing glare, then motions again towards the taser and packing tape. Jeff quickly blurts out another offer: fifty thousand.

This is met with another shake of the head, another sinister stare. Eventually, I say something like, you know, I think I might be able to scrape together 100 grand, and that's the number that they kind of glom onto. Like, if you can come up with that number, we won't torture you, and we'll let you go. The gangster hands Jeff his cell phone. Time to start gathering the money. As he dials, he kicks himself over his negotiating tactics. He gave away too much too soon, but there's no going back now.

The first person he calls is a security contractor in Haiti who Jeff calls Gunny. When he picks up, he already knows about Jeff's situation. Evidently, Mary has been phoning around her husband's contacts, mobilizing a support team. Jeff is going to need to wire the 100,000 from his American accounts across to Gunny's Haitian bank account. He agrees to withdraw the cash and act as courier. Next, Jeff calls his brother-in-law Aaron.

Aaron has handled investments for him in the past and has access to his finances. Jeff asks him to wire the cash to Gunny. He thanks his brother-in-law and hangs up the phone. Having placed his calls, Jeff is led back down the corridor and returned to his cell. He drops onto the mattress and stares at the wall, replaying the events of the last hour. $100,000.

Transferring such a large sum of money internationally won't be instantaneous. It will be flagged and reported, and Aaron will have to explain everything to US Customs. This will take time. The fan in the corner oscillates slowly, pushing a weak breeze through the warm, stale air. Jeff closes his eyes. His freedom is now in the hands of others. He trusts his people. But communication is going to be fragmented and frustrating.

It began a massive amount of confusion between me and my team on the outside.

It was so hard for us to communicate clearly one with another. They presumed that I was always under duress, meaning at gunpoint, being forced to say certain things, because that is the case in many kidnapping scenarios. But that was not the case here because they didn't speak English and none of my game captors spoke English. I was essentially able to speak freely the whole time that I was there, but my team never believed that.

In hostage negotiations, the protocol is to assume any communication with the captive is being monitored or controlled by the kidnappers. That's the assumption Jeff's team on the outside is making. They're doing things by the book. It's the only way. A few days after first speaking to him, Aaron breaks some bad news. He can't get hold of the 100,000. All they can scrape together is a relatively meager 13 grand.

Jeff places more frantic calls to other contacts, but again, communication breaks down. Nobody believes that he is literally asking for $100,000. They assume they're negotiating with criminals, and they won't simply concede to their first demand. But Jeff tries to make it clear that the gang isn't making empty threats. After his own negotiation, he witnessed the torture of his fellow hostage Stephanie. The threat of more pain hangs in the air.

The gang is deadly serious. If his team can't secure the ransom, Jeff's options are running thin, and he may have to go down a different, rather more drastic end. Jeff is now well over a week into his captivity. By this stage, he knows every corner of this cell inside out. In terms of security, it's not exactly Fort Knox. The ceiling is a grid of interlocking T-bars and lightweight panels, easy enough to remove.

Trouble is, the roof itself is made of corrugated tin sheets bolted together. Trying to climb across them would be extremely precarious and noisy. The cell door is flimsy wooden balsam, but again, there's no way to break it down quietly, and the guards' living quarters are just beyond it, where they spend all day blasting music and drinking. As for windows, there are three. Two in the main cell, one in the bathroom.

After discussing various options with his fellow prisoners, Jeff concludes that if he's going to break out, then one of the three windows presents the likeliest route. Those windows are covered in bars, both horizontal bars and then diagonal bars that kind of create these trapezoidal shapes. Those are well-made bars. And so I was going to have to figure out a way to bend those bars. Jeff closes his fists around the iron bars and gives them a strong tug.

They hold firm, barely a millimeter of give. But at least now he has a problem to solve, something to keep him occupied. Over the course of the next few days, Jeff workshops various solutions to the problem. Then, one afternoon, while staring at the defunct ceiling fan, he gets a brainwave. On the inside of that fan, they've got copper coils, you know, that make it spin.

And that idea of those copper coils wrapped around and around and around having greater strength got my brain thinking, okay, if I could just find some sort of a rope, I knew the copper wouldn't work because copper breaks really easily. But if I could find something around to make rope out of, then maybe I could exert enough force on these bars to pry them open. He starts looking around the cell for makeshift solutions.

His gaze falls on one of the mattresses on the floor, specifically the length of nylon ribbing stitched along the uppermost edge. Maybe by looping the nylon string around the bars and twisting, he could exert enough pressure to bend them. I cut the nylon ribbing off and I pull it and it rips, which was super disappointing. It killed my plan. The brittle fibers come apart in Jeff's fingers. He drops them onto the floor, his great escape in tatters.

Then, his eyes shift across to the other mattress. This one, notably newer and less frayed than its counterpart. It's worth a shot. And so I pulled that nylon ribbing off and tried that and it was much stronger. Like, okay, this might work.

And so one day, when it got like the guards were away, I snuck into the bathroom and took my nylon, my new nylon rope and wrapped it around those bars and then stuck a piece of metal that I had, it was a curtain rod that I stole from another one of the windows and I was able to twist it like a tourniquet in order to pull the bars close together. And it worked.

Jeff rotates the curtain rod, winding the nylon rope tighter and tighter until the iron bars flex under the pressure, bending inwards like a bow tie. Pleased with his handiwork, Jeff lets go. He doesn't want to reshape the bars too much or the guards will notice. He just wants to establish that it's possible, that if desperate measures are required, at least he has a backup plan.

At this stage, negotiating his release is still plan A. He's continuing to communicate, albeit sporadically, with Aaron, Mary, Gunny, and others on the outside, hoping that someone will come through with the money. For their part, Jeff's team has started urging him to employ an outside negotiator, an experienced professional, who can perhaps bring the ransom price down.

Because as Jeff approaches the two-week mark, the gang remain resolute in their demands. And if he isn't able to meet those demands, then he will eventually become less of an asset to them and more of a burden. For now, he's still more valuable to his kidnappers alive than dead. The question is, how much longer will that be the case? I'm Natalia Melman-Petrozzella, and from the BBC, this is Extreme Peak Danger.

The most beautiful mountain in the world. If you die on the mountain, you stay on the mountain. This is the story of what happened when 11 climbers died on one of the world's deadliest mountains, K2. And of the risks we'll take to feel truly alive. If I tell all the details, you won't believe it anymore. Extreme, peak danger. Listen wherever you get your podcasts. Jeff lies on his side, facing the wall.

His stomach growls with hunger. His mouth is parched and his teeth feel rough from weeks without brushing. As he enters his third week in captivity, there is still no sign of the $100,000. His team are resisting, and Jeff has begun to understand why. It's not that they're being careless with his life. It's that the professionals who Mary and Aaron have consulted have all advised a tougher negotiation.

By giving the gang what they want at the first time of asking, there's every chance they'll refuse to release Jeff and demand more money. Eventually, he decides to trust the team that his wife has assembled.

I said before that I could only imagine myself being qualified to negotiate and understand the dynamics of Haiti and the language and how to logistically move money and how to safely actually do an exchange and all of that. I couldn't imagine other people knowing how to do that. Well, my wife had put together a team of people more qualified than me to do that very thing.

I start to figure it out. Like, hey, I think this team she's putting together might be pretty good, might be qualified to take this off of my shoulders so I don't have to be this idiot on the inside. Jeff finally agrees to turn the negotiations over to his outside team. When the guard next brings him his cell phone, he speaks with Gunny, who introduces him to a local negotiator named Billy who seems well-equipped to handle the gang.

I quiz him a little bit on his background and become convinced, okay, I think I've got a qualified team. And he says, okay, let me have the ball. Stop screwing around, Jeff. And I said, okay, but you got to understand I've committed to this 100K number. Billy tells Jeff that he'll handle it. He'll inform the gang that U.S. Customs have blocked the 100,000 from getting into Haiti. If they want their payday, they'll have to agree to a lower amount. Jeff agrees to the new strategy.

When the guard comes back, Jeff tells him that from now on his negotiations will be handled by others. The guard snatches the phone from his hand and stalks back out of the cell. The next few days are an agonizing wait for news. Over the course of his three weeks in captivity, Jeff has been able to observe certain patterns in the gang's behavior. He's reached a point where he can predict their next move.

I've seen this cycle that happens with the gangs where they get money from a ransom payment and they're thrilled and they use the money and they buy bullets and drugs and food and then it runs out and then somebody else gets out, right? Somebody gets released and they get more ransom money and there's this pattern. And it was about a week at a time. It's like they wanted weekend money, right?

A couple of weeks back, Kervin was released. Then, about a week ago, a ransom was agreed for the release of Sarah. If the pattern that Jeff has observed is correct, then another hostage release should be imminent. It's just him and Stephanie left now. He spends each day pacing the cell, his heartbeat increasing every time he hears a guard's approaching footsteps. Could it finally be his turn? Then, towards the end of his fourth week in captivity,

Sure enough, that pattern comes up around day 26, day 27, and my team gets an agreement. The next day, a guard comes to tell Jeff that his courier is bringing the ransom. Once they receive the cash, they'll drive back up to the compound to release him. Optimism builds. The nightmare appears to be ending.

So my team came and they did the drop, they made the payment, and the normal MO is for once your courier drops the cash to the gang, they then take that money back up the hill to the fort, and they count the money and they decide whether or not they're going to let you go. Jeff spends the morning of day 28 in a state of high alert and heightened anxiety. He listens out for vehicles, but nothing comes for hours until eventually...

The door flies open and several guards barge into the cell. Jeff jumps to his feet, shoes on, ready to go. If he had a bag, it would be packed. But something is clearly wrong. The guards appear to be angry, agitated. They're shouting and gesticulating with their guns. Slowly, a new possibility presents itself. Perhaps the guards aren't angry. Perhaps they're excited. Slowly, Jeff manages to piece together what they are saying.

They're yelling, you know, having a hard time following it, but they essentially said, "We got the money, but we're not letting you go." They said, "Wait, wait, wait. Didn't you have an agreement?" They said, "Yeah, we had an agreement. We had an accord." "Did they pay the amount that you agreed to?" "Yes, but it's not enough, and we're gonna beat you and torture you until you pay the $100,000." The guards leave the cell. Jeff collapses onto an upturned bucket and stares off into space.

Sitting on her mattress across the cell, Stephanie watches him with sympathy in her eyes. Perhaps the only person in the world right now who can understand his despair and disappointment. Jeff looks back at his cellmate, her hair matted and disheveled, bruises on her arms. Then Jeff turns his head and points his gaze towards the bathroom window.

I was sitting on a bucket right by the door and I looked across at that western window that I was planning to escape from and decided right there that I guess if we're not going out the door, we're going out the window. Next time, we return to Jeff as he prepares to make his daring bid for freedom. In the dead of night, with the guards distracted, he'll commit to the prison break. But even with careful preparation, it seems cursed from the outset. Can he overcome the many obstacles in his path and escape into the jungle?

Or will he be caught? And if so, what punishment awaits? That's next time on Real Survival Stories. Listen to part two of Jeff's story right now without waiting a week by subscribing to Noisa Plus. Click the link in the episode description to find out more.