A small sedan pulled up to a run-down motel in Tijuana just before midnight, and a middle-aged Korean American woman behind the wheel ordered You Mi Kim into the backseat.
It was time to "jump" over the border.
Since arriving from South Korea four days earlier, You Mi had been holed up in the motel, waiting to slip into the United States and start what she had been told was a high-paying hostess job in California. She hoped to earn enough to get her out of the $40,000 shopping debt she had recently piled up while a university student.
You Mi had not anticipated an illegal border crossing when she signed up for the job. Worse, she didn't know that she was a pawn in an international sex-trafficking ring -- and that someone was waiting in the United States to buy her.
You Mi got into the car. The driver headed north toward the checkpoint, blending into the 24 lanes of idling traffic inching toward the United States.
Unbeknownst to You Mi, the driver was a "jockey," hired by South Korean sex traffickers to drive women through the busy San Ysidro checkpoint with fake travel documents.
It was February 2003. By then, agents with the U.S. Department of Homeland Security were already on the lookout for Asian drivers, after recording an unusual spike in Koreans coming through border crossings in California, Texas and Washington state.
It was another sign that Asian sex-trafficking networks were becoming increasingly global, branching out from the shadows of sex tourist hot spots in Bangkok and Seoul to install big operations in American cities, particularly Los Angeles and San Francisco.
If You Mi were discovered, agents would handcuff her and take her to a holding cell beneath the road. They would take her fingerprints and deport her.
About 300 feet from the yellow Border Patrol booths, You Mi felt eyes on her.
Roving agents with long screwdrivers, flashlights and guns approached the Korean women in the long line of travelers. You Mi tried to focus her gaze on vendors selling sombreros, guitars and frozen fruit-juice bars to passengers in the cars.
The agents leaned through the window near You Mi.
"I.D.! I.D.!" they demanded. She froze, forgetting the information on the fake visa given to her by sex traffickers masquerading as job brokers.
One agent ordered You Mi's driver to pull out of line for a more thorough search in the secondary inspection portico, near the deportation processing offices.
You Mi watched in terror as agents ordered passengers out of the cars ahead of hers to search their luggage and travel papers.
While waiting, You Mi's driver made a cell phone call to the trafficker who had delivered You Mi to the Tijuana motel.
"Is she still carrying the visa?" he asked.
"Yes, we have it," the driver said.
"If possible, get out and run back toward Mexico. Is there someone watching you guys?"
The driver hung up in a panic. She was cursing herself for accepting a job that she thought was easy money. By now, You Mi was crying with fear.
You Mi's driver ignored the broker's advice. She turned on the ignition. Slowly, she pulled out of the secondary area and headed for the United States. She chose the only exit booth with a female guard, and drove through with nonchalance, as if she had been given clearance to go. Nobody stopped them.
Ten minutes later, the driver pulled off the freeway to a gas station just inside the U.S. border, where a Korean man and a black car awaited.
You Mi had made it to the United States, yet she was anything but free.
At the gas station, the driver took You Mi's fake visa back.
"Good luck," she said, and sped off. The man at the gas station summoned You Mi to his car, and they headed for Koreatown in Los Angeles, to meet her future boss.
But first, the driver told You Mi, he wanted to stop at a motel and have sex with her.
All the lies and confusion of her journey thus far had You Mi primed for a fight, but she controlled her anger and came up with a strategy. She threatened to report him to the boss if he made any trouble.
Her ploy worked. At 4 a.m., they arrived in Los Angeles, and the man called the boss. Awakened from sleep, he instructed them to go to a motel and call back in five hours.
Although You Mi insisted on two hotel rooms, the driver reserved only one, promising not to touch her.
He slept. She stayed awake, bracing for him to attack her. Finally, the boss called at 9 a.m. and said it was time to meet.
On the way, You Mi got her first glimpse of Koreatown in daylight. There were no high-rises, no neon jungle, no fashion plates crowding the sidewalks. The short, squatty architecture reminded her of South Korea's most outdated neighborhoods. She saw broken-down cars in front yards, garbage in the gutters and homeless people passed out in doorways.
