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Donald L. Hughes

This is an example of my writing and editing skills. Part 1 is a portion of the

11 hours of interviews I used to ghost-write the entire biography.

Part 2, below, shows how I transformed this portion of the interview, and how
it appeared as a chapter in the published book.

Part 1 – Raw Interview

Don-Tell me your most dramatic ministry experience.

Jeff-In the early days of going behind the Iron Curtain I was caught once. This particular
experience was pretty scary. It was probably the most dramatic ministry experience I have had.
Also in Kosovo things have been very profound there as well.

The year was 1982, in January. I was taking books and Bibles for the new year to pastors in East
Germany. It was cold, gray, rainy, kind of snowy a little. One of those bleak Berlin winter days
that just goes on and on and on. I was driving a van and had that van loaded up. I was just going
in overnight. Just for one night. I was alone. I was going from West Berlin to East Germany,
not to East Berlin. There was another border crossing to get into the country in East Germany.

Don- so this wasn’t check-point Charlie?

Jeff- This particular experience was not check-point Charlie. I guess you want the full story.

Don- I want as much detail as possible.

Jeff – I don’t know how much to tell about the hiding places that we used.

Don- Oh, tell me all about it.

Jeff – I was driving a fire engine red Toyota van. It was only sold in Europe. In the van we had
a tank, it looks like a large propane tank, that would fit about two people. So this was like a
cargo van. The back was empty, just a shell. This tank was bolted down in the bed of the van. It
went from the back door of the van to the driver’s seat. You could take the end of it off, again
that tank was so big that you could fit about two people inside. There was a little tank, like a
liter canister, on the inside of that big tank. This little canister had propane in it. It was attached
to the inside. On the outside of the tank, there was meter, or a gauge, and you could see how
much propane was left. It appeared that the entire tank was full of propane, where the truth was
only that little canister on the inside was. The van would run on propane as well. That natural
gas. So, it was plumbed to run either on benzine, gasoline, or natural gas. What we would do is
remove the end of that tank. It was quite heavy. It probably weighed about 50-60 lbs. We
would load at the apartment the tank full of books and Bibles. Whatever the request was from
the pastors I was going to visit.
I got it all loaded up it and put the end of that tank on there, and ratcheted that closed. I
was only going overnight and didn’t need much clothing, so I had a little suitcase in the back
with a blanket in it and just a change of clothes. I came to the border about 4:00 in the afternoon
and the border guard began to do his search. He looked at my paperwork, passport, visa, and so
forth. He said “Where are you going?” I said I was going to Mogdoberg. “What are you doing
there?” “Well I ….(I don’t remember what I said. I’ll have to remember that). I said I am just
going to visit and we might like to go there on vacation in the future.
Mogdoberg was an industrial city in East Germany maybe the equivalent of say a
Barstow, California. It’s not really a vacation destination, neither was Mogdoberg. He began to
ask questions and then he saw that tank in the back of the van and he was very curious about it,
wondering why it was there. He began to ask questions and he hit it with a crowbar and called
some guards, a couple of other guards over to have a look at it, to consult with them and see what
they thought. One guard didn’t think anything about it. Said “Oh, just leave it.” So he asked me
to show him the gauge and how it works. I opened the gauge a little bit, open the valve, and a
little propane came out. You could smell it. He said Okay. He said, “Why do you have this
suitcase and this blanket in it?” I said, “Well, it’s just who was back here.” I needed a suitcase
because to carry the Bibles, to unload and then carry them to the pastor’s home. He was very
suspicious but eventually let me go.
So, I drove in and got my hotel. Then I went out that night. Left the hotel around 9:00 at
night and found the Elk River. This is actually the place where the American troops had been
told to wait, World War II. We didn’t take Berlin, the capital, but we let the Russians come in
and take the capital at the end of WWII in Germany and this is the location there at the Elk
River. So I was out there and that night, parked by the side of the river in the sand and ratcheted
open that tank and began to unload. It was pitch black, I had a flashlight with me. It was quite
cold out there. I was all by myself, and I began unloading. That’s the nervous time. You are
exposed. All the books are opened. This was tank opened and you can’t get it shut quickly, if
there is an emergency, if the police come, another car comes, you don’t want to be seen out there
by yourself, 9:00, 10:00 at night next to this river where nobody goes. It wasn’t a camping spot
or anything. I just followed some dirt road that went off into the countryside and that was next to
the river.
I got it unloaded and did my best to get that heavy tank back on, the cap back on the end
of the tank. Evidently I didn’t get it hooked on there quite correctly. I closed it. I thought
everything was okay. I had books opened so I covered them with a blanket, I filled up the one
suitcase. It weighed about 80 lbs full of books, now 80 lbs is very heavy. I drove to the pastor’s
home and he wasn’t home. I parked about a mile and a half away and walked. He wasn’t home
so I went to next pastor. He was home. He lived on the 5th floor. I was about a half a mile or so
from his house and I had six big suitcases full of books and Bibles for him and the other pastors.
I started making that trek back and forth with that heavy suitcase, sweating like a dog, you’re just
a courier at that point. You are doing this for the Lord, and for the church, and for the believers,
so they can reach their country, reach their neighbors. You’re equipping them. These are tools
they did not have, Bibles and books.
I made that delivery that night. Got done about midnight, 12:30 am. We prayed. They
fed me a little bit. I got back to the hotel after 1:00-1:30 in the morning feeling good. I made the
delivery. The next morning, I got in the van and drove back to the border, getting there about
noontime. Now, I am back on the same border. It is noontime the next day. I pull up and they
waved me on to a spot. A guard comes out to begin the search. Who was it, but the exact same
guy that I had seen the day before. He was supposed to have been off duty. But, he was still
there. His replacement hadn’t arrived yet. So I pulled up and he says, “I remember you from
yesterday.” I said, “Yeah.” He said, “Where did you go again? Wasn’t it Mogdoberg?” I said,
“Yes.” He said, “How did you like it?” I said, “Oh, it was fine.” He said, “This blanket isn’t in
this suitcase.” I said, “No. It’s not.” He says, “Why not? It was yesterday?” I said, “Oh. It
was cold and I pulled it out.” He says, “Oh. Well, you came back so soon. You didn’t have a
good time?” And he just began asking me curious questions. Now, my heart is beating fast, you
know. Every time you cross the border you always pray, and pull over and pray before crossing
the border, asking God to blind their eyes and confound their understanding. I had done that.
Being by yourself sometimes it is difficult. You don’t have anyone to talk to or share with. He
began asking questions and called a couple of his buddies over. He said, “This tank is not
original equipment. This tank is not supposed to be here. There is something wrong with this
tank and I want to find out what it is. What is happening with this tank.” They began to take
crowbars and tried to pull that tank up out of the back of the van to unscrew the bolts that were
bolting it in. He was in the back of the van and he gave it a big kick with his black boot. When
he did, the end cap of that tank unlatched. It would latch on and it unlatched. It moved. When
he saw that move and heard it unlatch, he started yelling for more guards to come. He took me
and pushed me up against the van. He said, “Okay, what’s in that tank? What’s wrong with that
tank? That’s not original equipment.” I said, “I don’t what you are talking about.”
The other guards came over and they began kicking it and it began to nudge off a little
bit. It was just hanging off now. It was obvious that this tank was coming open, that the end cap
was falling off, just being nudged off. He took my arm and said, “Get in the back of the van!”
So I was there on my knees there next to the back of the van. He said, “Take that cap and pull it
off.” It was just kind of hanging there so I picked it up and set it down.

Don- Could I ask you to stop for a moment? Because you are speaking in German here. Right?
With this guard?

Jeff – Yes.

Don- Say in German, “Pull the cap off.” Whatever he said, can you say it in German?

Jeff – Yeah. I don’t know if he said Z or not. Nama zeedoss has su ralf. Take it off.

Don – When that is typed it will be typed in German for me.

Jeff – Yeah. Okay. By this time he had sounded an alarm. Others were coming, were running
over. When I pulled that off and set it down there on the back of the van, there were two books
inside. I died. Oh, no!
 So they pulled me out of the van and again had me, like a criminal, leaning up against the
van, spread eagle, my legs apart, my hands apart and they began to frisk me, and search me.
Then, he put my hands behind my back and held them together. Another guard came and they
escorted me into a little interrogation room.
They said, “Wait here.” Well, an hour went by and I was waiting in that room and they
had a guard with me in that room and just watching me the whole time. I didn’t have anywhere
to sit so I was just standing. My knees were knocking uncontrollably. You know, you have seen
that on TV or heard stories about that, I never really understood how that happens. But I was
leaning against the heater, the radiator type of heater, heating element there, leaning against that
and trying to look cool and nonchalant. My knees were knocking, shaking uncontrollably, and I
had to hold them to stop them. I realized that I was out of control here, not knowing what was
going to happen.
After an hour, an hour and a half, they took me to another room. Two guards walked in
and sat down. One guard motioned to me to sit. He said in German “Mr. Thompson, we have to
fill out a protocol, you’re a criminal in the East German Republic, and we need you to sign some
paperwork.” So he began to giving me some paperwork in German to sign. I refused. He said,
“Well, you will sign.”
He began questioning me. As he did, he began to question me in German. I spoke to him
in German and said, “I am an American. My mother tongue is English. I have an American
passport. I am not going to answer you in German. You must ask me in German. I am not going
to speak German to you. I am done speaking to you.” He pounded on the table and looked at me
and yelled. He said, “I know you speak German. You will answer me in German.” I was just
silent. I didn’t say anything.
He starts to cuss under his breadth. He gets on the phone. He says, “Get me a translator
in here right away.” So, I am waiting there and he is made. An officer walks in. He is not an
accomplished translator, but he knows some English. He doesn’t know why he is being called
in. He comes in and they talk, and he says okay. So the interrogator begins. He says, “Mr.
Thompson, why have you come to the East German Republic?” I understood exactly what he
said. So I turned to the translator and waited for him to translate. The interrogator yelled his
questions, the translator wasn’t mad and he didn’t yell. He looked at me and he would say,
“Well”, he would search for the right words because his English wasn’t that great. “Um, Mr.
Thompson, he wants to know why you visited our East German Republic.” This time it took him
to translate, gave me time to think about what I was going to answer. So, I would say, “Tell him
that I think it is a beautiful country.” He said, “He thinks it is a beautiful country.” The
interrogator would get mad again. So that’s how it began.
We went for about 31/2 hours and he would yell his questions and the translator would
translate. I would give answers. He finally said, “Mr. Thompson, are you a Christian?” I said,
“Yes.” He says, “Do you read the Bible?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “Do you lie?” I said, “No.”
He said, “What does the Bible say about lying?” I said, “The Bible says you are not supposed to
lie.” He says, “So, tell me, why are you lying to me? Christians aren’t supposed to lie. Why are
you lying to me?” “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Then he said, “You do know
what I am talking about.” Well, they had found an address in my sock. This pastor from the
night before had said I am going to be visiting East Berlin in a few weeks and contact me when I
am there. In my sock was the address of the place where he was going to stay. It was a hostel,
kind of a church run hostel, like a youth hostel kind of place, in East Berlin. When they found
the address I did not know what the piece of paper was. I blanked. I was nervous. I was
stripped searched with about four guards there. They took me in this room and removed all of
my clothes and searched every place possible for anything they could find and that is when they
found the note. He had asked me about the note during the interrogation and I couldn’t
remember. So I said “Well that note is just an address of a friend of mine from West Berlin.”
They said, “Why was it in your sock?” I said, “Well, I just put it there. I forgot.”
He kept coming back to that address and that note. I heard him say under his breadth, in
German, to the translator, he said in German, “I know he is lying about this address because I
have had lunch there before.” He was East German Intelligence and they would spy on the
Christians. This was a church run hostel and he had been there, spying and listening to
conversations, to see who goes to the place. When I heard him say that to the translator in
German, it reminded me of what was written on the piece of paper. That this was an address of a
hostel and that he had been there before.
I said, “You’re right. I was lying about that address. That note you found in my sock
was the address of a hostel in East Berlin.” He said, “Well, why did you lie about it?” I said, “I
couldn’t remember what it was.” He said, “Why did you have it in your sock?” I said, “Because
I planned on going there in the future.” He said, “Why?” I said, “Because I am a Christian.” I
said, “Christians are from all over the world. There are Christians in every country of the world.
Christianity isn’t just some thing, small and some strange friend’s religion.” I said, “I don’t
know if you believe in Christianity or not, but I look for every opportunity to meet with
Christians wherever I go. I thought perhaps I could meet with Christians in this country.” He
said, “Where did you get this address?” I said, “From a friend.” He said, “Where does this
friend live?” I said, “Well, I can’t say.” It just went on and on and on like that.

Don – For how long again?

Jeff – The first round of interrogation was 3-1/2 hours. Then I signed a protocol that said I had
broken the law, East German law, that I had brought in illegal contraband, which were Bibles
and books and that I wouldn’t do this again. I signed this protocol.

Don – You couldn’t talk them into the idea that you were exporting those books, could you?

Jeff – Well, about two hours into the interrogation when they weren’t getting very far, he said,
“Mr. Thompson”, he said, “we know that you are smuggling cocaine. He says you are going to
get eight years in prison for cocaine smuggling. So there is no reason to hide your information
any longer. You can tell us exactly who you visited.” He says, “We are going to find out.” He
says, “So please tell us where you were and who you had contact with last night.”
At that point, I thought to myself, well if they wanted to plant a little bag of cocaine in
that tank or in that vehicle, they are going to whether I say yes or no, whether I answer the
question or not, it doesn’t matter. If they want to keep me they will. If they don’t want to keep
me they won’t. And I couldn’t imagine why they would want to keep me. But, if there was
some greater political issue, then maybe they would want to keep me. Who knows? But our
commitment was always to protect the identity of the believers, of the pastors, and those we were
going to visit. That’s the responsibility you are taking on yourself in going.
A second time, about an hour later, he threatened me with the cocaine thing again. But
again, I knew my life was in the Lord’s hands and it didn’t matter what he said. It was really in
the Lord’s hands.
 They wanted to run down minute by minute when I left the border the day before, where I
went, they called the hotel to find out when I had left, and they gave them a time about 9:00 that
night when I had left the hotel. They said to themselves, that’s when he was out working and the
hotel knew when I got up for breakfast and they knew when I had checked out. They knew just
about everything. They input this together and finally they came to a set of questions about how
many times I had been to East Berlin or East Germany. They didn’t call it East Berlin. They
called it the Captial, East German Capital. A very important distinction for them. They didn’t
look at East Germany as just being the eastern sector or the Russian sector. They looked at it as
just the country of the German Democratic Republic. The GDR, the official term. The German
Democratic Republic.
“How many times have you been to the Capital of the GDR?” I said, “Well, I don’t
know.” “Well, approximately, how many times have you been here?” “Well, really, I don’t
know.” “Well, just give us a number. How many times have you been here? How many times
have you been here in the last week?” “Oh, I don’t think I was there in the last week.” “How
many times have you been here in the last year? How many times have you been to our
Capital?” Jeff-“It’s really hard for me to say. I can’t give you an exact number.” Them-“We
don’t want an exact number. How many times have you been here approximately?” I said, “Oh,
maybe five times.” They take their notes, write it all down. Them-“Are you sure only five
times?” Jeff-“Well, you know, about five times perhaps.”
They take their notes and finally they get finished with the interrogation. They said, “Mr.
Thompson, you’ve signed the protocol. You have promised not to do this again. You have
admitted to your crime of bringing in propaganda, so we are going to give you your vehicle back.
As long as you don’t do this again and pay the fine, everything will be okay.” He says, “So, let’s
go.” They take me out of the room. By this time it is around, about 5:00, its grown dark. They
take me to the van where it has been parked in the garage this whole time. They have had it up
on a platform and have gotten underneath it and all around, checked everything out. They put
me in the van and opened the doors to the garage and said “Just pull out and go park over there
and someone will bring you your passport.” Jeff-“Okay.” So I pull out and I sit there for about
an hour, until about 6:00 or so. It is quite cold, it is snowing, I am shivering because I am
nervous. I am thinking “Oh, Lord. Thank you I am really getting off pretty easily here.” Things
are looking up. I am about to …I can see the border. I can see the lights. I can see the guard
towers. The guards walking back and forth with their machine guns. Just on the other side, I
was yards from the other side. So close. I thought about how East Germans felt so were
separated from their family overnight by a wall, by barbed wire, by guards, and machine guns.
They lived with that every day, of just a few yards over there, there’s freedom. They could see
freedom, see the sky of freedom every single day.
Here I was just for few hours, longing for it. A guard walks out of the office building,
after about an hour of me sitting out there. He walks over to the van. It’s again lightly snowing.
I rolled the window down. It’s quite windy. He is all bundled up. He has my passport in his
hands. He says, “Now, Mr. Thompson, you are not going to do this again are you?” I said, “No,
I am not.” He said, “Okay, well, be sure to drive careful and here is your passport.”
Right when he puts in the window and I go to get it, another guard comes out of the
building and says, “Halt, Halt!” He pulls the passport back and says, “Oh, I am sorry, I’ll be
right back. Just a moment.” He starts walking away and I roll the window up. I had been letting
down, relaxing a little bit, thinking this is it, this is over now, I can get back home. He walks in
the building and I am still thinking, Okay, he’ll be back in just a minute. Then, within a few
minutes, I see the doors, the double doors of the garage, open. The lights are still on in there.
The guard walks out and he is waving at me. Waving me back into the garage. I drive the van
back into that garage. They slammed the doors behind me. They started yelling, “Get out of the
car! Get out of the car!” I get out and he said, “Get in there! Get in the room, the interrogation
room!” They accompanied me into the interrogation room. I sit down. It is empty. No one is
there. I am wondering what is happening now, a little disillusioned and thinking I was going to
get to go home.
Then two men in plain clothes walk in. One is an excellent????? translator, and one is
the guy in charge. They are doing a tag team, they are about to begin a tag team approach. The
good guy, bad guy approach. They sit down and then they start the tape recorder. They say,
“Mr. Thompson, you are a liar aren’t you?” Now I am bewildered. I don’t know what to say, so
I don’t say anything.
The second round of interrogation (I’ll try to keep it on one tape). They begin asking me
the same questions that the previous team had asked me. Who are your parents? Where does
your father work? What does your mother do? What do they earn? What is their salary? How
many brothers and sisters do you have? How long have you been in Berlin? Where do you live
exactly? What is your address? What is your bank account? Who are you working for? What
is your wife’s name? What are your kids’ names? Why are you here and for how long? Who
does this vehicle belong to? Where did you get it? Where did you buy it? How long have you
had it? Why are you driving it?
Then, “What did you say your father’s name was?” “Where was he born?” “How about
your mother?” “But, what did you say about your sisters?” “Your sister wasn’t born there, was
she?” “Well, where was your father born?” You are into hour seven by this time. You spent a
whole day gone by and your head is spinning. Just these rapid fire questions.
Finally, he says, “How many times have you been to our country, our Capital?” I said,
“Well, I am sure it is in your protocol. They must have typed up protocol from the previous
time, session.” He says, “Well, just tell me. How many times have you been to our country?” I
said, “I don’t know exactly.” “He says, “Well just approximately.” We do the same thing over
again. I said, “I don’t know. Five times or so.” He says, “Oh, you mean five times last week,
don’t you?” He pulled out a handwritten list, they didn’t have computers yet back then, he
pulled out a handwritten legal note pad list of three pages of every date that I had visited East
Berlin and East Germany on one day visas or otherwise in the last year and a half. I had been
there about 60 times. He says, “Now, who do you work for?” Meaning what spy organization
has hired you, you know. We continue on to the next round of questioning. I share my faith
with him. I tell them that I am a Christian and that I wasn’t a missionary but I was a Christian
there on business and this was a company car. Which is true. What I found is that if you try to
tell the truth as much as possible until it would compromise the believers in East Germany. You
can remember the truth. If you tell a lie, you have to remember that lie seven or eight hours
later. We as Christians don’t want to tell a lie, but we are willing to put those Bibles in the
hiding place. That is already lying to somebody, but we are obeying a higher authority. When it
comes time. So I told the truth as much as I possibly could by sticking by the truth it really
helped a lot.
The end of this interrogation was another 3-1/2 hours and by this time it was around 9:30
at night, 9 or 10, maybe 10. I was really getting tired. The one guy was mad, the other guy was
nice. He would yell a question, then the nice guy would say to him in German, “Well don’t say
it like that. Don’t act like that.” He would say to me English, “Listen, we are not really mad at
you, but just tell us what, who you are visiting because you are not going to get out of here,
you’re not going anywhere, make it easier on yourself. You’ll get a lighter sentence.” Kind of
that nice approach and trying to reason with logic. Then the next guy would yell a question and
he would say, he would yell, the guy that was nice to me would yell at me. It went back and
forth like this. So finally about 10:00 I said, “You know what, I have been here since 12:00 noon
and you guys haven’t given me anything to drink or eat. I am not going to talk to you anymore
until you give me something to eat and drink. I am done talking to you.”
The interrogator said, “Oh, we are so sorry. We’ll get right on that.” They brought me a
really terrible hot dog and a cup of coffee. East German coffee. They fed me. That was the end.
They felt like they had gotten everything they could. They let me go. I got in the van. Now, I
am wondering if they are going to pull the same kind of trick again. I came to realize that it was
a trick.

Don – Well, I was going to ask you. That was a trick?

Jeff – Yes it was.

Don- It was designed to get you cold, and relaxed, not particularly but they had to call those two
plain clothesmen in from some different area or anything.

Jeff – Well they wanted to bring in the pros.

 1
Caught At The Border
It was a cold, rainy day in January, 1982. My assignment
was to take a van loaded with Christian books and Bibles on
an overnight trip from West Berlin into East Germany. I was
traveling alone.
Our team had a yellow Toyota van that had been modi-
fied to run on gasoline or propane, and we had installed a
large cylindrical tank in the back. It looked like any propane
tank that commercial vehicles used in those days, but it was
specially rigged to conceal Bibles and Christian books.
The tank looked normal from the outside, but you could
take the heavy cap off the end and there was a large space
to conceal things—big enough for a person, and definitely
hundreds of books.
Inside the big tank was a small canister that was con-
nected to a gauge on the outside of the tank. If curious bor-
der guards wanted to check the contents of the tank they
could look at the pressure gauge, even open the valve a bit
and smell the propane, though, unknown to them, it came
from the small canister, not the larger tank. It was cleverly
designed to look like the entire tank was filled with propane.

19
Leaving The American Sector
That afternoon in Berlin, I loaded the tank with Bibles
and Christian books requested by East German pastors,
ratcheted the heavy end-cap of the tank onto the body of the
tank, and prepared for my trip across the border. I had a lit-
tle suitcase in the back with a blanket in it, items I would
need later to deliver the books.
"Lord," I prayed, "I know you have called me to this min-
istry, and your people need your Word, so please calm my
nerves and protect this load of Bibles going over the border
tomorrow." After a night of restless sleep, Paula and I spent
some quiet time praying together while our 6-month-old
daughter slept. I threw my suitcase with one change of
clothes inside into the back of the van, donned my jacket
and gloves and left for the border.
I arrived to the border crossing Dreilinden about 1:00
p.m. The border area was well lit with extra searchlights
placed all around the restricted border area. The misty
monochrome afternoon was now punctuated by guard tow-
ers and machine gun-carrying soldiers keeping watch on the
handful of vehicles desiring to enter the GDR (German
Democratic Republic). They eyed travelers suspiciously,
making them feel like criminals for entering their country. I
waited, quietly praying, watching the vehicle in front of me
being taken apart by suspicious guards searching for illegal
contraband such as a German newspaper, a music cassette,
or any type of printed matter.
A stone-faced guard in his drab, green uniform
approached the van and examined my passport and visa.
The tension was palpable, and the knowledge that I was
crossing over into enemy territory, both figuratively and
spiritually, was reinforced by a heaviness of spirit. Travel
into East Germany and other communist bloc countries was
not easy or joyful, it was tense and oppressive. Trying to
look calm, my pulse rate quickened. There was no turning
back and I had a tank full of almost 1000 books destined for
believers in a prison called the GDR.
"Where are you going?" the border guard said in German.

20
 Caught At The Border
"Magdeburg," I replied.
"What are you doing there?"
"I am just going to visit—I might like to go there on vacation
in the future." Magdeburg was an industrial city in East
Germany, not really a vacation destination, but such exchanges
were a part of the ritual of border crossings.
The guard was asking more of the usual questions, when
I saw that his attention was attracted by the tank in the
back of the van. He became very curious about it, wonder-
ing why it was there. He began asking questions about it
and had me open the rear door. He hit the tank with a crow-
bar and called over a couple of other guards to have a look
at it.
One of them said such tanks were normal in vans con-
verted to run on propane. "Just leave it," he said, much to
the disdain of the original guard. I breathed a prayer of
thanksgiving and hoped the search would end. But the orig-
inal guard remained curious. He asked me to show him how
the gauge worked, so I opened it and the pungent odor of
propane seemed to bring his suspicions to an end.

k
I reached the outskirts of Magdeburg about 6 p.m. and
checked into my hotel. The East German travel agency had
to prearrange all travel details and they knew what time to
expect you based on what time you departed from the bor-
der. There was no freedom of movement in East Germany
and the Volks Polizei (People's Police) thoroughly patrolled
the highways and exits.
I did not have much time. It had been dark for two hours
and I was anxious to deliver my cargo. I strolled nonchalant-
ly from the hotel and then walked briskly in order to discov-
er if I was being followed. I doubled back to get the van and
drove to a small country road parallel to the Elbe River. The
place was symbolic to me. It was at this historic location

21
Leaving The American Sector
that American troops under the command of General
Eisenhower were ordered to wait while Russian troops
arrived from the east to take Berlin and bring an end to
World War II.
I had been trained to find a desolate spot to avoid being
seen. I had to be sure I was not followed and that no one
would notice me if they happened to drive by. I left the road
and parked amidst the long reeds by the river, turning the
engine and lights off. I got out and looked around, but did
not hear any people or see any cigarettes glowing in the
darkness. I heard only the quiet flow of the river. The night
was pitch black and moonless. I knew I must work quickly.
I climbed into the side door of the van and closed it qui-
etly behind me. It was dark and cold. Alone and vulnerable,
I missed having someone to keep lookout for me while I
unloaded the tank.
I removed the heavy end-cap of the tank, and began to
unload the books onto the floor of the van. This was the
riskiest step in the process, when the books were in the
open. Although I might be able to throw a blanket over
them, the end was off the tank and that could not be
replaced quickly. I was in a desolate spot, but my mind
raced and I began to wonder what I would say if a car, or
God forbid, a police patrol came by.
With the tank now empty, I did my best to get the heavy
cap back on the end of it, though it was difficult to do in the
dark. I gave it a quick inspection by flashlight and every-
thing appeared okay. I got out of the van, looked around
one more time and checked my watch. 9:30 p.m. Time to get
moving.
I drove to within 100 yards of the boxy, gray, nondescript
apartment building. The suitcases weighed about 75
pounds apiece and I hoped the pastor lived on the ground
floor. I found the apartment on the third floor and quietly
knocked on the door. No response. I put my ear to the door.
Nothing. I knocked again. No one answered. I was afraid to
awaken or alert neighbors. I didn't want anyone to stick

22
 Caught At The Border
their head out of a door, hear my accented German, and
immediately know an American had visited the pastor.
"Lord, what happens now?" I asked. I had the address of
another pastor who lived a few miles away. It was now 10:30
and I had never met this other man.
"Lord, please may he be home," I prayed as I knocked on
the door of the fifth-floor apartment.
"Ja," answered a tentative voice, cracking the door slight-
ly.
I introduced myself in German using my fictitious name
Bob, and our identity password, and asked if I could come
in.
After allowing me inside, he led me to his small office. He
was wearing his pajamas. His family was already in bed.
"Young man, how did you get my address?" he asked.
I explained that I worked for a mission group and that I
had a load of Bibles and literature.
"Okay, let us pray together. Will you pray, please?" he
asked.
While I formulated the words to pray in German, he was
asking God if I was the real deal or not. He had to be cau-
tious. Receiving and distributing literature could result in a
prison sentence.
After prayer, he agreed to receive the books and asked
where I was parked.
"Unfortunately, I must explain that most of the books are
actually for another pastor in town. He was not home and
yours was the only address I had."
"Don't worry. I promise that he will get the books."
I excused myself and returned with a load of books, huff-
ing and puffing, unloading the suitcases while the pastor
hid them behind a cabinet. He offered me a cup of tea,
thinking that I was done. But I had to make three more such
trips up and down the stairs before the van was empty.
There was no time to waste. I worried that hotel security
would notify the police that I had left and not returned. I
also worried for this pastor. I was an unexpected visitor in

23
Leaving The American Sector
the middle of the night with enough Bibles and books to put
him in prison for several years. He was not accustomed to
smuggling large amounts of literature.
"There are more Bibles here than I have seen in my life-
time," the pastor marveled. "I have never received so many
books."
"Bob,” he said, "here is an address. I will be staying there
a few days next week in East Berlin. Can you come over to
meet me?"
"Sure," I said, sticking the piece of paper in my pocket.
"Let's pray for God's protection before I leave."
He prayed for my safe arrival back to Berlin and asked
God to have us meet again. I prayed for his safety as well.
As I turned for the door, we hugged, but we never met again.

k
I arrived back at the same border crossing I had passed
through the previous day. A guard came out to begin the
search. It was about noontime, and I was surprised to see
the same suspicious guard from the day before. Normally he
would have been off-duty, but his replacement was late.
The guard eyed me distrustfully. "I remember you from
yesterday," he said.
"Yes," I replied.
"Where did you go again? Wasn't it Magdeburg?"
"Yes."
"How did you like it?" he said smiling. Magdeburg was an
industrial city, not the sort of place that normally attracted
tourists, so the thought that someone would check it out as
a vacation destination had probably brought a question to
his mind when he heard it the day before, and now the
thought amused him.
"Oh, it was fine," I replied.
"Well, you came back so soon. You didn't have a good
time?" After he said that he unleashed a torrent of intimidat-
ing questions.

24
 Caught At The Border
As the questions came, my heart began beating faster.
Every time you cross a border you always pray and ask God
to blind the eyes of the guards and to confound their under-
standing. I had done that, but it seemed this guard was
going to be relentless in his questioning and inspection.
Perhaps he just didn't like the way his fellow guards had
dismissed him when he questioned the purpose of the tank
the previous day, and wanted to make a point with them.
Perhaps he was tired from his long shift and just felt can-
tankerous.
Whatever the reason, he motioned to a nearby guard,
pointed to the tank and said, "This tank is not original
equipment. This tank is not supposed to be here. There is
something wrong with this tank and I want to find out what
it is."
The guard climbed in the back of the van and gave it a
solid kick with his black boot. When he did, the end-cap of
the tank unlatched. When he saw it move, he started yelling
for more guards to come.
He climbed quickly out of the back of the van, grabbed
me and pushed me up against the vehicle. "Okay, what's in
that tank?" he demanded.
"I don't know what you are talking about," I replied.
The other guards came and began kicking the tank and
the end cap began separating from the cylinder. It was obvi-
ous at this point that the tank was not really for propane, so
the guard took my arm and pushed me into the back of the
van. "Take that cap and pull it off," he screamed.
It was just hanging there, so I lifted it off and set it down
on the floor of the van. At that point I wished I had secured
it better the night before, but all had seemed well in the
darkness.
The guards examined the interior of the tank with their
flashlights. In the darkness of the previous night I had inad-
vertently left two books inside, and I nearly died when the
guards retrieved them.
The persistent guard hauled me from the van and had

25
Leaving The American Sector
me stand spread-eagled against it and frisked me. Another
guard came and together they escorted me into an interro-
gation room where I was strip-searched. They removed all of
my clothes and searched every place possible for anything
they could find, though at the time I was unaware that I had
anything that would arouse suspicion.
After the body search, they kept me waiting for an hour,
the posted guard eying me intently. There was no place to
sit, so I stood near the heating radiator. I was trying to be
nonchalant, but as time went by the gravity of my situation
began to sink in. My knees began knocking uncontrollably.
You hear stories about the level of fear that causes a per-
son's knees to knock, or have seen it on TV, usually for
comedic effect, but I never really understood the phenome-
non. At that moment, however, my body began to shake and
I had to grip my legs to keep my knees from knocking. I real-
ized my emotions were out of control and I prayed that the
Lord would calm me.
Finally, I was taken to another room. Two guards walked
in and sat down. One guard motioned for me to sit down. He
said in German, "Mr. Thompson, we have to fill out a proto-
col. You are a criminal in the East German Republic, and we
need you to sign the paperwork."
I refused to sign the documents, fearing it would end my
ministry behind the Iron Curtain. The guard who had
offered me the pen and the documents gave me a sinister
look when I rejected them. He said, "Sooner or later you will
sign."
The guard began questioning me in German. I am fluent
in German, but I felt like I needed to stall, to collect my
thoughts, and to give the Lord an opportunity to intervene
in the situation. Gaining some boldness, I spoke to him in
German and said, "I am an American. My mother tongue is
English. You must ask me your questions in English. I am
not going to answer you in German. I am done speaking to
you."
The guard pounded on the table and looked at me and

26
 Caught At The Border
yelled, "I know you speak German. You will answer me in
German." I remained silent.
He started to swear under his breath, but got on the
phone and said, "Get me a translator in here right away."
After a short wait an officer walked into the interrogation
room. He was not an accomplished translator, but he knew
some English.
The interrogator said, "Mr. Thompson, why have you
come to the East German Republic?" Of course I understood
exactly what he said, but I turned to the translator and wait-
ed for him to translate. The interrogator yelled his ques-
tions, but the translator wasn't mad about anything and
conveyed the message in rather mild tones. He looked at me,
searching for the right words, and said, "Well... Urr, Mr.
Thompson, he wants to know why you visited our East
German Republic." In the time it took him to translate, I had
time to think about how I was going to answer.
"Tell him that I think it is a beautiful country."
He turned to his comrade and said, "He thinks it is a
beautiful country."
The interrogator got angry again. This went on for near-
ly four hours.
At one point, the interrogator put his face inches from
mine and said dramatically, "Mr. Thompson, we know you
are smuggling cocaine. You are going to get eight years in
prison for cocaine smuggling. So there is no reason to hide
your information any longer. You must tell us exactly who
you visited. We are going to find out, so tell us where you
were and who you had contact with last night."
At that point, I thought to myself, if they wanted to plant
a little bag of cocaine in the tank, it wouldn't matter what I
said. If they wanted to imprison me they would. But our
team of Bible smugglers had a commitment to always pro-
tect the identity of the believers in communist lands. That's
a responsibility we assumed as part of our ministry.
A second time, about an hour later, he threatened me
with being a cocaine dealer. But again, I knew my life was in

27
Leaving The American Sector
the Lord's hands and it didn't matter what he said.
Finally, the interrogator said, "Mr. Thompson, are you a
Christian?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Do you read the Bible?"
"Yes."
"Do you lie?"
"No."
"What does the Bible say about lying?"
"The Bible says you are not supposed to lie."
"So, tell me, why are you lying to me?
"I don't know what you are talking about," I replied.
"You do know what I am talking about."
The fact was, during the interrogation I could never be
sure what he was getting at. I didn't want to lie, but it didn't
bother my conscience to be evasive. I didn't want to incrimi-
nate myself by offering information too freely, and I certainly
could not allow myself to be put in the position of incriminat-
ing my Christian brothers and sisters in the East.
It turned out that what really interested them was an
address on a scrap of paper that they had found among my
belongings during the strip search. The pastor who received
the books said he was going to be visiting East Berlin in a
few weeks and would like me to contact him while he was
there. I had forgotten about the scrap of paper with his
address on it, and didn't make a connection when the inter-
rogator asked about it.
The interrogator asked about many different things, but
he kept coming back to that address and that note. At one
point I heard him say under his breath in German to the
translator, "I know he is lying about this address because I
have had lunch there before." He was a member of the East
German Secret Police (Stasi) and they would spy on the
Christians who gathered there. When I heard him say that
to the translator in German, it dawned on me that they had
found the piece of paper in my sock, and suddenly things
became clear.

28
 Caught At The Border
"The note you found was the address of a hostel in East
Berlin," I said.
"Well, why did you lie about it?" he asked
"I couldn't remember what it was."
"Why did you have it?"
"Because I planned on going there in the future."
"Why?"
"Because I'm a Christian. I don't know if you believe in
Christianity or not, but I look for opportunities to meet with
Christians wherever I go. I thought perhaps I could meet
with Christians at that place."

k
The interrogator turned out to be right—after hours of
answering questions I finally signed the protocol that said I
had broken the East German law, that I had imported con-
traband, Bibles and Christian books, and that I would not
do so again.
They finally finished with the interrogation. The gruff
officer said, "Mr. Thompson, you've signed the protocol. You
have promised not to do this again. You have admitted to
your crime of bringing in propaganda, so we are going to
give you your vehicle back. As long as you pay the fine and
don't do this again, everything will be okay."
A guard led me out of the room. By this time it was dark
and he took me to the nearby impound garage where my van
had been thoroughly inspected while I was being ques-
tioned.
The guard opened the doors of the garage and said, "Just
pull out and park and someone will bring your passport."
I pulled the van to a parking space within the impound
yard and I sat there for another hour. It was cold and snow-
ing, and I was shivering because of the weather and because
of the experience I had just undergone. I looked into the
dark sky and said, "Lord, thank you for helping me through
that ordeal."

29
Leaving The American Sector
I could see the bright klieg lights illuminating the guard
towers, and could see the guards walking back and forth
holding their machine guns close to their chests. Freedom
was on the other side; I was just yards from it. I thought
about how East Germans felt, those who were trapped per-
manently behind the wall, separated from family and friends
by barbed wire, and by guards with machine guns. They
lived with that every day, knowing that freedom was just
across the fence. They could see the sky over freedom every
single day, but were powerless to cross over and enjoy it.
I was looking across the fence, longing for that freedom
myself when a guard walked out of the office building with
my passport in his hand. As he approached my van, he
motioned for me to roll my window down. "Now, Mr.
Thompson, you are not going to do this again, are you?" he
said.
"No, I won't," I replied.
"Okay, be sure to drive carefully," he said as he handed
me my passport."
Before I could reach up and put my hand on the pass-
port, another guard suddenly rushed from the building and
shouted, "Halt! Halt!"
The guard pulled the passport back and said, "Oh, I am
sorry, I'll be right back. Just a moment."
He started walking away and I rolled the window back
up. I had been relaxing a little bit, thinking the ordeal was
over, but it looked like there might be another twist in the
plot.
There was a rumbling and the double doors of the
impound garage opened. Someone inside flipped a switch
and the building was flooded with light. A guard, casting a
long shadow, walked out and motioned for me to drive back
into the garage. I did, and the doors rumbled closed behind
me.
Two guards then suddenly rushed my van and started
yelling, "Get out of the car! Get out of the car!" They grabbed
me by my coat and took me back to the interrogation room.

30
 Caught At The Border
I sat down in the empty room, wondering what new evil
might have befallen me.
Two plainclothes Stasi officers walked in. The tall one
was clearly in charge. His sidekick was the translator, and
it turned out he was an excellent one. They began question-
ing me in the classic, "good cop, bad cop" method I had seen
on television. The bad cop started by turning on the tape
recorder and saying, "Mr. Thompson, you are a liar, aren't
you?"
At that point, I didn't know what to say, so I said noth-
ing. I was exhausted after the previous seven hours of ques-
tioning, bewildered by the new barrage of questions from
this fresh team of inquisitors, and angry at myself for being
duped by the guards into believing I was free. Still the tor-
rent of questions came. Who are your parents? Where does
your father work? What does your mother do? What do they
earn? How many brothers and sisters do you have? How
long have you been in Berlin? What is your address? What
is your wife's name? What are your kids' names? Why are
you here and for how long? Who does this vehicle belong to?
Where did you buy it? How long have you had it? Why are
you driving it?
The two men alternated in their questioning. One was
angry, the other was nice. The bad cop would yell a ques-
tion, the good cop would say to him in German, "Don't talk
like that. Don't act that way." The good cop then turned to
me and said in English, "Listen, we are not really mad at
you, but just tell us who you were visiting because you're
not going to get out of here. Make it easier on yourself, and
that way you'll get a lighter sentence." Then the other fellow
would yell a question again. It went back and forth like that
for hours.
Finally, the bad cop said, "How many times have you
crossed the border into East Germany?"
Was this the issue all along? Just the way the bad cop
stated the question made me stop and think. That question
had been asked before, but it seemed the man was actually

31
Leaving The American Sector
waiting for a reply from me this time instead of drowning me
in a cascading waterfall of questions. I was exhausted from
the hours of badgering, and I thought maybe we had finally
reached a crossroads. I tried to remember who asked the
question the last time, but I was emotionally and physically
drained, and had lost all track of time. Finally I said, "I'm
sure it is in your protocol from the previous session."
"Well, just tell me. How many times have you been to our
country," he said.
"I don't know exactly."
"Well, just approximately."
"I don't know. Five times or so."
"Oh, you mean five times last week, don't you?" the bad
cop screamed, an expression of vindictive triumph on his
face. He pulled out a three-page list and shook it in my face.
It documented every date I had visited this side of the bor-
der in the last year and a half. The pages revealed I had been
across the border over 60 times.
"Now tell me, Mr. Thompson, who do you work for?" the
bad cop sneered. The insinuation was that I was a spy work-
ing for a foreign government. He was sure he had a big fish
on the hook, and any hopes I had of making it across the
border to freedom anytime soon were vanquished.
The interrogation lasted four additional hours, but it
ended with a whimper rather than a bang. At about 10 p.m,
I said, "You know, I have been here since noon and you
haven't given me anything to eat or drink. I'm not going to
talk to you anymore until you feed me."
The good cop said, "Oh, we are so sorry. We'll get right on
that." A guard brought me a really terrible hot dog and a
steaming cup of dense East German coffee. And that was
the end of it. After I ate, they let me go. They felt like they
had gotten everything they could, I suppose, and there was
nothing to gain by holding me further.
As I pulled out of the impound yard I was apprehensive
that this might be yet another trick, and that the guards
would stop me and drag me back for more hours of interro-

32
 Caught At The Border
gation. Two guards opened the gates of the chain link fence
for me to exit, and as I passed through them I had a feeling
of exhilaration, like the Children of Israel passing through
the Red Sea to the freedom of the Promised Land.
Little did I know that this incident would start a cat-and-
mouse game to trap and perhaps imprison me. I thought the
game was over, but for the East German Secret Police, it was
just beginning.

33