For Abducted Guards, Iraq Wasn't Just About Money

"Without us, who knows what would happen to the drivers and the cargo?" he said. He felt no guilt about the money. "The war is here. I didn't start it. If I could do it for my country, why couldn't I come over here and make a little money?"

But the work was relentless, and more dangerous than he'd imagined. "That's the worst part about this job: There's no time to think about yourself. Sometimes you should take a step back and take it all in and be like, 'What am I really here for? Why am I really doing this? Is it really worth it?' You go out, you get hit and come back, you go out and get hit and come back. You just become numb, and you just do it."

Cote said he was increasingly repulsed by what he saw on Iraq's dangerous roads. Last August, he was sent out with a Crescent team to pick up the remains of an Iraqi guard who had been killed in a bombing. The body had been taken to Tallil Air Base, about three hours north of the border. The temperature in southern Iraq that day was close to 120 degrees.

The military handed over the body in a metal coffin filled with ice. "They were really apologetic because they didn't know which end was up or the bottom or whatever," Cote said.

Crescent guards met the man's family beneath an overpass outside Basra; it was too dangerous for them to enter the city. As Cote helped strap the coffin to the roof of an orange-and-white sedan, the man's brother screamed the dead guard's name, Basheer, over and over, the name echoing beneath the overpass as he beat his fists against his chest.

Cote was suddenly stricken: The coffin had a drip valve that was positioned directly over the windshield. Water and blood trickled over the glass. "Just that kind of mental picture, it's not something you want to have in your head," he said.

"And the screams from his family. It rips your heart out."

Cote recalled looking at Skora when he got back to Kuwait.

"I don't know, man," he said, shaking his head. "I don't know about this."

But he decided to stay.

'I Still Feel Bad. I Wasn't There for Him.'

On the eve of the kidnapping, Cote stayed up all night with Skora at the Crescent villa, talking excitedly about his plans to return home. He had set a date, Dec. 7, just three weeks away. He planned to return to school in the spring.

The next day, Skora wasn't on the convoy. "I still feel bad," he said recently in Baghdad. "I wasn't there for him."

Crescent teams had made the run nearly every day for months without incident. On Nov. 16, the guards planned to lead a convoy of 37 tractor-trailers up Main Supply Route Tampa to Tallil Air Base, then return to Kuwait.

Cote shared the point vehicle with Munns. They were the first to encounter the fake checkpoint where the ambush occurred. Dozens of masked men, some in Iraqi police uniforms, had set up a roadblock. They forced the guards from their vehicles at gunpoint.

In his eyewitness account, Andy Foord, a British guard who was left behind, described Cote as initially confused, believing that the attackers "were the police and they were just checking our weapons serial numbers, weapons permits and licenses."

Cote wasn't seen again until Dec. 26, when the captors released a time-stamped video that had been shot approximately two weeks after the ambush. The footage opened with an image of the Koran and a map of Iraq, then this message: "The National Islamic Resistance in Iraq: The Farqan (Quran) Brigades takes responsibility for the kidnapping in Safwan, Basra."

The Crescent hostages sat cross-legged on the floor. Cote had the only visible injuries: His nose was swollen, and red blotches could be seen on his face.

"My name is Jonathon Cote," he said, calmly. He wore a short-sleeved white T-shirt, gray pants and socks. "I am 23, from Gainesville, Florida. I work for a private security company. I am asking the American people to put pressure on the government to leave Iraq to help me and my friends to get out of here."

The four other hostages identified themselves and made similar statements. Reuben wore a tracksuit with orange shoulder stripes. "I'm 39 years old, or 40; I'm not quite sure of today's date," he said. "I'm from Buffalo, Minnesota. I'm married. I have twin daughters -- they're 16 -- and I have a stepson that's 16."

A second video, time-stamped Dec. 21 and Dec. 22, was released Jan. 3. The hostages again called for the removal of U.S. troops from Iraq.

Since then, prayer vigils have been held in Kansas City, Minneapolis, Gainesville and Clarence, N.Y., outside Buffalo.

In Gainesville, Sigma Phi Epsilon placed a 20-foot yellow ribbon on the front of its house.

In Redding, Calif., Josh Munns's new home deal fell through.

There has been no communication from the captors.

Staff researcher Julie Tate in Washington contributed to this report.