by David Rohde
After eleven hours, our hike finally ends. The guards light a fire, and we warm our hands as we wait for a vehicle to pick us up. For a brief moment, there is camaraderie. We are all bone tired and happily crouch around the warm flames.
I stand up for a moment and walk back and forth to stretch my aching legs. I notice that none of the guards have their Kalashnikov assault rifles at their sides. Instead, one lies on the ground near Asad and another lies near where I am walking. If I move fast enough, I can grab a rifle, signal to Asad to do the same and we can kill Atiqullah and the guards.
As I walk back and forth, I glance at the rifle’s safety mechanism but try not to draw attention to myself. I fired rifles while hunting for deer with my father as a teenager and fired them at ranges with my uncle in Colorado as a college student. I am not sure, though, how to disable a Kalashnikov’s safety and shoot rounds. The stakes are enormous. Grabbing the weapon could lead to all three of us being immediately shot.
I look at Tahir and Asad and cannot catch their eyes. At the same time, I am not sure I am ready to kill anyone—something I have never done before. I decide to wait. I don’t want to risk Tahir and Asad’s lives without a clear signal from them.
Roughly fifteen seconds later, Atiqullah notices the situation and angrily orders his men to pick up their rifles. Later, I see that several guards are also standing watch on a nearby hillside. For months, I will think of the moment and wonder what would have happened if I had grabbed the rifle. On many days, I will wish that I had picked up the gun.
The one-handed commander arrives in the same station wagon. Atiqullah tells us that he has pretended to be a civilian and driven past the American base. We climb into the vehicle. Exhausted and anxious, I tell myself that Asad is wrong and Atiqullah is right. I tell myself that we are heading into southern Afghanistan, not Pakistan. I tell myself we will survive.
CRASH COURSE
Kristen, November 12, 2008
My mother comes back to New York with me. For the next seven months, we become intermittent roommates, a fact that in turns disturbs and comforts me. I haven’t lived with my parents since I was a teenager. Now I’m married, approaching forty, and not eager to revert to an adolescent’s existence. But over the months, our relationship grows. In fact, we relate to each other on a more mature level. She becomes, in the end, my hero—and David’s, by a strange twist of circumstance.
We are met at Penn Station by two FBI agents. Cathy is tall, blonde, chatty. John is a large, solid man. An unfortunate incident years earlier involving a child captive and a grenade has left him deaf in one ear. Both are middle-aged. Cathy has two children. Dressed in high-heel pumps and stylishly coiffed, she looks like the consummate Manhattan career woman. One would never suspect she is a federal law enforcement agent.
They escort me to The New York Times building, an imposing glass skyscraper that fills a solid block on the edges of Times Square, right in the middle of Manhattan. An impromptu meeting has been called by the newspaper’s executive editor, Bill Keller. In the bright, modern lobby, hundreds of miniature screens telegraph type from the newspaper’s daily stories. Trees are encased in a glass courtyard opposite the reception desk. Security guards wave us through the sleek turnstiles to the elevator bank.
On the eighteenth floor, I am greeted by Arthur Sulzberger, Jr., the paper’s publisher, and escorted into a large interior conference room. Senior staff members are assembled, including David’s editors in the investigations unit, the foreign editor who occasionally sends him overseas, the newsroom’s administrative editor, and its assistant general counsel, David McCraw. McCraw will become a daily fixture in my life for the next seven and a half months and the point person between me, the newspaper, and security experts. David’s brother Lee is on speakerphone.
Everyone in the room appears to be seasoned and serious. I feel like I’ve stepped into a New Yorker cartoon but I’m not quite sure of the punch line. David has worked at the paper for twelve years. Most of his colleagues have known him longer than I have. I am overwhelmed by the number of people already involved in his case, and by the visible display of emotion before me. Several of his colleagues have tears in their eyes. Bill Keller calmly tells me that our family has the full support of The New York Times staff and that the paper will work with us to secure David’s release. They will honor our family’s wish to keep David’s case out of the press. Lee and I have agreed this is the best course of action at the moment. We think, as the FBI cautioned us, that publicity will only increase David’s value as a hostage. And we know that David would not want to be the subject of a news story.
Rejecting my first impulse to crawl under the conference table, I resolve not to be visibly intimidated or upset. There is already enough to handle without the paper having the sense that they need to manage my emotions as well. I want to know as much as possible about my husband’s circumstances. So I maintain a tough front. I also feel that if I fall apart, the Taliban will win this crude game of psychological warfare. Falling apart is not an option, philosophically or practically. It is not quite clear how we will work with the newspaper to resolve David’s situation or how decisions will be made. I have vague concerns that our agendas could diverge at some point. But for now, I am grateful not to be in this alone.
Cathy and John start preparing me for potential contact with David’s captors. Back in my apartment downtown, we begin my first training session.
It is nearly 9 P.M. and I have not been in touch with my office all day. I imagine how Cosmopolitan might present this situation, were they to run a dramatic first-person account: “When Danger Calls” or “What’s Holding Your Husband Captive?” But this is not a situation one can dress up with a provocative cover line.
In the event that I receive a call, the objective is to keep the captor or captive on the phone as long as possible, in the hope that the call can be traced. If the government can track the call, the military has a chance of going in and rescuing my husband, or so I’m told. That is, if he is still in Afghanistan. There is now some speculation that his captors will move him over the border, into the tribal areas of Pakistan where it is easier for the Taliban to hide and the American military cannot carry out a raid.
I am slightly amused by the “high tech” recording device that is attached to my phone. It looks like the Sony Walkman I jogged with in junior high school.
I learn the key points:Ask if there is anything the captors or their “guests” require.
Humanize David by stating that you love him, miss him, etc.
Do not make any promises, but let the captors know you will try to work to meet their demands.
Avoid setting deadlines, but try to get them to commit to a time to talk again, ideally on a regular basis.
Repeat what the captors say to indicate that you are listening and also to extend the length of the call.
Be deferential. Do not tell them to bug off or get angry with them.
Ask if the captors can put David on the phone. (It’s unlikely they would call with him in tow, but it never hurts to ask.)
Keep in mind, the Taliban are religious, “holy warriors.”
Mention that you are praying for your husband.
Appeal to their sense of honor.
Cathy assumes the roll of the kidnapper and we rehearse potential phone interactions for about an hour. We work off several scripts, mock conversations. The dialogue has been typed in capital letters and covers many of the talking points we discussed. We spread these out on the floor in front of the sofa. A tall, fair-haired New Yorker, Cathy looks and sounds nothing like a Taliban insurgent, so I hope I will be able to keep as calm when confronted with the real deal.
Cathy forewarns me about the following: “If the captors threaten to chop off a finger or kill David on the spot, don’t believe them. Stay strong. Chances are slim that they will actually do this. Remember, their goal is not to kill David, but to extort money from you. They will play on your emotions to do so. Chances are,
David is worth more to them alive than dead. Under the traditional tribal honor code of Pashtunwali—and out of sheer greed—they will treat him well and keep him alive.”
Over time I will come to realize that kidnapping is a global industry. It is as much a business for the consultants as it is for the kidnappers, due in part to U.S. policy on the kidnapping of American citizens. The U.S. government does not pay ransom, release prisoners, or negotiate with terrorists. Yet many of its officials, off the record, advise private citizens to do so. This creates a demand for services that is often fulfilled by contractors. I have taken my first steps into a large and complicated shadow world of public and private agencies devoted to aiding the families of kidnap victims. It can be an extremely lucrative business; whether it is also an effective one, as far as David is concerned, remains to be seen.
The FBI is the lead agency in kidnappings and proves quite helpful in facilitating my understanding of how the situation and negotiations might unfold. Yet they cannot advise on funds, carry them, directly negotiate, or disclose classified information. They cannot declassify information that has been classified by another government agency. They are not even involved in securing the victim’s release. In fact, they are only gathering information in hopes of prosecuting this crime in the future.
Over time our family becomes frustrated with the one-way flow of information. We often feel we’re helping the FBI a great deal more than they’re helping us, and we need someone dedicated to our goal, on our side. For these reasons, the paper along with Lee and I soon decide to hire an outside security firm to conduct negotiations.
I am suddenly thrust into an atmosphere of intrigue that is both political and personal. This is a sharp contrast to my daily life at the magazine, and to my entire world before November 10. My objective is to do everything possible to keep David alive, to leave no stone unturned in this process, and to stay sane and healthy.
Lee and I meet regularly with U.S. government officials, Pakistani officials, security contractors, and private advisers. I develop love-hate relationships with all of them. I eventually form a solid camaraderie with three people: my brother-in-law, the legal counsel for The New York Times, and one other individual, who is operating from overseas—a well-connected Irish national who tries to help via his own network in Pakistan.
As Cathy and John depart and my training comes to an end, I reflect on the long day behind me. I have embarked on a journey through uncertainty, intrigue, and duplicity. It will challenge all my previous understanding of what faith, love, and commitment mean. I think about David. My husband is a strong-willed, patient individual. Slow and steady wins the race is a phrase he often iterates. It is a philosophy of sorts. I am also comforted by the fact that David is most likely the sharpest person in the room, possessing a rare understanding of Afghan culture as well as human nature. And he is a cat with nine lives. I know he will do all he can to keep himself and his fellow captives alive. I know he wants to come home. This is my greatest hope.
Five days have passed since I first heard about the kidnapping, and I’ve made it through the initial shock. I am now on a steady incline—a steep learning curve. Everything seems beyond my control. I feel the need to gather as much information as possible to have some sense of David’s experience and understanding of the region.
David gave me the password to his e-mail account during a recent conversation from Afghanistan before he vanished. He does this periodically, when Internet access is limited, so I can check his account for important e-mails and relay information to him over the phone.
I log in to his e-mail account from my laptop while sitting on the couch. My sense of boundaries, privacy, and personal space are outweighed by the need to figure out what to do. I hope to find some clue about his situation. I look through the most recent e-mails for anything pertaining to Afghanistan or Logar Province, the site of the fateful interview. I am loosely familiar with some of David’s sources. I search for names of people known to be in the region at present and for whom he has expressed trust in the past.
I write to Marin Strmecki, an Afghanistan expert and former adviser to the Bush administration who also has contacts in the Afghan government. I e-mail the Pakistani journalist and Taliban expert Ahmed Rashid, whom I met with David on a trip to Pakistan in March 2008. He has written several books about Afghanistan and Pakistan, including Taliban and Descent into Chaos. He is moved by our situation and provides his personal assessment of what, perhaps, the motivation of the kidnappers might be. He advises me to keep the case out of the public eye for the moment. He does not think the Taliban will succumb to moral pressure—the argument that holding a journalist is wrong—and he warns that David could become a political pawn or bargaining chip if his case receives media attention.
David’s colleagues at the paper are tremendously supportive. Michael Moss, a friend of David’s and fellow reporter in the paper’s investigations unit, is monitoring David’s biography on Wikipedia. He edits out any reference to his recent abduction. He also adds a section about David’s coverage of Guantánamo Bay prisoners and stories on injustices in the Muslim world, in the hope that it will prove to the Taliban that David is a fair and impartial journalist, motivated to tell all sides of the story. Much to our dismay, someone in cyberspace keeps trying to reedit the page to inform readers of David’s kidnapping.
David’s editors and I begin reaching out to international advocacy groups to get their advice on whether to take the case public or keep it quiet. People from the Committee to Protect Journalists, Reporters without Borders, and Human Rights Watch brief us on situations with other journalists who were recently detained around the world. In most cases where the journalist has been held by a government or entity that is concerned with saving face, a public campaign has expedited the process of release. This was true for Alan Johnston, the BBC correspondent who was captured by a small militant group known as the Army of Islam in Gaza in 2007. In his case, Hamas put pressure on the Army of Islam to release him. His family and the BBC waged a global campaign for his release. He was freed four months later. But it appears that in cases where captives are being held by extremists with no direct link to a specific government, remaining private has proven more successful over time. This was true in the recent case of the Canadian journalist Melissa Fung, who was kidnapped in Afghanistan earlier this year. Her employer, CBC, requested a press blackout while negotiations were being conducted for fear that media attention would complicate matters or endanger her life. She was released on November 8—two days before David’s abduction—after Afghan intelligence officials detained the kidnapper’s mother.
One of David’s colleagues, a reporter in Kabul, expresses a strong desire to go public. We speak nightly on Skype. This, the reporter says, is what they would want if they were in David’s position. I have tremendous respect for this journalist, who is well versed in the nuances of Afghan culture. The reporter feels making the case public will pressure the Taliban to release David. The reporter tells me that most Afghans trust journalists and that recently Mullah Omar has declared that the Taliban should refrain from kidnapping journalists. The reporter thinks making a public campaign would speed David’s release. That said, the FBI and government officials believe it is difficult to gauge if, or how, the Taliban will react to public pressure. Even though we disagree, David’s colleague and I remain in close touch over the next few weeks because the bureau remains the point of contact for any initial communication from David’s captors.
The day-to-day tasks and sense of responsibility inherent in managing the kidnapping are overwhelming, and despite many opinions offered, isolating as well. I am desperate to find someone who has navigated this emotional terrain. I immediately think of Mariane Pearl, the wife of Daniel Pearl, the Wall Street Journal reporter who was abducted and killed by militants in Pakistan after 9/11. No one around me will actually say it, but everyone fears a repeat of the Daniel Pearl murder.
A copy of Mariane’s book about
her husband, A Mighty Heart, stares back at me from a bookshelf in my apartment. After days of resisting, I finally pick up the book and flip through the pages. The very last line is a quote from a story my husband wrote after visiting the site of Daniel Pearl’s imprisonment and execution in Pakistan. It is taken from his news account of the July 4, 2003, attack on a Shiite mosque in Quetta, led by the terrorist group Lashkar-e-Jhangvi, in which forty-eight worshippers were killed or mortally wounded. “Saying nothing, looking ‘very relaxed’ walking ‘here and there’ in the words of witnesses, the three unidentified gunmen killed and killed and killed here on Friday afternoon.”
I take it as a sign to contact Mariane.
We speak over the phone.
Calm and straightforward, Mariane immediately tries to console me. She’s heard about David’s case through the grapevine and emphasizes that it is very different from Danny’s.
“There were never any demands for Danny. We always thought it would be an act of terrorism.” At this point, most people assume David’s captors will want money or prisoners, because the captors have not gone public.
“Everyone will tell you not to go to Kabul. This is a personal decision.” With this and all other decisions to be made, she tells me to follow my gut.
The newspaper provides me with contact information for Jere Van Dyk, an American journalist who was kidnapped in Afghanistan last year and held in the tribal areas for forty-five days. He has been free for six months. I hope to learn something from his experience: how he was treated by his captors; how he stayed alive; how he was released. I want to know as much as possible, regardless of unpleasantness and disturbing details. It is better to know what is within the realm of expectation than to be surprised and horrified later.
