Read Online A Rope and a Prayer by David Rohde, Kristen Mulvihill - Free Book Online

university-educated and religious Afghan who hails from the southern province of Zabul. He has two wives and is the father of seven children, all of whom he moved to Kabul three years ago. He opposed the 2001 invasion of Afghanistan and like many Afghans now views the American and NATO troop presence as a foreign occupation. He is deeply disappointed with the United States’ failure to deliver on its promises of stability and reconstruction. A proud Afghan nationalist, he is tired of meddling by foreign countries in his country and wants Afghans to be allowed to decide their own fate.
    Asad is twenty-four years old and a scrappy Afghan survivor. He is rail thin, has jet-black hair and beard and dark eyes. Pashtun as well, his family originally hails from Khost province, but Asad was born and raised in Kabul. Married with two young sons, he has worked as a taxi driver in the city and a driver for Tahir and foreign journalists. He and Tahir have become close friends while working together for the past six years.
    After dark, someone knocks on the wall of the house and Qari ventures outside. I wonder if our Arab executioners have arrived. Qari and another guard walk in with freshly cooked rice, bread, and meat, as well as bottled water. The guard, whose name is Akbar, profusely apologizes for his lateness. He says Atiqullah has ordered him to see to all our needs. I believe Akbar is the same guard who whispered “no shoot, no shoot” to me on the first day of the kidnapping. The kind treatment surprises and encourages me.
    On the second day, Akbar brings us new clothes and warm blankets. I appreciate the good treatment but I am becoming more concerned. There is no word on negotiations. I still hope Abu Tayyeb will hear what has happened and somehow rescue us. Atiqullah is nowhere to be seen and Tahir is barred from calling any of his Taliban contacts.
    That afternoon, I decide to pretend I’m sick in the hope it will pressure our captors into resolving our case. After forty-eight hours in one room, Tahir and Asad are increasingly frustrated. I am furious that Kristen and my family are suffering. I go to the bathroom, put my finger in my mouth, and make myself loudly vomit. I return to the room, tell the guards that the food is making me sick, and curl up under a blanket. The guards appear alarmed and I think they call Atiqullah. I make myself vomit once more that evening.
    The following day, our third in the house, I make myself vomit several times and spend the day lying on the floor playing sick. The guards appear anxious. After dinner, there is a knock on the exterior wall. I expect a concerned Atiqullah to stride through the door. Instead, a young Taliban doctor does.
    To my amazement, he speaks English and carries a fully equipped medical bag, replete with a blood pressure gauge, antibiotics, and an intravenous drip. The doctor takes my blood pressure and gives me an injection that he says will make me feel better. I am afraid the needle is dirty but notice it is wrapped in new plastic. I have no choice but to acquiesce to treatment. I am surprised—and depressed—by the Taliban’s infrastructure in Afghanistan. They appear to be well supplied and feel that they are firmly in control of the area where we are being held.
    The fourth day, Qari allows us to sit outside in the small walled courtyard. A few hours later, he lets Tahir play a game on his cell phone. I suggest that Tahir try to text “track this phone” or a similar message to the Kabul bureau from Qari’s mobile when he is not paying attention. Tahir agrees. When he asks for the phone a second time, Qari is suspicious. He notices that Tahir and I have been talking quietly beforehand. He starts shouting in Pashto. Tahir says he accuses us of trying to send a text message. We deny it. Qari denounces us as liars. Enraged, and irrational, he picks up his Kalashnikov, points it at Tahir’s chest, and threatens to shoot him.
    Tahir stares back, unmoved. The