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

prided myself on being able to stay calm in tense situations. And this is not my first brush with terror. I live a few blocks from Ground Zero. I recall the shock of being displaced for three months following the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the exhaustion, uncertainty. And all my adrenaline-fueled mistakes: forgetting to eat, sleep, and rest. What I learned then protects me now. On my way to Boston, I resolve to take better care of myself this time around, and to call on family and friends for support when necessary.
    It’s 9:30 P.M. when I arrive at Logan Airport. I wait in the sterile baggage terminal. It’s Monday night. A bit deserted. No one else in David’s family has been alerted aside from his brother Lee. By chance I hear from my own brother, Jason. He is calling to check in and catch up. All he knows is that I returned from my honeymoon three weeks ago and started a new job. I try to keep my voice calm and upbeat. Jason is exuberant chatting about what a great time he had at our wedding at our family’s home in Maine. My sister-in-law chimes in on speakerphone. They are both so happy for us.
    When he takes me off speakerphone, I ask if I can tell him a secret. “This is going to sound so far-fetched,” I say. “I am sitting at Logan. David went into an interview and never returned. We think he’s alive, but do not know where he is.” My brother is a rock. I know he feels terrible for me, but I also know he will not share this information with anyone.
    I meet Lee and his wife, Christie. Their two-year-old is asleep in her stroller. We drive to their home in coastal New Hampshire. The last time I was here was five months ago, during a visit with David. It’s about eleven o’clock, an exhausting seven hours after I first heard the news. Tonight, none of us will get any sleep.
     
     
    At eight the next morning, Lee and I go over to the local FBI office, which is nestled discreetly in a bland suburban 1980s-style office park. We are greeted by several agents. This, I will learn, is typical. They travel in packs. They sport clean haircuts and monosyllabic names: Jim, Tom, John, Joe. One would be hard-pressed to pick any of them out of a police lineup. They are nondescript and practically identical in their uniformity.
    The FBI is the lead agency in all kidnappings of American citizens, whether at home or abroad. We are a bit baffled, though, as to why we were instructed to meet them in New Hampshire, given that David and I live in New York. It turns out to be agency protocol, which was set in motion when the newspaper’s Kabul bureau notified the U.S. Embassy that David did not return from the interview. The case was immediately reported to the FBI, then to David’s employer. The newspaper then called Lee, who is still listed as David’s emergency contact. I make a note to update this information when David returns. Because Lee’s phone number bears a New Hampshire area code, local field agents there were assigned to get in touch with our family. If I was the contact, we’d be having this meeting in New York City.
    The local case agent informs us that David was abducted along with his driver and translator as they headed to interview a Taliban commander outside Kabul. I proceed to reel off the name of everyone David has mentioned to me in the past two and a half years who is affiliated with Afghanistan, Pakistan, and the United States government. It’s a long list. The interview is largely a one-way flow of information. As we talk about the situation, I begin to feel like I am better versed in the tribal areas of Pakistan and the nuances of Afghan culture than the local agents. This is a little disturbing, since most of what I know is limited to what I have absorbed from David—and from visiting his colleagues, briefly traveling with him to Pakistan, and reading popular books like Three Cups of Tea and The Kite Runner .
    Lee is asked to provide a DNA sample, a cheek swab. This is to help identify David in a