A Rope and a Prayer by David Rohde, Kristen Mulvihill

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