Free Kidnapped by the Taliban by Dilip Joseph Page B

directions, they would execute us.
    “You have three days to deliver the money,” Haqqani said to me. For emphasis, he added another throat-slashing gesture.
    My heart sank at this statement. I worked for a small nonprofit, with only five full-time employees in the United States. We simply did not have thousands of dollars, let alone millions, set aside for emergencies. My family was in the same situation.
    Afghans who watch American movies and TV shows often have the impression that everyone in our country has servants and drives a sports car. Of course that isn’t true. My family was certainly not wealthy. I didn’t see how they could come up with funds that wouldeven come close to satisfying our captors. And even if they did raise some money, this was Thursday. In Afghanistan, the weekend off-days are Thursday and Friday. Then starting Friday night, banks would begin closing for the weekend in the United States.
    These men were not going to get any money in the next three days. There was no chance of satisfying their demands. None.
    Perhaps it’s a blessing that even in the midst of the most intense crisis, practical and routine matters will intervene to distract us. That was the case for me, when Haqqani finished with his demands and threats and left us to ponder the potentially dire consequences. As the first hints of dawn’s light filtered through the shack’s open doorway and window, I realized that I desperately needed to go to the bathroom.
    I told Rafiq, who secured permission for me to leave the shack. I didn’t know where I was and really had nowhere to go even if I wanted to attempt an escape, but I noticed that Hopeless had picked up his Kalashnikov and followed me out.
    I shuddered in the crisp morning chill and looked around. There was no cover, nothing but dirt and air. How am I going to find a little privacy? I wondered. Ah, what privacy? There’s no such thing out here.
    I picked out a spot about fifty yards from the shack. The night before, I had seen Hopeless squat somewhere near there to urinate. I didn’t want to offend my captors, so I tried to do the same. I have to admit, though, that between my long trousers and my unfamiliarity with the practice, I had more than a little trouble.
    Despite the seriousness of my predicament, I had to stifle a chuckle. If I do this wrong, I’m going to get shot while peeing. That would be the worst way to go! At least it would be quick. I’d already madeup my mind that I preferred to face death straight on, with no delay, rather than endure a lengthy torture.
    When I returned to the shack, I learned that it was time to walk again. Soon we were back on the trail, moving deeper into the mountains on the crisp, hazy morning. Was this going to be another marathon hike? I hoped not. But I had greater concerns than the nagging ache in my legs.
    As we again followed the rises and dips of a trail that only my captors understood, I found the silence unnerving. Since they were supposedly moving closer to achieving their goal, I expected them to clarify plans among themselves, perhaps even to show a smile or two. But there was no interaction at all, just a grim stillness.
    I couldn’t erase the threatening images of both Haqqani and Ahmed looking at me and cutting a hand across their throats. They seemed almost eager to put an end to me. On the other hand, they’d already had ample time and opportunity to kill me, and I was still here. Would this be my last day on earth? I had no answer. There was nothing else to do but keep walking and hoping.
    About an hour after we’d started up again, what looked like a two-story, mud-walled building appeared on the horizon. Smoke rose from the chimney. It was easily the largest structure I’d seen since the abduction. As we got closer, I noticed it had no windows. I wondered if it was a warehouse though I couldn’t imagine what might be stored there. Next to it I saw a cement rectangle about fifteen feet wide and thirty-five