Captive : my time as a prisoner of the Taliban / Jere Van Dyk.

Contents: [01] Author's note—[02] Prologue (p. 1-8)—[03] Part one : the way of the Pashtuns (p. 9-96)—[04] Part two : the God of my youth (p. 97-200)—[05] Part three : sixteen hours (p. 201-234)—[06] Part four : America (p. 235-254)—[07] Author's endnote (p. 255-256)—[08] Acknowledgments—Index.

Abstract: An American reporter's chilling account of being kidnapped and imprisoned by the Taliban, in the no-man's-land between Afghanistan and Pakistan.

Summary: I looked at the land and the canyons around us. Everything was rugged, rust-colored in the fading sun, starkly beautiful, jagged, and empty. The sun was behind us, almost gone now. We were walking easily, I looked ahead. We were in a valley. There was grass, and it was comforting. I wasn't tired. We walked on. I looked up and saw a black turban appear from behind a rock on the hill in front of us. I froze. Oh, my God. Oh no. it's not possible. I stared in disbelief. A tall, lanky man came up running, shouting, jumping over another rock, holding a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, and other men followed behind him. It was the Taliban. They come swarming down the mountain, spreading out, shouting, Kenna, kenna!—Get down, get down!—holding their rifles and rocket launchers high, like Indians attacking in an old Western movie. I'm dead, I said to myself. I'm dead. A small man was in the lead, holding a walkie-talkie and coming toward me. All my energy and strength disappeared. They stood around us, at least a dozen men with rifles and grenade launchers, all pointed at us. I didn't move. I was about to die. I felt weak, hopeless, frustrated, and trapped. I couldn't run. I couldn't do anything. I was dead. I was going to die—cover page.