The man who was captured by the Taliban and survived
SEATTLE -- Imagine being taken captive by America's fiercest enemy.
That's what happened to Jere Van Dyk, a journalist and author from Vancouver, Washington. He survived 45 days in a mud cell while being held by the Taliban, and has now written a book about his experience.
Van Dyk grew up in Vancouver with his younger sister and brother. He ran track for the University of Oregon and went through basic training at Joint Base Lewis-McChord.
He worked for the late Sen. Henry Jackson and called the experience "a wonderful grad school." It was in his office that Van Dyk became interested in world politics.
"Scoop Jackson introduced me to the world of international affairs," he said.
As a young man, he told the story of being in Germany with his brother. They called their mother and asked if they could buy an old Volkswagen and drive to Asia.
"Neither one of us understands to this day why she said, 'Yes!'" he said.
The Van Dyk brothers ran out of money when they got to Afghanistan. Jere Van Dyk fell in love with the country which he described as "peaceful, exotic and exciting."
He first learned about the ancient tribal code, which dictates that you always "protect your guest." It's that code he believes eventually saved his life.
The heart of al-Qaida
Van Dyk went back to Afghanistan in 1981, as a correspondent for The New York Times. He traveled with the Mujahideen, trying to understand the fighters battling the Soviet Union. He developed contacts and knowledge that he thought would help him when he went back in 2008.
"I wanted to do the same thing with the Taliban, but it was also my own way of searching for who they really were. I began to think maybe, just maybe, I can cross that border. I can go and find out, using the contacts I had in this world that Americans don't understand," he said.
"I would go to the very heart of al-Qaida and the Taliban to find out what others couldn't do. I didn't register at the U.S. Embassy. I didn't talk to other journalists. I would eat in Afghan restaurants. I was completely trying to pass as an Afghan, deep in that culture, in order to win them over to find the information I didn't think anyone else could get."
Van Dyk, his translator and body guards had been hiking for eight hours, deep in the mountains toward the border with Pakistan, when he was taken captive, the terror of which he describes in his book. He knew he was in trouble when he spotted a small movement of black. It was the turban of a Taliban fighter.
"It was the Taliban. They came swarming down the mountain, spreading out, shouting, 'Kenna, kenna! Get down, get down!' holding their rifles and rocket launchers high. 'I'm dead,' I said to myself. 'I'm dead."'
Blindfolded, Van Dyk and the three others were taken to a dark mud cell, just 12 feet wide and 12 feet long. They were held for 45 days and let out for three minutes a day.
"When I got into the room, the first thing I looked for when they untied my blindfold was blood on the walls to see if it was a torture chamber. And I saw chains on the floor, and I knew I was in a Taliban prison deep in the mountains of Pakistan where no one could find me. No American soldiers could come. I was done for.
"The room was all baked mud, dirt floor, wood cots with rope mattresses and a straw roof. And total darkness. I could make someone out if they were close, but another few feet - I couldn't make that person out. It was pitch black."
No escape
Van Dyk thought of Danny Pearl, the American journalist beheaded by terrorists in Pakistan just six years earlier. Van Dyk's captors also forced him to speak on camera and insisted he convert to Islam.
"You can't escape so you go deep deep into yourself, and you think about things you've never thought before. For me, it was, 'Would I rather be beheaded or shot? How do I want to die? Did I live my life as I wished? Could I have done things differently?"'
As Van Dyk's nightmare grew darker, his family, including his sister in Lynnwood, waited helplessly for word. M'ylss Fruehling says she was most worried about the possibility of torture. Even death, she said, would be easier to take.
"He had such a passion for this area. It was his life," she said. "If he died, that was tolerable because he was doing what he loved, and he was where he wanted to be. But if he was tortured - I couldn't cope with that."
That worry for his siblings and their families causes Van Dyk to get very emotional. Through tears he said, "I think the hard part is you think of yourself as selfish. You have pride, but you put your family at risk and you make your family worry."
In the darkness of his cell, Van Dyk was finally given a lantern and a pencil and paper on which he wrote about the terror and uncertainty of not knowing if his captors would kill him. In the cell, he grew to mistrust the other men and fought for turf. He said they walked back and forth, like bears in a cave, and he always tried to win the favor of his jailers.
"You try to not be a coward, but never show you're proud. I would always give them the power, but it was a fine line between being a supplicant and a coward, because they would never respect a coward," he said.
To this day, he and his family don't know why the Taliban commander released him.
"He came in and sat three feet away from me. And his eyes are like cats eyes, gleaming staring at me and he said, 'Congratulations on escaping death,'" said Van Dyk.
His captors blindfolded him again, put him in a car and drove until they started walking. He became exhausted as they walked for hours.
"I could barely walk. I couldn't keep it up any longer, and they said, 'We're going to release you.' They said, 'Do not say anything to your government. We know where your family is. We will kill you."'
Finally they crossed a river and he met a man who worked for CBS, where Van Dyk had been working.
"A man came out of the darkness and handed me a CBS manager's card, and I knew then I might be OK," Van Dyk said through tears.
Van Dyk was brought to the U.S. Embassy, where the FBI took over.
"Within a day I was out of the country and on a plane. And the FBI brought me to New York and I thought, 'oh, the city is the same. People are living their lives.' They brought me back to my apartment, and I thought, 'Oh, it's still the same. But I'm different now."'
Van Dyk says the FBI negotiations for his release remain a mystery. His captors initially demanded $1.5 million and the release of three prisoners from Guantanamo. He doesn't know if those demands were ever met. He still gets threatening messages on his home phone. But he is finally coming out of a dark state of paranoia and isolation.
He was kidnapped in 2008, but Van Dyk says the FBI asked him to keep quiet about his release until now. His book is called "Captive, My Time as a Prisoner of the Taliban."
View images of Van Dyk's past >>>
That's what happened to Jere Van Dyk, a journalist and author from Vancouver, Washington. He survived 45 days in a mud cell while being held by the Taliban, and has now written a book about his experience.
Van Dyk grew up in Vancouver with his younger sister and brother. He ran track for the University of Oregon and went through basic training at Joint Base Lewis-McChord.
He worked for the late Sen. Henry Jackson and called the experience "a wonderful grad school." It was in his office that Van Dyk became interested in world politics.
"Scoop Jackson introduced me to the world of international affairs," he said.
As a young man, he told the story of being in Germany with his brother. They called their mother and asked if they could buy an old Volkswagen and drive to Asia.
"Neither one of us understands to this day why she said, 'Yes!'" he said.
The Van Dyk brothers ran out of money when they got to Afghanistan. Jere Van Dyk fell in love with the country which he described as "peaceful, exotic and exciting."
He first learned about the ancient tribal code, which dictates that you always "protect your guest." It's that code he believes eventually saved his life.
The heart of al-Qaida
Van Dyk went back to Afghanistan in 1981, as a correspondent for The New York Times. He traveled with the Mujahideen, trying to understand the fighters battling the Soviet Union. He developed contacts and knowledge that he thought would help him when he went back in 2008.
"I wanted to do the same thing with the Taliban, but it was also my own way of searching for who they really were. I began to think maybe, just maybe, I can cross that border. I can go and find out, using the contacts I had in this world that Americans don't understand," he said.
"I would go to the very heart of al-Qaida and the Taliban to find out what others couldn't do. I didn't register at the U.S. Embassy. I didn't talk to other journalists. I would eat in Afghan restaurants. I was completely trying to pass as an Afghan, deep in that culture, in order to win them over to find the information I didn't think anyone else could get."
Van Dyk, his translator and body guards had been hiking for eight hours, deep in the mountains toward the border with Pakistan, when he was taken captive, the terror of which he describes in his book. He knew he was in trouble when he spotted a small movement of black. It was the turban of a Taliban fighter.
"It was the Taliban. They came swarming down the mountain, spreading out, shouting, 'Kenna, kenna! Get down, get down!' holding their rifles and rocket launchers high. 'I'm dead,' I said to myself. 'I'm dead."'
Blindfolded, Van Dyk and the three others were taken to a dark mud cell, just 12 feet wide and 12 feet long. They were held for 45 days and let out for three minutes a day.
"When I got into the room, the first thing I looked for when they untied my blindfold was blood on the walls to see if it was a torture chamber. And I saw chains on the floor, and I knew I was in a Taliban prison deep in the mountains of Pakistan where no one could find me. No American soldiers could come. I was done for.
"The room was all baked mud, dirt floor, wood cots with rope mattresses and a straw roof. And total darkness. I could make someone out if they were close, but another few feet - I couldn't make that person out. It was pitch black."
No escape
Van Dyk thought of Danny Pearl, the American journalist beheaded by terrorists in Pakistan just six years earlier. Van Dyk's captors also forced him to speak on camera and insisted he convert to Islam.
"You can't escape so you go deep deep into yourself, and you think about things you've never thought before. For me, it was, 'Would I rather be beheaded or shot? How do I want to die? Did I live my life as I wished? Could I have done things differently?"'
As Van Dyk's nightmare grew darker, his family, including his sister in Lynnwood, waited helplessly for word. M'ylss Fruehling says she was most worried about the possibility of torture. Even death, she said, would be easier to take.
"He had such a passion for this area. It was his life," she said. "If he died, that was tolerable because he was doing what he loved, and he was where he wanted to be. But if he was tortured - I couldn't cope with that."
That worry for his siblings and their families causes Van Dyk to get very emotional. Through tears he said, "I think the hard part is you think of yourself as selfish. You have pride, but you put your family at risk and you make your family worry."
In the darkness of his cell, Van Dyk was finally given a lantern and a pencil and paper on which he wrote about the terror and uncertainty of not knowing if his captors would kill him. In the cell, he grew to mistrust the other men and fought for turf. He said they walked back and forth, like bears in a cave, and he always tried to win the favor of his jailers.
"You try to not be a coward, but never show you're proud. I would always give them the power, but it was a fine line between being a supplicant and a coward, because they would never respect a coward," he said.
To this day, he and his family don't know why the Taliban commander released him.
"He came in and sat three feet away from me. And his eyes are like cats eyes, gleaming staring at me and he said, 'Congratulations on escaping death,'" said Van Dyk.
His captors blindfolded him again, put him in a car and drove until they started walking. He became exhausted as they walked for hours.
"I could barely walk. I couldn't keep it up any longer, and they said, 'We're going to release you.' They said, 'Do not say anything to your government. We know where your family is. We will kill you."'
Finally they crossed a river and he met a man who worked for CBS, where Van Dyk had been working.
"A man came out of the darkness and handed me a CBS manager's card, and I knew then I might be OK," Van Dyk said through tears.
Van Dyk was brought to the U.S. Embassy, where the FBI took over.
"Within a day I was out of the country and on a plane. And the FBI brought me to New York and I thought, 'oh, the city is the same. People are living their lives.' They brought me back to my apartment, and I thought, 'Oh, it's still the same. But I'm different now."'
Van Dyk says the FBI negotiations for his release remain a mystery. His captors initially demanded $1.5 million and the release of three prisoners from Guantanamo. He doesn't know if those demands were ever met. He still gets threatening messages on his home phone. But he is finally coming out of a dark state of paranoia and isolation.
He was kidnapped in 2008, but Van Dyk says the FBI asked him to keep quiet about his release until now. His book is called "Captive, My Time as a Prisoner of the Taliban."
View images of Van Dyk's past >>>