| | Beating the Drum
But as months passed, demand for interviews faded, and the Maupins realized it was up to them to keep their son's case in the limelight.
So in August 2004, the Maupins opened the Yellow Ribbon Support Center in a strip mall on the outskirts of Cincinnati. They've raised thousands of dollars for scholarships and computers for troops in Iraq.
The Yellow Ribbon center has a front room plastered with pictures and paintings of Sgt. Maupin, POW/MIA emblems and cards of support. In the back are shelves stocked with deodorant, shampoo and candy to send to Iraq.
Each box the center sends out contains 10 photos of Sgt. Maupin. A sticker on the back of each reads, "Please place me in your bible and say a prayer for me. I'm captured in Iraq, and prayers can set me free."
The military used to make frequent appearances at the center and at Mrs. Maupin's home, but that has dwindled to four visits a year, the Maupins say. They haven't received any new updates for some time, and they worry the Army has reached the limit of what it will do for their son.
Rear Adm. Gregory Smith, a U.S. military spokesman in Iraq, says the search for Sgt. Maupin and the other missing-captured soldiers continues and won't stop until they are found, alive or dead.
The military pays for the couple to fly to Washington every three months for a briefing. They've also met President Bush in private meetings on Air Force One and in limousine meetings when he's in the Cincinnati area. Mr. Bush has also met them at the Pentagon and called them on several occasions to ask how they are doing.
Mr. Maupin, his beard long and scraggly, says he won't shave until his son returns. "I want them to resolve this," he says. "They sure as hell are not going to leave him in Iraq."
In Batavia, homes, storefronts and Sgt. Maupin's old high school are plastered with yellow ribbons, flags and signs of support. Mrs. Maupin replaces yellow ribbons and bows near her home every two weeks.
She still buys Christmas gifts for Matt, piling them up in his packed room filled with letters, POW/MIA flags and gifts from around the world. In her dining room is what she calls her 365-day Christmas tree, displayed year round. She won't take it down until her son comes home.
Iraqi-U.S. Saga
Nawal and Kousay Altaie sent their son to the U.S. in 1979 to join his older brother in the hopes he'd have a better life there. Initially, he lived with relatives in Dearborn, Mich., which has a large Arab-American population. Weary of life under Saddam Hussein, the couple joined their sons in Michigan in 1993.
After attending high school in Detroit, Sgt. Altaie worked as a mechanic at different airports around the country and on the side was studying to become an engineer like his father. After the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, he lost his job and spent months trying to figure out what to do next.
Like many Iraqi-Americans, he decided to visit his native country with his parents after the U.S. invasion in 2003. Sgt. Altaie enjoyed life back home, meeting a woman he would eventually marry. When he returned to the U.S. several months later, he decided to join the Army Reserves to help his native country and his adopted one.
He was twice the age of most of the recruits and found the physical requirements of basic training strenuous. But completing the training boosted his confidence.
He arrived in Iraq in November 2005 as a translator for a military reconstruction team in Baghdad. The group was based in the tightly guarded "Green Zone," controlled by American forces.
"He seemed happier," his mother says. "We worried about him, but we thought he was in the Green Zone, so maybe he was safer."
But Sgt. Altaie also took chances outside the Green Zone. On several occasions, he left base to run errands and visit his wife, whom he had married earlier in the year. That was against military rules, and he kept his excursions secret.
Risky Venture
One day in late October 2006, the 41-year-old Sgt. Altaie sneaked into town and visited several mechanics to get his new motorcycle fixed. Later, he met a friend. Just after 4 p.m., he made his way toward his wife's home in the then-volatile Karrada neighborhood of Baghdad to celebrate the first day of the Muslim holiday, Eid al-Fitr.
As Sgt. Altaie approached his wife's home, several men in three vehicles pulled up and grabbed him. At the time, Sgt. Altaie was on the phone with the friend he had just visited; the friend heard the sound of a phone dropping and of Sgt. Altaie's wife screaming, begging the captors to let him go.
Handcuffing him, the gunmen threw him in the back of a car. The friend called Sgt. Altaie's phone 10 minutes later, and an unidentified man answered, saying Sgt. Altaie had been taken by the Mahdi Army, the militia controlled by Mr. Sadr.
The friend, who declined to be named because he is worried about family in Baghdad, immediately called the Altaies in Michigan. When Kousay Altaie heard the news, he slammed his fist on a table. The family started calling relatives in Iraq to see if any could help their son. They also called the U.S. Army.
Officials hadn't known Sgt. Altaie had left the Green Zone. After they heard of the kidnapping, commanders deployed more than 2,000 troops to Sadr City, a neighborhood under the effective control of the Mahdi Army, and elsewhere. They set up checkpoints and blocked off swaths of Baghdad.
Under pressure from Mr. Sadr, Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki protested the lockdown, and the U.S. military eventually relented, re-opening the area to traffic. But tensions flared. Troops clashed with Mahdi Army gunmen. U.S. raids, air strikes and arrests continued. The U.S. military announced a $50,000 reward for information on the missing soldier.
In Ann Arbor, Federal Bureau of Investigation agents and military officials converged on the Altaie home, wiretapping phones in case the kidnappers called and interviewing relatives. The family called on a well-connected relative, Nawal Altaie's brother, who worked for Ahmed Chalabi's Iraqi National Congress, which had been a major ally of the U.S.
Three days after Sgt. Altaie's disappearance, the kidnappers emailed a ransom demand to his family, asking for $250,000. The Altaies asked for proof their son was still alive before they paid, but they never heard back from the kidnappers.
Months passed without any news. Then, on Feb. 14, 2007, CNN aired a video of Sgt. Altaie. His lips were moving, but the video had no sound. Militants who called themselves the Ahl al-Bayt brigade issued a statement: "We warn the American people of the result of sending their soldiers to Iraq so they don't face the same fate."
The Altaies were overjoyed to see their son alive. But they also thought he looked tired. It's the last substantiated news they've had.
Lack of Sympathy
Mrs. Altaie considered going on Arab television to appeal for her son's release, but her husband ruled against it, fearing it would anger the captors. They heard an Arab television commentator question why there was so much attention aimed at Sgt. Altaie when many Iraqis were suffering and his family was in America, safe and living a good life.
It seemed to the Altaies that other Arabs didn't have much sympathy for them, and this was all the more reason to keep quiet, the family thought. The Altaies have considered visiting Iraq, but have been warned that they too could be kidnapped.
The visits and calls from the military have faded. Military officials have said they believe Sgt. Altaie is still alive, but they have offered no evidence to support that belief.
"We just want to know what happened to him," Mrs. Altaie says. "They don't have news for us anymore."
A yellow ribbon and plastic yellow rose, given to them by a neighbor, hangs above a "Support Our Troops" sign on the front door of the Altaie's two-story home in a quiet co-op complex. The Altaies didn't understand what the ribbon and rose symbolized until the neighbor told them.
The Altaies spend most of their days watching Arab television and seeing relatives or Iraqi friends in their living room, which is decorated with sayings from the Koran and a few family pictures. There are three photos of Sgt. Altaie. Mrs. Altaie weeps when she remembers how her son used to call her nearly every morning to let her know he was okay.
She isn't interested in talking to other families of missing soldiers. She worries her English isn't good enough, and she knows talking to them won't bring her son back.
"When Ahmed comes back, we'll have a big party and invite everyone," she says.
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