The communications expert handed the TAC-SAT to General Rodgers. "It's Mr. Herbert," Honda said.
Colonel August was sitting beside Rodgers in the forward-facing seats. The men exchanged glances.
"Thank you," Rodgers said to Honda.
The corporal returned to his seat. Rodgers picked up the receiver.
"There are parachutes onboard, Bob," Rodgers said. "For us?"
"Paul's given the go-ahead for an expedited search-and-recover of the cell," Herbert said.
"Expedited" was spy-speak for "illegal." It meant that an operation was being rushed before anyone could learn about it and block it. It also meant something else. They were probably going to be jumping into the Himalayas. Rodgers knew what that meant.
"We have the target spotted," Herbert went on. "Viens is following them through the mountains. They're at approximately nine thousand feet and heading northwest toward the line of control. They're currently located thirty-two miles due north of the village of Jaudar."
Rodgers removed one of the three "playbooks" from under the seat. It was a fat black spiral-bound notebook containing all the maps of the regions. He found the town and moved his finger up. He turned to the previous page where the map was continued. Instead of just brown mountains there was a big dagger-shaped slash of white pointing to the lower left.
"That puts them on direct course for the Siachin Glacier," Rodgers said.
"That's how our people read it," Herbert said. "They can't be carrying a lot of artillery. It would make sense for them to head somewhere the elements might help them. Cold, blizzards, avalanches, crevasses--it's a fortress or stealth environment if they need it."
"Assuming it doesn't kill them," Rodgers pointed out.
"Trying to go through any lower would definitely kill them," Herbert replied. "The NSA intercepted a SIG-INT report from a Russian satellite listening in on the line of control. Several divisions have apparently moved out and are headed toward the glacier."
"Estimated time of encounter?" Rodgers asked.
"We don't have one," Herbert said. "We don't know if the divisions are airborne, motorized, or on foot. We'll see what else comes through the Russian satellite."
"Can General Orlov help us with this?" Rodgers asked.
Sergei Orlov was head of the Russian Op-Center based in St. Petersburg. General Orlov and Hood had a close personal and professional relationship. Striker leader Lt. Colonel Charles Squires died during a previous joint undertaking, helping to prevent a coup in Russia.
"I asked Paul about that," Herbert said. "He doesn't want to involve them. Russian technology helps drive the Indian war machine. Indian payoffs drive Russian generals. Orlov won't be able to guarantee that anyone he contacts will maintain the highest-level security status."
"I'm not convinced we can guarantee HLS status from the NSA," Rodgers replied.
"I'm with you on that," Herbert said. "I'm not sure Hank Lewis patched up all the holes Jack Fenwick drilled over there. That's why I'm giving information to Ron Friday on a need-to-know basis. He's moving up to Jaudar with a Black Cat officer and the grandfather of the CNO informant who's traveling with the cell."
"Good move," Rodgers said.
"We're also trying to get regular weather updates from the Himalayan Eagles," Herbert said. "But that could all change before you arrive. By the way, how are your new hosts treating you?"
"Fine," Rodgers said. "They gave us rations, the gear is all here, and we're on schedule."
"All right," Herbert said. "I'll give you the drop coordinates at H-hour minus fifteen."
"Confirmed," Rodgers said.
The general looked at his watch. They had three hours to go. That left them just enough time to pass out the gear, check it out, suit up, and review the maps with the team.
"I'll check back in when I have more intel for you," Herbert said. "Is there anything else you need?"
"I can't think of anything, Bob," Rodgers said.
There was a short silence. Mike Rodgers knew what was coming. He had heard the change in Herbert's voice during that last question. It had gone from determined to wistfulness.
"Mike, I know I don't have to tell you that this is a shitty assignment," Herbert said.
"No, you don't," Rodgers agreed. He was flipping through the magnified views of the region of the drop. Never mind the terrain itself. The wind-flow charts were savage. The currents tore through the mountains at fifty to sixty-one miles an hour. Those were gale-force winds.
"But I do have to point out that you aren't a part of Striker," Herbert went on. "You're a senior officer of the NCMC."
"Cut to the chase," Rodgers told him. "Is Paul going to order me to stay behind?"
"I haven't discussed this with him," Herbert said. "What's the point? You've disobeyed his orders before."
"I have," Rodgers said. "Kept Tokyo from getting nuked, if I remember correctly at my advanced age."
"You did do that," Herbert said. "But I was thinking that it might help if we had someone on-site to liaise with the Indian government."
"Send one of the guys the FBI tucked into the embassy," Rodgers said. "I know they're there and so do the Indians."
"I don't think so," Herbert replied.
"Look, I'll be happy to talk to whatever officials I have to from the field," Rodgers said. The general leaned forward. He huddled low over the microphone. "Bob, you know damn well what we're facing here. I've been looking at the charts. When we drop into the mountains the wind alone is going to hammer us. We stand a good chance of losing people just getting onto the ground."
"I know," Herbert said.
"Hell, if they didn't need to fly the plane I'd bring the Indian crew down with me. Let them help save their own country," Rodgers continued. "So don't even try to tell me that I shouldn't do what we're asking Striker to do. Especially not with what's at stake."
"Mike, I wasn't thinking about Striker or the rest of the world," Herbert replied. "I was thinking about an old friend with football-damaged, forty-seven-year-old knees. A friend who could hurt Striker more than help them if he got injured on an ice-landing."
"If that happens I'll order them to leave me where I land," Rodgers assured him.
"They won't."
"They will," Rodgers said. "We'll have to do that with anyone who's hurt." He hung up the receiver and motioned for Corporal Honda to come back and reclaim the TAC-SAT. Then he rose.
"I'll be right back," Rodgers said to August.
"Is there anything we need to do?" August asked.
Rodgers looked down at him. August was in an uncomfortable spot. Rodgers was one of the colonel's oldest and closest friends. He was also a superior officer. That was one of the reasons August had turned down this job when it was first offered to him. It was often difficult for the colonel to find a proper balance between those two relationships. This was one of those times. August also knew what was at risk for his friend and the team.
"I'll let you know in a few minutes," Rodgers said as he walked toward the cockpit.
Walked on rickety knees that were ready to kick some ass.
THIRTY-ONE
Jaudar, Kashmir Thursday, 3:33 P.M.
The problem with flying an LAHR--low-altitude helicopter reconnaissance--in a region like the Himalayas is that there is no room for error.
From the pilot's perspective, keeping the aircraft steady is practically impossible. The aircraft shakes along the x- and y-axes, the horizontal and vertical, with occasional bumps in the diagonal. Keeping the chopper within visual range of the target area is also problematic. It's often necessary for the pilot to move suddenly and over considerable distances to get around violent air pockets, clouds that blow in and impede the view, or snow and ice squalls. Just keeping the bird aloft is the best that can be hoped for. Whatever intel the observer can grab is considered a gift, not a guarantee.
Wearing sunglasses to cut down on the glare, and a helmet headset to communicate with Captain Nazir in the noisy cabin,
Ron Friday alternately peered through the front and side windows of the cockpit. The American operative cradled an MP5K in his lap. If they spotted the terrorists there might be a gunfight. Hopefully, a few bursts in the air from the submachine gun would get them to stop shooting and listen. If not, he was prepared to back off and snipe one or two of them with the 1ASL in the gun rack behind him. If Captain Nazir could keep the chopper steady, the large sharpshooter rifle had greater range than the small arms the terrorists were probably carrying. With a few of them wounded, the others might be more inclined to let Friday land and approach them. Especially if he promised to airlift them to medical assistance in Pakistan.
Apu was seated on a fold-down chair in the spacious cargo area. It wasn't so much a chair as a hinged plastic square with a down cushion on top. The farmer was leaning forward, peering through a hatchway that separated the cargo section from the cockpit. Apu wore an anxious look as he gazed out through the window. Friday was good at reading people's expressions. He was not just concerned about finding his granddaughter. There was a sense of despair in his eyes, in the sad downturn of his mouth. Perhaps Apu had been in the mountains as a young man. He had had some idea what was beyond the foothills. But Apu had certainly never gone this far, never this high. He had never gazed down at the barren peaks. He had never heard the constant roar of the wind over powerful 671 kW rotors, or felt that wind batter an aircraft, or experienced the cold that blasted through the canvas-lined metal walls. The farmer knew that unless they found Nanda the chances were not good that she would survive.
The chopper continued toward the line of control without any of the occupants spotting the terrorists. Friday was not overly concerned. They still had the southward trip along the other side of the range to go.
Suddenly, something happened that Friday was not expecting. He heard a voice in his helmet. A voice that did not belong to Captain Nazir.
"Negative zone three," said the very faint, crackling voice. "Repeat: negative zone three." A moment later the voice was gone.
Friday made sure the headset switch on the communications panel was set on "internal" rather than "external." That meant they were communicating only with the cockpit instead of an outside receiver.
"Who is that?" Friday asked.
Nazir shook his head slowly. "It's not control tower communication." The wheel was shaking violently. He did not want to release his two-handed grip. "Do you see that yellow button below the com-panel?" he asked.
"Yes," Friday said.
"That's the nosedome antenna," Nazir said. "Push it once then push on the external signal again."
Friday did. As soon as the button was depressed the voices began to come in more clearly. Other zones were checking in. There was also a blip on the small green directional map. The signal was coming from the northwest. Friday switched back to internal communications.
"We'd better check it out," Friday said.
"It cannot be a Pakistani search party," Nazir said. "They would not communicate on this frequency."
"I know," Friday replied. "The line of control isn't far from here. I'm worried that it could be an Indian unit moving in."
"A sweep coming down through different zones," Nazir said. "That would be a standard search-and-rescue maneuver. Should we do a flyover?"
"Why?" Friday asked.
"They may have intelligence on the cell's location that we do not," Nazir said. "The direction they are headed may tell us something."
"No," Friday said. He continued to look out the window. "I don't want to waste the time or fuel."
"What do we do if they contact us?" Nazir asked. "Radar at the line of control may pick us up as we near the end of the range. They may ask us to help with the search."
"We'll tell them we're on routine reconnaissance and were about to turn back to Kargil," Friday said.
Apu stuck his small, strong hand through the opening. He tapped Friday on the shoulder. "Is everything all right?" he yelled.
Friday nodded. Just then, about one hundred feet below, he saw snow billowing from under an overhang.
"Hold!" Friday barked at Nazir.
The helicopter slowed and hovered. Ron Friday leaned toward the side. The puffs of snow were concentrated in a small area and inching toward the north. They could be caused by an animal picking its way across the cliff or they could be the result of a wind funnel. It was impossible to tell because of the overhang. The sun was behind the top of the peak and unable to throw shadows behind or in front of the region.
"Do you see that?" Friday asked.
Nazir nodded.
"Take her down and away slowly," Friday said.
The chopper simultaneously began to descend and angle away from the cliff. As the target peak filled less and less of the window, the vastness of the range loomed behind it. The layers upon layers of brownish-purple mountains were a spectacular sight. Snow covered the peaks and Friday could actually see it falling on some of the nearer mountains, off-white sheets like stage scrims. The sun cut a rainbow through one of the storm centers. It was a massive arc, more brilliant than any Friday had ever seen. Though Friday did not have time to enjoy the view, it made him feel for a moment like a god.
They dropped nearly one hundred feet. As they did, three people came into view. They were slightly more than two hundred feet away. The three were walking close together. Each one was wearing dark, heavy clothing and carrying a backpack and weapon. They did not stop or look over at the helicopter until the rotor wash stirred the snow on the ledge beneath their feet. Given the parka tops they were wearing and the low rumble of the wind, Friday was not surprised they did not hear the chopper.
"Is Nanda there?" Apu asked.
Friday could not tell who the three people were. He was disappointed to see that only three of them had gotten this far. Unless--
"Take us back up and head north!" he shouted.
Captain Nazir pulled the U-shaped wheel toward him and the chopper rose. As it did, the tail rotor and starboard side of the cargo area were struck by short, hard blows. Friday could not hear them but he could feel the craft shudder. He could also see the thin shafts of white daylight appear suddenly in the bottom half of the cargo bay.
"What is it?" Nazir yelled.
"They think we are the enemy!" Apu shouted.
"It's a setup!" Friday snarled. "They broke into two groups!"
The chopper wobbled and Friday could hear the portside tail rotor clanging. The weapon fire from the stern had obviously damaged the blades. If they had not pulled up when they did the chopper would probably be plunging tail first into the rocky, mist-shrouded valleys below. As it was, Captain Nazir was having trouble keeping the Ka-25 steady and moving forward, much less gaining altitude. A moment later the chopper stopped climbing altogether.
"I'm losing her!" Nazir said. "And we're leaking fuel."
Friday looked at the gauge and swore. They had already off-loaded whatever gear they were carrying in the back. The only thing left was the fixed-winch. There was no extra weight they could push out. There probably was not time to get rid of it in any case.
Friday looked out the window as the chopper began to shudder violently. The rainbow vanished as the sun's angle changed. He no longer felt like a god but like a grade-A sucker. Of all the damn tricks to fall for. A freaking sleight of hand, a sucker punch. The operative studies the unthreatening team while a backup unit, either hidden or on another side, tears you a new exit.
"You're going to have to set us down anywhere you can!" Friday said urgently.
"I'm looking for a spot," Nazir said. "I don't see one."
A sudden fist of wind turned them nearly forty-five degrees so they were facing the cliff. A second burst of gunfire, this time from the group in front, tore at the undercarriage. The chopper lurched and dropped. They were at the top of a valley. Friday could not see what was below them because of a thick mist. But he did not want to go down there. He did not want to lose the cell and he did not want to be here wh
en the nukes went off.
"I've got to go down while we still have power for a controlled landing," Nazir said.
"Not yet," Friday said. He unbuckled his seatbelt. "Apu, back up."
"What are you going to do?" Nazir asked.
"I'm going to crawl into the back," Friday said. "Do you have forward and aft mobility?"
"Limited," he said. "One of the tail rotors is still working."
"All right," Friday said. "If you can turn the stern toward the peak, Apu and I might be able to use the winch line to rappel to one of the ledges."
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