Clancy, Tom - Op Center 8 - Line of Control

by Line of Control [lit]

  The invading Indonesian military had given cell phones to poor East

  Timorese civilians in what appeared to be a gesture of good will. The

  civilians were permitted to use the Indonesian military mobile

  communications service to make calls. The phones were not just phones

  but two-way radios. Civilians who had access to groups that were

  intensely loyal to imprisoned leader Xanana Gusmao were inadvertently

  used as spies to eavesdrop on nationalistic activities. Out of

  curiosity, Rodgers had asked a colleague in Australia's Department of

  Defense Strategy and Intelligence if the Indonesians had developed that

  themselves.

  He said they had not. The technology had come from Moscow. The Russians

  were also big suppliers of Indian technology.

  What was significant to Rodgers was that the radio function was

  activated by signals sent from the Indonesian military outpost in

  Baukau. The signals were sent after calls had indicated that one

  individual or another was going to be in a strategic location.

  Rodgers could not help but wonder if the home phone had somehow signaled

  the field phone to detonate the secondary blasts. The timing was too

  uncomfortably close to be coincidence.

  And the continuation of the signal at such regular intervals suggested

  that the terrorists were being tracked.

  Hell, it did more than suggest that, Rodgers told himself.

  And the more he thought about it, the more he began to realize that they

  might have a very nasty developing situation on their hands. The

  Pentagon's elite think tank, with the innocuous name of the Department

  of Theoretical Effects, called this process "computing with vaporware."

  Rodgers had always been good at that, back when the Pentagon still

  called it "domino thinking."

  He had to talk to Herbert about this.

  Rodgers called over to Ishi Honda. The communications man was lying on

  the tarmac with the TAC-SAT beside him.

  He came running over with the secure phone. Rodgers thanked him then

  squatted on the field beside the oblong unit and phoned Bob Herbert. He

  used the earphones so he could hear over the roar of landing and

  departing jets.

  Herbert picked up at once.

  "Bob, it's Mike Rodgers," the general said.

  "Glad to hear from you. Are you at Al?" Herbert asked.

  "Just landed," Rodgers said.

  "Listen, Bob. I've been thinking about this latest data you sent me.

  I've got a feeling that the Srinagar bombers have been tagged, maybe by

  someone on the inside." "I've got that same feeling," Herbert admitted.

  "Especially since we've been able to place the calls from field to home

  before that. They originated at a farm in Kargil. We notified the SFF.

  They sent over a local constable to check the place out. The farmer

  refused to say anything and they could not find his granddaughter. Ron

  and the SFF guy are going over first thing in the morning, see if they

  can't get more out of him."

  "None of this smells right," Rodgers said.

  "No, it doesn't," Herbert said.

  "And there's something else. The farmer's daughter and son-in-law were

  resistance fighters who died fighting the Pakistani invasion."

  "So the farmer certainly had a reason to be part of a conspiracy against

  the Free Kashmir Militia," Rodgers said.

  "In theory, yes," Herbert said.

  "What we're looking at now is whether there is a conspiracy and whether

  it could have involved the district police station that was home for the

  cell phone. Matt Stoll's gotten into their personnel files and my team

  is looking at the backgrounds of each officer. We want to see if any of

  them have connections with antiterrorist groups."

  "You realize. Bob, that if you find a link between the police and the

  Pakistani cell, we may have an unprecedented international incident on

  our hands," Rodgers said.

  "I don't follow," Herbert replied.

  "Just because they might have known about the attack and decided not to

  prevent it--"

  "I think it may have been more than that." Rodgers said.

  "There were three separate attacks. Only one of them conformed to the

  established m. o. of the Free Kashmir Militia, the bombing of the police

  station." "Wait a minute," Herbert said.

  "That's a big leap. You're saying the police could have planned this

  action themselves?

  That the Indians attacked their own temples--" "To coincide with the FKM

  attack, yes," Rodgers said.

  "But an operation like that would have to involve more than just the

  police in Kashmir," Herbert pointed out.

  "Especially if they're tracking and going to attempt to capture the

  cell, which is apparently the case."

  "I know," Rodgers replied.

  "Isn't it possible they do have help? From a group that is a little more

  involved than usual?" "The SFF," Herbert said.

  "Why not? That could be the reason they wanted the bazaar sealed and the

  Black Cats kept out," Rodgers said.

  Herbert thought for a moment.

  "It's possible," he agreed.

  "But it's also possible we're getting ahead of ourselves."

  "Better than being behind," Rodgers pointed out.

  "Touche," Herbert said.

  "Look. Let's see what Ron Friday and his partner turn up in the morning.

  I'll bring Paul up to date and let you know when we have anything else."

  "Sure," Rodgers said.

  "But while we're getting ahead of ourselves let's go one step further."

  "All right," Herbert said tentatively.

  "Striker is going in to Pakistan to look for nukes," Rodgers said.

  "What if we don't find very many or even none at all?

  Suppose the Indian government authorized the Srinagar attack just to

  rouse their population and pick a fight. A tight Pakistan cannot

  possibly win."

  "You think they'll respond with a nuclear strike?" Herbert said.

  "Why not?" Rodgers asked.

  "The world wouldn't stand for it!" Herbert replied.

  "What would the world do?" Rodgers asked.

  "Go to war against India? Fire missiles on New Delhi? Would they impose

  sanctions? What kind? To what end? And what would happen when hundreds

  of thousands of Indians started to starve and die? Bob, we're not

  talking about Iraq or North Korea. We're talking about one billion

  people with the fourth largest military in the world. Nearly a billion

  Hindus who are afraid of becoming the victims of a Muslim holy war."

  "Mike, no nation on earth is going to condone a nuclear strike against

  Pakistan," Herbert said.

  "Period." "The question is not condoning," Rodgers said.

  "The question is how do you respond if it happens. What would we do

  alone?"

  "Alone?" "More or less," Rodgers said.

  "I'm betting Moscow and Beijing wouldn't complain too loud, for

  starters. India nuking Pakistan leaves Moscow free to slam whichever

  republics they want with a limited nuclear strike. No more long wars in

  Afghanistan or Chechnya. And China probably wouldn't bitch too loud

  because it gives them a precedent to move on Taiwan." "They wouldn't,"

  Herbert said.

  "It's
insane."

  "No, it's survival," Rodgers said.

  "Israel's got a nuclear strike plan ready in case of a united Arab

  attack. And they'd use it, you know that. What if India has the same

  kind of plan? And with the same very powerful justification, I might

  add. Religious persecution." Herbert said nothing.

  "Bob, all I'm saying is that it's like the house that Jack built,"

  Rodgers said.

  "One little thing leads to another and then another. Maybe it's not

  those things, but it's nothing good."

  "No, it is nothing good," Herbert agreed.

  "I still think we're overreacting but I'll get back to you as soon as we

  know anything. Meantime, I have just one suggestion."

  "What's that?" Rodgers asked.

  "Make sure you sleep on the flight to India," Herbert said.

  "One way or another you're going to need it."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN.

  Kargil, Kashmir Thursday, 6:45 a. m.

  Ron Friday was annoyed that the call did not come from Hank Lewis. It

  came from Captain Nazir. To Friday, that meant on this leg of the

  mission Friday was reporting to New Delhi and not to Washington. That

  suggested the Black Cats would be watching him closely. Perhaps the

  Indian government did not want him talking to the NSA or anyone else

  about whatever they might find here. At least, not before they went on

  the mission.

  They were to go to a chicken farm in the foothills of Kargil.

  Apparently, an intelligence officer at Op-Center found a possible link

  between that location and the bazaar bombing.

  Op-Center did not tell Hank Lewis or their Black Cat liaisons why they

  thought the farm might be significant or what they believed that

  significance to be. All they said was that the situation in the bazaar

  was "atypical" and that the terrorists had to be taken alive. To Friday

  that translated as, "We aren't sure the terrorists did this and we need

  to talk to them."

  The pair flew to the farm in a fast, highly maneuverable Kamov Ka-25

  helicopter. Captain Nazir was at the controls.

  The compact sky-blue chopper was one of more than two dozen Ka-25s India

  bought from Russia when the Soviet Union collapsed and the military

  began cutting costs. Friday was not surprised to be riding in a military

  bird. A black National Security Guard chopper would stand out. But the

  skies here were full of Indian military traffic.

  Ironically, taking an air force craft was the best way to be invisible

  on Pakistani radar.

  The men flew north at approximately two hundred feet, following the

  increasingly jagged and sloping terrain.

  Though their unusually low passage caused some agitation among sheep and

  horses, and curses from their owners, Nazir explained over the headset

  that it was necessary. The air currents here were difficult to manage,

  especially early in the morning. As the sun rose the lower layers of air

  became heated. They mixed violently with the icy air flowing down from

  the mountains and created a particularly hazardous navigation zone

  between five hundred and two thousand feet up.

  It troubled Friday that a single Pakistani operative with a

  shoulder-mounted rocket launcher could take out the Ka-25 with no

  problem. He hoped that whatever information Op Center had received was

  not what the intelligence community called a

  "TM," a "tactical mislead," a lie precipitated by the desire to slow

  down pursuit by smoking out and eliminating the pursuers.

  The two men reached the farmhouse without incident. Before landing.

  Captain Nazir had buzzed the small barn and then the wood-and-stone

  farmhouse. An old farmer came out to see what was happening. He seemed

  surprised as he shielded his eyes to look up at the chopper.

  Nazir came in lower until he was just above the rooftop.

  "What do you think?" Nazir asked.

  "Is the farmer alone?"

  "Most likely," Friday replied. Hostages who had been kept a short while

  tended to be highly agitated, even panicked.

  They wanted to get to someone who could protect them.

  Even if there were other hostages at risk, including close family

  members, self-preservation was their first, irrepressible instinct.

  Hostages who had been held a long while were usually just the opposite.

  They had already bonded with their captors and were very standoffish,

  frequently antagonistic, The man below them was neither.

  Nazir hovered a moment longer and then set down on a nearby field.

  After the noisy forty-minute flight it was good to hear nothing but the

  wind. The cool breeze also felt good as they made their way to the farm.

  Nazir wore a 38 in a holster on his hip. Friday carried a derringer in

  the right pocket of his windbreaker and a switchblade in the left. The22

  gun did not pack much punch but he could palm it if necessary and easily

  use it to blind an assailant.

  The farmer waited for the men to arrive. Friday made Apu Kumar out to be

  about sixty-five. He was a small, slope shouldered man with slits for

  eyes. His features seemed to have a trace of Mongolian ancestry.

  That was not uncommon along the Himalayas. Nomads from many Asian races

  had roamed this region for tens of thousands of years, making it one of

  the world's truest melting pots. One of the sad ironies of the conflict

  here was the fact that so many of the combatants had the same blood.

  The men stopped a few feet from the farmer. The farmer's dark,

  suspicious eyes looked them up and down. Beyond the house was the barn.

  The chickens were still squawking from the fly over

  "Good morning," Nazir said.

  The farmer nodded deeply, once.

  "Are you Apu Kumar?" Nazir asked.

  The farmer nodded again. This time the nod was a little less

  self-assured and his eyes shifted from Nazir to Friday.

  "Does anyone else live here?" Nazir inquired.

  "My granddaughter," the farmer replied.

  "Anyone else?"

  Kumar shook his head.

  "Is your granddaughter here now?" Nazir asked.

  The farmer shook his head. He shifted a little now. His expression

  suggested fear for his safety but now his body language said he was also

  tense, anxious. He was hiding something. Possibly about his

  granddaughter.

  "Where is she?" Nazir pressed.

  "Out," Apu replied.

  "She runs errands."

  "I see. Do you mind if we look around?" Nazir asked.

  "May I ask what you are looking for?" the farmer asked.

  "I don't know," Nazir admitted.

  "Well, go ahead," Apu said.

  "But be careful of my chickens.

  You've already frightened them once with your machine."

  He made a disdainful gesture toward the helicopter.

  Nazir nodded and turned. Friday hesitated.

  "What's wrong?" Nazir asked the American.

  Friday continued to look at the farmer.

  "Your granddaughter is one of them, isn't she?"

  Apu did not move. He did not say, "My granddaughter is one of who?" He

  said nothing. That told Friday a lot.

  Friday approached the farmer. Apu started backing away.

  Friday held up his hands, knuckles out. The der
ringer was in his right

  palm where the farmer could not see it. Friday watched both the farmer

  and the farmhouse door and window behind him. He could not be absolutely

  certain no was one inside or that Apu would not try to get a gun or ax

  or some other weapon just inside.

  "Mr. Kumar, everything is all right," Friday said slowly, softty.

  "I'm not going to do anything to you. Nothing at all."

  Apu slowed then stopped. Friday stopped as well.

  "Good," Friday said. He lowered his hands and put them back in his

  pockets. The derringer was pointed at Apu.

  "I want to ask you a question but it's an important one. All right?"

  Apu nodded once.

  "I need to know if you do not want to talk to us because you and your