captured in their mountain headquarters.
After that. Pun's units were supposed to begin preparing for retreat.
The preparations were supposed to be made quietly and unhurriedly,
without the use of cell phones or radios. As much as possible should be
done underground in the shelters and low in the trenches. The Pakistanis
would notice nothing unusual going on. Devi's four hundred soldiers were
supposed to be finished by eleven a. m. but they were not to move out
until they received word directly from Hussain.
Instead, Commander Hussain had called with a much different project.
Major Pun was to take half the four hundred soldiers in his command and
move south, into the mountains.
They were to carry full survival packs and dress in thermal camouflage
clothes. Hussain wanted them to proceed in a wide sweep formation toward
the Siachin Glacier, closing in as the glacier narrowed and they neared
the summit.
"Wide sweep" meant that the militia would consist of a line of men who
came no closer than eyesight. That meant the force could be stretched
across approximately two miles. Since radio channels might be monitored,
Hussain wanted them to communicate using field signals.
Those were a standardized series of gestures developed by MEAN in the
1930s. The Indian army adopted them in 1947. The signals told them
little more than to advance, retreat, wait, proceed, slow down, speed
up, and attack. Directions for attacks were indicated by finger signals:
the index finger was north, middle finger south, ring finger west, and
pinky east. The thumb was the indication to "go." Those hand signals
were usually enough.
The commands were issued by noncommissioned officers stationed in the
center of each platoon. They could be overruled by the company
lieutenants and by Puri himself, who would be leading the operation from
the center of the wide sweep. In the event of an emergency, the men had
radios they could use.
Puri picked up the phone. He ordered his aide to assemble his
lieutenants in the briefing room. The major said he would be there in
five minutes. He wanted top-level security for the meeting: no phones or
radios present, no laptop computers, no notepads.
Puri chewed his tobacco a moment more before rising.
Hussain had told him that the Pakistani cell had evaded capture and was
thought to be heading to Pakistan. Four other bases along the line of
control were activating units in an effort to intercept the terrorists.
Each of the base leaders had been given the same order: to take the
cell, dead or alive.
That option did not include their lone hostage, an Indian woman from
Kashmir. Commander Hussain said that the SFF did not expect the woman to
survive her ordeal. He did not say that she had been mistreated.
His tone said something else altogether.
He wanted her not to survive.
Major Puri turned toward the door and left the shelter. The morning
light was cold and hazy. He had checked the weather report earlier. It
was snowing up in the mountains.
That always produced haze here in the lower elevations.
Nothing was clear, not even the walls of the trench itself.
Nor his own vision.
Major Puri had not expected to play that part either. The role of
assassin. As he headed for the meeting it struck him as odd that a
single life should matter. What he did here would contribute to the
deaths of millions of people in just a day or two. What did one more
mean?
Was he upset because she was Indian? No. Indians would die in the
conflagration as well. Was he upset because she was a woman? No.
Women would certainly die.
He was upset because he would probably be there when she died. He might
even be the one to execute the commander's order.
He would have to look into her eyes. He would be watching the woman as
she realized that she was about to die.
In 1984, when India was rocked by inter caste violence, Prime Minister
Indira Gandhi ordered a series of attacks on armed Sikh separatists in
Amritsar. Over a thousand people were killed. Those deaths were
unfortunate, the inevitable result of armed conflict. Several months
later, Mrs. Gandhi was assassinated by Sikhs who were members of her own
bodyguard. Her murder was a cold-blooded act and a tragedy.
It had a face.
Major Puri knew that this had to be done. But he also knew that he
wished someone else would do it. Soldiering was a career he could leave
behind. The job of combatant was temporary. But once he killed, even in
the name of patriotism, that act would stay with him for the rest of his
life.
And the next.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.
Washington, D. C. Wednesday, 11:45 p. m.
Paul Hood was glad when Bob Herbert came to see him.
Hood had shut his office door, opened a box of Wheat Thins, and worked
on the Op-Center budget cuts for the better part of the evening. He had
left word with Bugs Benet that he was not to be disturbed unless it were
urgent. Hood did not feel like end-of-the-day chitchat. He did not want
to have to put on a public face. He wanted to hide, to lose himself in a
project--any project.
Most of all Hood did not feel like going home. Or what passed for home
these days, an undistinguished fifth-floor suite at the Days Inn on
Mercedes Boulevard. Hood had a feeling that it would be a long time, if
ever, before he regarded anything but the Hood house in Chevy Chase,
Maryland, as home. But he and his wife, Sharon, were separated and his
presence at the house created strife for her. She said he was a reminder
of their failed marriage, of facing a future without a companion. Their
two children did not need that tension, especially Harleigh. Hood had
spent time with Harleigh and her younger brother, Alexander, over the
weekend.
They did things that Washingtonians rarely did: they toured the
monuments. Hood had also arranged for them to get a personal tour of the
Pentagon. Alexander was impressed by all the saluting that went on. It
made him feel important not to have to do it. He also liked the kick-ass
intensity of all the guards.
Harleigh said she enjoyed the outing but that was pretty much all she
said. Hood did not know whether it was posttraumatic stress, the
separation, or both that were on her mind. Psychologist Liz Gordon had
advised him not to talk about any of that unless Harleigh brought it up.
His job was to be upbeat and supportive. That was difficult without any
input from Harleigh. But he did the best he could.
For Harleigh.
What he had been neglecting in all of this were his needs.
Home was the biggest and most immediate hole. The hotel room did not
have the familiar creaking and pipe sounds and outside noises he had
come to know. There was no oil burner clicking on and off. The hotel
room smelled unfamiliar, shared, transient. The water pressure was
weaker, the soap and shampoo small and impersonal. The nighttime
lighting on the ceiling was different. Even the c
offeemaker didn't pop
and burble the same as the one at home. He missed the comfort of the
familiar. He hated the changes.
Especially the biggest one. The huge hole he had dug for himself with
Ann Fan-is, Op-Center's thirty-four year-old press liaison. She had
pursued him virtually from the day she arrived. He had found the pursuit
both flattering and uncomfortable.
Flattering because Paul Hood and his wife had not been connecting for
years. Uncomfortable because Ann Farris was not subtle. Whatever poker
face Ann put on during press briefings she did not wear around Hood.
Maybe it was a question of balance, of yin and yang, of being passive in
public and aggressive in private. Regardless, her open attention was a
distraction for Hood and for the people closest to him, like Mike
Rodgers and Bob Herbert.
So of course Hood made the desperate mistake of actually making love to
Ann. That had ratcheted up the tension level by making her feel closer
and him feel even guiltier. He did not want to make love to her again.
At least, not until he was divorced. Ann said she understood but she
still took it as a personal rejection. It had affected their working
relationship.
Now she was cool to him in private and hot with the press in public.
How had Paul Hood gone from someone who reached the top of several
professions at a relatively young age to someone who had messed up his
own life and the lives of those around him? How the hell had that
happened?
Ann was really the one that Hood did not want to see tonight. But he
could not tell Bugs to keep only her out.
Even if she did figure out that was what Hood was doing he did not want
to insult her directly.
Ironically, the work Hood was doing involved cutting Ann and her entire
division.
Hood was not surprised that Herbert was working this late.
The intelligence chief preferred work to socializing. It was not
politically correct but it was pure Herbert: he said that it was more of
a challenge trying to get inside a spy's head than into a woman's pants.
The rewards were also greater, Herbert insisted. The spy ended up dead,
in prison, or incapacitated.
It was a lesson Hood should have learned from his friend.
Hood was glad when Herbert came to see him. He needed a crisis to deal
with, one that was not of his own making.
The briefing that Bob Herbert gave Hood was not the low intensity
distraction he had been hoping for. However, the prospect of nuclear war
between India and Pakistan did chase all other thoughts from Hood's
mind.
Herbert brought Hood up to speed on the conversations he'd had with Mike
Rodgers and Ron Friday. When Herbert was finished. Hood felt energized.
His own problems had not gone away. But part of him, at least, was out
of hiding. The part that had a responsibility to others.
"This is a sticky one," Hood said.
"Yeah," Herbert agreed.
"What's your gut say?" "It says to take this situation to the president
and drop it square in his lap," Hood replied.
Herbert regarded Hood for a moment.
"There's a 'but' in your voice," Herbert said.
"Actually, there are three 'buts' in my voice," Hood told him.
"First, we're only guessing about what's going on.
They're educated guesses, but we still don't have proof. Second, let's
assume your intel is right. That there is a plot to start a war. If we
tell the president, the president will tell State. Once you tell State,
the world will know about it through leaks, moles, or electronic
surveillance. That could scare the perpetrators off--or it could
accelerate whatever timetable they have."
"I agree," Herbert said.
"The SFF and their allies would have insecurity issues instead of
security issues. Typical when you're keeping information from your own
countrymen." "Exactly," Hood said.
"All right. So what's the third 'but'?" Herbert asked.
"The fact that we may prove a nuclear attack plan is in place," Hood
said.
"If the United States exposes it we may actually give it impetus." "I
don't understand," Herbert said.
"In terms of military support and intelligence assistance, India has
always leaned toward Russia," Hood said.
"An entire generation of Indians considers the United States the
opposition.
Suppose we expose a patriotic plan. Do you think that will cause the
Indians to kill it?"
"If it involves a nuclear exchange, yes," Herbert said, "Russia would
come down on our side. So would China." "I don't know if I agree," Hood
said.
"Russia is facing an Islamic threat along several of its borders.
Op-Center just defused a crisis where the Russians were scared about
Iran's access to Caspian oil. Moscow fought the mujahedin in
Afghanistan.
They're afraid of aggressive fifth-column activities in their own
cities, in allied republics. We can't be sure they would back a Muslim
nation against their old friend India. As for China, they're looking for
allies in a move against Taiwan. Suppose India provided them with that,
a kind of quid pro quo."
Herbert shook his head slowly.
"Paul, I've been in this game a long time. I've seen videos of Saddam
using gas and gunships against his own people. I've been to a Chinese
execution where five men were shot in the head because they expressed
dissenting political beliefs. But I can't believe that sane individuals
would make a deal about nuclear strikes that will kill millions of
people." "Why not?" Hood asked.
"Because a nuclear exchange raises the bar for all of human conflict,"
Herbert insisted.
"It says that anything goes.
No one gains by that." "Fair enough," Hood said.
"I still believe that we may have a radical group of Indian officials
who may want to nuke Pakistan," Herbert said.
"Then valid or not, all three of my concerns point to the same thing,"
Hood said.
"We need more intel before we go to the president," Herbert said.
"Right," Hood said.
"Is there any way of getting that electronically or from sources in the
government?"
"There might be, if we had the time," Herbert said.
"But we've got the Pakistani cell on the run in the mountains and the
dead SFF commandos behind them. The Indians are not going to wait."
"Has anything been on DD-1 yet?" Hood asked. DD-1 National was the
flagship station of Doordarshan, the Indian national television network.
The broadcaster was also closely affiliated with Prasar Bharati, All
India Radio, which was run and maintained by the Ministry of Information
and Broadcasting.
"One of Matt's people is taping the newscasts," Herbert replied.
"He's going to give me an assessment of how riled up people are and at
what rate the media are adding to the whipping-up process."
"Can we go in and bust up their satellite?" Hood asked.
Herbert grinned.
"They use five," he said.
IN SAT-2E, 2DT, 2B, PAS-4, and Thai Co
m We can scramble them all if we
have to." "Good," Hood said. He regarded Herbert.
"You're pushing for Striker to go in and grab the Pakistanis, aren't
you?" "Hell," Herbert said, "I don't want to just drop Mike and his
people into the Himalayas--"
"I know that," Hood assured him.
"But I don't know if we have any other options, Paul," Herbert
continued.
"Whatever we think of what the Pakistanis have done, they have to get
out to tell what they did not do."
"What would we do if Striker weren't headed toward the region?" Hood
asked.
Herbert thought for a moment then shrugged.
"What we did in Korea, Russia, and Spain," Herbert said.
"We'd send 'em."
Hood nodded thoughtfully.
"We probably would," he agreed.
"Have you run this past Mike?" "Not in so many words," Herbert said.
"But I did tell him to sleep on the flight from Alconbury to Chushul.
Just in case."
"How long is that leg of the trip?" Hood asked.
Clancy, Tom - Op Center 8 - Line of Control Page 19