Clancy, Tom - Op Center 8 - Line of Control

by Line of Control [lit]

  "Ron, we want you to go at once to thirty-four degrees, thirty minutes

  north, seventy-five degrees east," Lewis said.

  "That's Jaudar," Friday said, looking at the map.

  "Is that where the cell is? In the village?" "No," Lewis said.

  "That's where you'll rendezvous with Striker."

  Friday stood up.

  "Gentlemen, I have a chopper here. I can be there in under an hour.

  Striker won't be landing for at least four hours. I might be able to get

  to the cell by then."

  "So would your partner," Lewis reminded him.

  "And?" Friday pressed.

  "We haven't finished our security check on the Black Cat," Lewis said.

  "We can't take the risk that he'll turn the Pakistanis over to his

  people."

  "That won't happen," Friday assured the new NSA chief.

  "I'll make sure of it." "You can't guarantee that," Lewis said.

  "We also agree that Mr. Kumar should go with you and we can't be certain

  of his actions either. Mr. Herbert and I have discussed this and we're

  in agreement. You will meet Striker in Jaudar.

  They will have up-to-the-minute coordinates of the cell and the

  resources to get you and your companions into the mountains.

  If anything changes, we'll let you know."

  "We're wasting time," Friday protested.

  "I could probably be in and out by the time Striker arrives."

  "I admire your enthusiasm," Herbert said.

  "But the leader of the cell is cagey. They've been moving in shadows and

  beneath overhangs wherever possible. We don't know for certain what

  weapons they're carrying. They may have a rocket launcher. If you come

  after them in an Indian chopper they will probably shoot you down."

  "If you tell us where they are we can circle wide and intercept them,"

  Friday pointed out.

  "There's also a chance that a Pakistani aircraft might try to slip in

  and rescue the cell," Herbert said.

  "We don't want to precipitate a firefight with an Indian aircraft. That

  could give the Indians even more ammunition to launch a major

  offensive."

  Friday squeezed the phone. He wished he could strangle the deskbound

  bureaucrat. He did not understand field personnel.

  None of them did. The best field ops did not like sitting still. And the

  best of the best were able to improvise their way in and out of most

  things. Friday could do this.

  More than that, he wanted it. If he could grab the cell and bring them

  home he would have a chance to get in with their Pakistani controllers.

  Having strong ties to New Delhi, Islamabad, and Washington would be

  invaluable to an operative in this region.

  "Are we on the same page?" Herbert asked.

  Friday looked down at the map.

  "Yes," he said. And as he looked he remembered something that Herbert

  had told him about the explosion. It had occurred at approximately eight

  thousand feet. That would put the cell on the southwest side of the

  range. Everything north of that, up through the glacier and the line of

  control, was at a higher elevation.

  Friday's grip relaxed. To hell with desk jockeys in general and Bob

  Herbert in particular.

  "We'll brief you again when we have Striker's precise ETA and location,"

  Herbert said.

  "Do you have any questions?"

  "No," Friday replied calmly.

  "Is there anything you wanted to add. Hank?" Herbert asked.

  Lewis said there was nothing else. The NSA head thanked Friday and the

  men hung up. Friday returned the phone to its cradle.

  "What is it?" Captain Nazir asked.

  "What we've been waiting for," Friday said.

  "They found the cell?" Nazir asked.

  Friday nodded.

  "And my granddaughter?" Apu asked.

  "She's with them," Friday said. He did not know if she was or not, of

  course. But he wanted Apu with them. The farmer had harbored the enemy

  cell. If they needed to forestall any action by India, Apu's confession

  would play very well on Pakistani TV.

  Friday looked at the map. Herbert had told him that the cell was

  sticking to the mountain ledges. That meant that if the chopper started

  following the line of the range at eight thousand feet and flew up one

  side and then down the other they were sure to encounter the cell.

  Friday glanced down at the inset come projection and smiled. The

  round-trip was less than two hundred miles.

  He would have them. And he would have that do-nothing Herbert.

  "Come on," Friday said to Nazir.

  "Where are we going?" the officer asked.

  "To catch a terrorist cell," Friday replied.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

  Washington, D. C. Thursday, 4:02 a. m.

  Paul Hood's office was just a few steps away from Op Center

  high-security conference room. Known as the Tank, the conference room

  was surrounded by walls of electronic waves that generated static for

  anyone trying to listen in with bugs or external dishes.

  Hood entered after everyone was already there. The heavy door was

  operated by a button at the side of the large oval conference table.

  Hood pushed it when he sat down at the head of the table.

  The small room was lit by fluorescent lights hung in banks over the

  conference table. On the wall across from Hood's chair the countdown

  clock was dark. When they had a crisis and a deadline, the clock flashed

  its ever-changing array of digital numbers.

  The walls, floor, door, and ceiling of the Tank were all covered with

  sound-absorbing Acoustix. The mottled gray and-black strips were each

  three inches wide and overlapped one another to make sure there were no

  gaps. Beneath them were two layers of cork, a foot of concrete, and then

  another layer of Acoustix. In the midst of the concrete, on all six

  sides of the room, was a pair of wire grids that generated vacillating

  audio waves. Electronically, nothing left the room without being utterly

  distorted. If any listening device did somehow manage to pick up a

  conversation from inside, the randomness of the changing modulation made

  reassembling the conversations impossible.

  "Thank you all for coming," Hood said. He turned down the brightness on

  the computer monitor that was set in the table and began bringing up the

  files from his office. At the same time. Bugs Benet was busy raising

  Colonel August on the TAC-SAT. In order to make sure Striker stayed in

  the loop, August and Rodgers were taking turns sleeping enroute to

  Turkey.

  "No problem," Lowell Coffey said. He had been pouring water from a

  pitcher into a coffee machine on a table in the far corner. The

  percolator began to bubble and pop.

  "The roads were empty. I managed to sleep on the way. Anybody think to

  get doughnuts?"

  "That was your job," Herbert pointed out.

  "You were the only one who wasn't here." He maneuvered his wheelchair

  into his place at Hood's right.

  "I've got mid rats in my office if you're hungry," said Liz Gordon as

  she settled in to Hood's left.

  "No, thanks." Coffey shuddered as he sat across from Hood.

  "I'll stick to the coffee."

  "You've got official military mi
dnight rations?" Herbert asked.

  "A three-course packet," Liz said.

  "Dried apricots and pineapple, jerky, and cookies. A friend of mine at

  Langley gave them to me. I think you've worked with her. Captain

  Mclver?"

  "We worked on some black ops stuff together," Herbert said. He smiled.

  "Man, mid rats. I haven't had them in years. They always hit the spot in

  the wee small hours."

  "That's because you were tired and not selective," said the admittedly

  dilettantish Coffey.

  Hood's data finished loading a moment before Bugs Benet called. Hood

  sent the files to the other computer stations around the table. Liz and

  Coffey scanned the files as Hood's assistant informed him that he had

  Colonel Brett August ready to be patched through from the C-130

  Hercules. Hood put the telephone on speaker and looked across the table.

  "We're ready to go," Hood said to the others.

  Everyone came to attention quickly.

  "Colonel August, can you hear me?" Hood asked.

  "As clear as if you were in the cabin with us, sir," the Striker

  commander replied.

  "Good," Hood replied.

  "Bob, you've been talking to New Delhi. Would you please bring everyone

  up to speed?"

  Herbert looked at his wheelchair computer monitor.

  "Twenty-one hours ago there was an attack on a market in Srinagar,

  Kashmir," Herbert said. He spoke loud enough for the speakerphone to

  pick up his voice.

  "A police station, a Hindu temple, and a busload of Hindu pilgrims were

  destroyed.

  With intel from the NRO and from your NSA contact who happened to be

  on-site, we have reason to believe that the attack on the station was

  the work of the Free Kashmir Militia, a militant organization based in

  Pakistan. However, we suspect that the attacks against the Hindu sites

  may have been organized by India itself. We believe that elements in the

  Special Frontier Force, the cabinet, and the military may be trying to

  win public support for a quick, decisive nuclear strike against

  Pakistan."

  No one moved. The only sounds were the hum of the forced air coming

  through the overhead vents and the crackling of the coffee machine as it

  finished brewing.

  "What about the Pakistani terrorists?" Coffey asked.

  "At this moment the cell is desperately trying to cross the Himalayan

  foothills--we believe to Pakistan," Herbert replied.

  "They have a prisoner. She's an Indian woman who apparently coordinated

  SFF actions to make the attack on the Hindu sites look like the work of

  the Pakistani Muslims. It is imperative that they reach Pakistan and

  that their hostage be made to tell what she knows."

  "To defuse the outraged Indian populace that will otherwise be screaming

  for Pakistani blood," Liz said.

  "Correct," Herbert said.

  "So far, the first attempt to capture the Pakistanis failed. SFF

  commandos were sent into the mountains. They were all killed. We do not

  know what other pursuit options are being considered or whether the cell

  has contacted Pakistan. We don't know what rescue efforts Islamabad may

  be attempting to mount."

  "They'd probably be chopper HAP searches," August said.

  "Explain," Hood said.

  "Hunt and peck," August told him.

  "The cell would not risk sending a radio beacon to Pakistan or

  suggesting a rendezvous point. That would be too easy for an Indian

  listening post at the line of control to pick off. Pakistan doesn't have

  the satellite resources to spot the cell so they would have to fly in

  and crisscross suspected routes of egress. And they'd use helicopters

  instead of jets, to stay below Indian radar."

  "Good 'gets," " Herbert said.

  "Paul, there's something that's bothering me," Coffey said.

  "Do we know for certain that the NSA operative was an observer and not a

  participant? This action may have been planned a couple of weeks ago,

  timed to draw attention from their attempted coup in Washington."

  Coffey had a point. The former head of the NSA, Jack Fenwick, had been

  working to replace President of the United States Michael Lawrence with

  the more militant Vice President Cotten. It was conceivable that Fenwick

  may have helped to orchestrate this crisis as a distraction from the

  anticipated resignation of President Lawrence.

  "We believe that Friday is clean, though right now we have him

  quarantined with an Indian officer," Hood replied.

  "I suspect that if Friday were involved with this he would be trying to

  get out of the region and keep us out as well."

  "Which could also mean he is involved," Liz pointed out.

  "In what way?" Hood asked.

  "If you're suggesting, as I think you are, that Striker try to help the

  cell get home, it would be in Mr. Friday's interest to stay close to

  them and make sure they do not succeed."

  "That could work both ways," Herbert said.

  "If Striker goes in after the cell we can also keep an eye on Friday."

  "I want to emphasize here that we have not yet made a final

  determination on the mission. Colonel," Hood said.

  "But if we do try to help the Pakistanis the key to success is a timely

  intervention. Bob, you've been in contact with HQ Central Air Command."

  "Yes," Herbert said.

  "We're dealing directly with Air Chief Marshal Chowdhury and his senior

  aide. I told the ACM that we may want to change the way we insert

  Striker."

  "You're thinking about an airdrop," August said.

  "Correct," replied Herbert.

  "I asked the ACM for jump gear. He said it will definitely be on the

  Himalayan Eagles squadron AN-12. But I did not tell him what we may be

  asking you to do in the region. The good news is, whatever you do will

  be well shielded. The Indian military continues to be ultra secretive

  about your involvement. The SFF and the other people behind the Srinagar

  attacks do not even know that Striker is enroute to the region."

  "What about the Indian officer who is with Mr. Friday?" Colonel August

  asked.

  "Are we sure we can trust him?" "Well, nothing is guaranteed," Herbert

  said.

  "But according to Friday, Captain Nazir is not looking forward to the

  prospect of a nuclear attack. Especially when he and Friday are headed

  toward Pakistan."

  "I was just thinking about that," August said.

  "Do you think you can include lead-lined long Johns in the Indian

  requisition form?"

  "Just get behind Mike," Herbert said.

  "Nothing gets past that sumbitch. Not even high-intensity rads."

  There was anxious chuckling about that. The laughter was a good tension

  breaker.

  "We've got Friday and Nazir enroute by chopper to a town called Jaudar,"

  Herbert said.

  "I know where that is," Colonel August said.

  "It's southeast of the region we were supposed to be investigating."

  "If we decide to move forward with a search and rescue, you'll be

  hooking up in the mountains north of there," Herbert said.

  "That's where we've pinpointed the cell."

  "Colonel August, if we decide to go ahead with this
mission you'll have

  to jump your people into the Himalayas near the Siachin Glacier, link up

  with the cell, and get them through the line of control," Hood said.

  "This is an extremely high-risk operation. I need an honest answer. Is

  Striker up for it?"

  "The stakes are also high," August said.

  "We have to be up for it."

  "Good man," Herbert muttered.

  "Damn good man."

  "People, one thing I have to point out is that the Indians are not going

  to be your only potential enemies," Liz said.

  "You also have to worry about the psychological state of the Pakistani

  cell. They're under extreme physical and psychological duress. They may

  not believe that you're allies. The nature of people in this situation