Clancy, Tom - Op Center 8 - Line of Control

by Line of Control [lit]

  "Bob?" Viens said.

  "If that was an Indian air force chopper they're going to know where it

  went down. Even if it wasn't, the explosion is going to register on

  their satellite monitors or seismic equipment."

  "I know," Herbert said. The intelligence head put Stephen Viens on hold

  and called Hank Lewis's office. The NSA officer was not in yet.

  Herbert tried Lewis's cell phone but the voice mail picked up. He was

  either on that line or out of range. Herbert swore. He finally tried

  Lewis at home. He caught Lewis in the middle of shaving.

  Herbert told the NSA chief what had happened and asked if he knew for

  certain whether Ron Friday was in Jaudar.

  "I assume so," Lewis said.

  "I haven't spoken with him since our conference call."

  "Do you have any way of reaching him?" Herbert asked.

  "Only if he's in the helicopter," Lewis said.

  "What about his cell phone?" Herbert pressed.

  "We haven't tried that," Lewis said.

  "But on the move, in the mountains, it may be difficult."

  "True," Herbert agreed.

  "And the radio?"

  "We used a NATO frequency to contact him, but I don't have that info at

  home," Lewis said.

  "Well, we can backtrack and raise him," Herbert said.

  "Thanks. I'll let you know when we have him."

  Herbert ended the call and glanced at the computer clock.

  It was six thirty. Kevin Custer, Op-Center's director of electronic

  communications, would be in his office by now. Herbert called over.

  Custer was a thirty-two-year-old MIT graduate and a distant relative of

  General George Armstrong Custer through the general's brother Nevin.

  Military service was expected in the Custer family and Kevin had spent

  two years in the army before taking a job at the CIA. He had been there

  three years when he was snatched up by Bob Herbert. Custer was the most

  chronically optimistic, upbeat, can-do person Herbert had ever met.

  Custer told Herbert that he would get the information for him if he

  would hold the line. It wasn't even, "I'll get it and call you back."

  It was, "Don't go away. I'll have it in a second." And he did.

  "Let's see," Custer said.

  "NSA log has the call coming through with input 101.763, PL 123.0 Hz,

  855 inversion scrambling. I can contact the source of the call if you

  like." "Put it through," Herbert said.

  A moment later Herbert heard a beep.

  "I'll get off now," Custer said.

  "Let me know if there's anything else."

  "Actually, there is," Herbert said.

  "Would you ring Paul Hood and patch this call through?" Custer said he

  would. The radio beeped again. Then a third time. Then a fourth.

  "Bob, what is it?" Hood asked when he got on. He sounded groggy. He had

  probably been napping too.

  "Viens and I just watched the Pakistani cell haul two people in from

  what looked like a downed chopper," Herbert said. The radio beeped a

  fifth time.

  "We're trying to ascertain if one of them was Ron Friday."

  "I thought he was going to Jaudar," Hood said.

  "Exactly," Herbert replied.

  The radio beeped two more times before someone answered.

  It definitely was not Ron Friday.

  "Yes?" said a woman's voice.

  "This is 855 base," Herbert said, using the coded identification number.

  "Who is this?"

  "Someone who has your radio and its operator," the woman replied.

  "I just saved him from death. But the reprieve may only be temporary."

  The woman's accent definitely belonged to that region.

  Herbert would be able to place it better were it not for the screaming

  wind behind her. The woman was also smart. She had said only that she

  saved Friday's life. There was no reference to the rest of the cell or

  the other man they were holding. She had given Herbert as little

  information as possible.

  Herbert hit the mute button.

  "Paul--I say we talk to her," he said quickly, urgently.

  "We need to let her know that Striker is on the way."

  "This channel isn't secure, is it?" Hood asked.

  "No," Herbert admitted.

  "Friday will probably tell her that."

  "He got there in an Indian chopper. They may not believe him," Herbert

  said.

  "Let me give her the overview." "Be careful. Bob," Hood warned.

  "I don't want you telling her who we are, exactly."

  Herbert killed the mute.

  "Listen to me," he said.

  "We are with American intelligence. The man you have works with us." "He

  told me that his last name is Friday," the woman said.

  "What is his first name?"

  "Ron," Herbert replied.

  "All right," the woman said.

  "What do you want with us?"

  "We want to get you home alive," Herbert said. He weighed his next words

  with care in case anyone was listening.

  "We know what happened in Srinagar. We know what your group did and did

  not do."

  He did not have to say more. She would know the rest.

  There was a short silence.

  "Why do you want to help us?" the woman finally asked.

  "Because we believe there will be extreme retaliation," Herbert informed

  her.

  "Not against you but against your nation."

  "Does your person Friday know about this?" she asked.

  "He knows about that and more," Herbert informed the woman.

  "And he is not alone." "Yes," the woman said.

  "We rescued an old farmer--" "That is not what I mean," Herbert said.

  There was another brief silence. Herbert could imagine the woman

  scanning the skies for other choppers.

  "I see," said the woman.

  "I will talk to him. American intelligence, I do not know if I can take

  this radio with me," the woman went on.

  "If there is anything else I need to know, tell me now."

  Herbert thought for a moment.

  "There is one more thing," he informed her. He spoke clearly and

  strongly so she would not miss a word.

  "We are helping you because inaction would result in unprecedented human

  disaster. I have no respect for terrorists."

  "American intelligence," she said, using that as if it were Herbert's

  name.

  "I have lost nothing. If the world respected us before now, there would

  be no need for terrorism."

  With that, the line went dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

  Mt. Kanzalwan Thursday, 4:16 p. m.

  Sharab could barely feel her fingers as she put the receiver back inside

  the radio. Despite the heavy gloves and the constant movement, the cold

  was beyond anything she had ever experienced. Her hands were numb when

  they were still, like dead weight. They burned when she moved them and

  blood was forced to circulate. It was the same with her feet. Her eyes

  were wind-blasted dry. Each blink of her icy lashes was agony.

  But the worst pain was still the one inside. It had been strongest in

  those moments when the powerful winds slowed and the overhanging rock

  receded and the sun burned through the murderous cold. When survival was

  not a moment-to-moment concern and she had time to think.

  Sharab had let herself be outsmarted by Indian security
forces. She had

  let her nation, her people, and her fellow patriots down. That failure

  had cost brave Ishaq his life. And it had brought her and her small

  loyal militia to this precipice, to this flight. Her failure had made it

  unlikely that they would escape these mountains and tell the world the

  truth, that India and not Pakistan had been responsible for attacking

  the Hindu sites.

  And yet, as it said in the Koran, "the wrongdoers shall never prosper."

  Perhaps Allah forgave her. It seemed as though He was looking out for

  her when this man dropped from the sky. Sharab did not like or trust

  Americans. They made war on Muslims around the world and they had

  traditionally curried favor with New Delhi instead of Islamabad.

  But she would not question the will of God. It would be ironic if this

  man were to provide them with salvation.

  Ron Friday was still lying on his stomach. To the right, Nanda was

  huddled with her grandfather. Sharab would deal with them in a moment.

  She told Samouel to help pick the American up. Together, they pushed him

  back under the ledge, against the wall. It was even colder here because

  the sun was not on them. But there was less chance of them slipping off

  the ledge. Until Sharab heard what this man had to say, she did not want

  him falling to his death.

  The man groaned as she pinned her forearm against his shoulder to help

  him stand.

  "All right," Sharab said to him.

  "Tell me what you know." "What I know?" Friday said. Puffy white breath

  and gasps of pain emerged from his mouth with each syllable.

  "To start with, you shot down our ticket out of here."

  "You should not have come unannounced in an Indian helicopter," Sharab

  replied.

  "That was stupid."

  "Unavoidable," Friday protested loudly.

  The exclamation was followed by a painful wince. Sharab had to lean into

  the man to keep him from doubling over.

  She wondered if he had broken some ribs in the hard landing.

  But that was all right. Pain could be useful. It would keep him alert

  and moving.

  "Never mind now," Friday said.

  "The main thing is that the Indian SFF set you up. They set Nanda up.

  She helped them blow up the temple and the bus. According to our

  intelligence, the SFF thought that would help solidify the Indian people

  behind the military. Nanda probably did not know that the Indian

  military intends to respond to the attack with a nuclear strike." "For

  destroying the temple?" Sharab said. She was stunned.

  "Yes," Friday said.

  "We believe certain militants will tell the populace that it's the first

  shot of an Islamic jihad against the Hindu people. Moderate government

  ministers and military officials may have no choice but to go along."

  "You said you have intelligence," Sharab said.

  "What intelligence?

  American?" "American and Indian," Friday said.

  "The pilot who brought me here was a Black Cat Commando. He had special

  information about SFF activities. Our people in Washington arrived at

  the same conclusion independently. That's why they're diverting the

  American strike force from their original mission."

  "Which was?"

  "To help the Indian military scout for possible Pakistani nuclear

  emplacements," Friday replied.

  "They came to help India and now I'm supposed to trust them?" Sharab

  declared.

  "You may not have a choice," Friday said.

  "There's something else. While we were searching for you we saw a force

  of Indian soldiers headed this way. They're moving in a wide sweep down

  from the line of control. You'll never get through them."

  "I expected that after we killed their commandos in the mountains,"

  Sharab said.

  "How many are there?"

  "I could only see about one hundred soldiers," Friday told her.

  "There may be more."

  "How many American soldiers are there and how will they find us?" Sharab

  asked.

  "There are about a dozen elite soldiers and they've been watching you by

  satellite," Friday said.

  "They can see us now?" Sharab asked.

  Friday nodded.

  "Then why did you have to search for us?" the woman pressed.

  "Because they didn't want to tell me where you were," Friday said.

  "I'm with a different agency. There's mistrust, rivalry."

  "Stupidity," she snarled. She shook her head.

  "Less than twenty soldiers against one hundred. When will the Americans

  be here?" "Very soon," Friday said.

  "How are they arriving?"

  "By Indian transport, Himalayan Eagles squadron," Friday replied.

  Sharab thought for a moment. Militarily, the American unit would not be

  much assistance. However, there might be another way that she could use

  them.

  "Can you contact the American unit?" she asked Friday.

  "Through Washington, yes," he replied.

  "Good. Samouel?" "Yes, Sharab?" said the big man.

  "I want you to wait here with Nanda," Sharab said.

  "I will lead the others down to the valley. A half hour after we leave

  you continue along the route we planned."

  "Yes, Sharab," he replied.

  Sharab turned to go over to where Nanda and Apu were speaking.

  "Wait!" Friday said.

  "We're already outnumbered. Why do you want to split up?"

  "If we contact the Americans by radio we can make sure the Indian ground

  troops also pick up the message," Sharab said.

  "That will draw them to us."

  "What makes you think they'll be taking prisoners?" Friday asked.

  "It does not matter, as long as we hold them there as long as we can,"

  Sharab said.

  "It will leave the path clear for Samouel's group to get through. You

  said yourself that Nanda is the key to stopping the nuclear attack. She

  must reach Pakistan. Her people will listen to her confession, her

  testimony."

  "How do you know she won't betray you?" Friday asked.

  "Because I know something you don't," Sharab said.

  "The missiles your team is looking for? They are already in place.

  Dozens of them. They are in the mountains, pointed at New Delhi,

  Calcutta, Bombay. A strike against Pakistan will turn the entire

  subcontinent into a wasteland."

  "Let me tell my superiors," Friday said.

  "They will warn the Indians not to strike--" "Warn them how?" Sharab

  asked.

  "I have no proof I don't know where the missiles are and my government

  won't reveal that information. I only know that missiles have been

  deployed. We staged attacks to distract the Indian military when

  elements were being moved into place." The woman took a breath, calmed

  herself. If she grew angry and began to perspire the sweat would freeze.

  "Unless Nanda wishes to see her nation ravaged, she will have to

  cooperate with us.

  But that means getting her to Pakistan without the Indians killing her!"

  "All right," Friday agreed.

  "But I'm going with her. She'll need protection. She'll also need

  international credibility. I was a witness to the blasts. I can make

  certain that officials from our embassy support
her claims."

  "How do I know you won't kill her?" Sharab cried. The winds had picked

  up and she had to shout to be heard over them.

  "You arrived in an Indian helicopter. How do I know you didn't want to

  take us back to Kargil? I only have your promises and a radio

  communication that could have come from anyone! These do not make you an

  ally!"

  "I could have shot at you from the helicopter!" Friday yelled.