Line of Control

THIRTY-TWO

"What the hell just happened?" Bob Herbert asked Viens.

Op-Center's intelligence chief was sitting at his desk in his darkened office. He had been watching the computer monitor with half-shut eyes until the image suddenly woke him up. He immediately hit autodial on his telephone and raised Stephen Viens at the NRO.

"It looks like a chopper went down," Viens said.

"Chopper," Herbert said. It was more a question than a statement.

"You were dozing," Viens said.

"Yes, I had my eyes closed," Herbert said. "What happened?"

"All we saw was the tail end of a chopper approach the cliff and lower a line with two men on it," Viens told him. "It looks like the cell took the men in and the chopper went down. We did not have a wide enough viewing area to be certain of that."

"Friday had a copter," Herbert said. "Could it have been him?"

"We don't know who was on the end of the line," Viens replied. "One of them looked like he might have been carrying a radio. It was an electronic box of some kind. It did not look like U.S. intelligence issue."

"I'll call you back," Herbert said.

"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.