Line of Control

THIRTY-THREE

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. "That makes me not your enemy."

Sharab had to admit that the American had a point. Still, she was not ready to believe him entirely. Not yet.

"You're wasting what little time we have," the man went on. "Unless you plan on killing me, I'm going with Nanda."

Sharab continued to hold Friday against the wall. His hot breath warmed her nose as she looked at him. His eyes were tearing from the cold but that was the only life in them. Sharab could not find anything else there. Not truth, not conviction, not selflessness. But she also did not see fear or hostility. And at the moment, that would have to be good enough.

"Samouel will run the operation," Sharab told Friday.

Friday nodded vigorously. Sharab released him. Samouel held Friday up until he was sure the American had his feet under him.

"Wait here," Sharab said, then turned.

With her back to the cliff wall Sharab edged toward Nanda. The Indian woman was crouched in a small fissure with her grandfather. She rose when Sharab arrived. She was wearing a heavy scarf across her face. Only her eyes were visible.

Sharab told Nanda that she would be traveling in one group, with Samoeul, the American, and her grandfather.

"Why are you doing that?" Nanda asked.

When Sharab finished telling her everything Friday had said, she saw doubt and concern in Nanda's eyes. Perhaps the Indian woman did not know what the SFF and members of the military had been doing.

Unfortunately, Nanda's reaction told Sharab what she needed to know.

That the American's story could be true.

Nuclear war could indeed be just hours away.