Line of Control

THIRTY-EIGHT

"Have we heard anything yet?" Paul Hood asked as he swung into Bob Herbert's office.

The intelligence chief was drinking coffee and looking at his computer monitor. "No, and the NRO hasn't seen them yet either," Herbert said. "Still just the Pakistanis."

Hood looked at his watch. "They should be down by now. Has the transport landed yet?"

"No," Herbert replied. "The pilot radioed the tower in Chushul. He said that the cargo had been delivered but nothing more."

"I don't expect they stuck around to verify that our guys touched down," Hood said.

"Probably not," Herbert agreed. "That close to the Pakistani border I'm guessing the plane just turned south and ran."

"Hell, why not," Hood said. "We're only trying to stop their country from being involved in a nuclear war."

"You're stealing my cynicism," Herbert pointed out. "Anyway, they probably don't know what's at stake."

As Herbert was speaking the phone beeped. It was the secure line. He put it on speaker.

"Herbert here."

"Bob, it's August," said the caller. It was difficult to hear him.

"Colonel, you've got a lot of wind there," Herbert said. "You'll have to speak up."

"Bob, we've had a major setback here," August said loudly and slowly. "Indian troops from the LOC peppered us with flak on the way down. Most of our personnel were neutralized. Musicant and I are the only ones on the plateau. Rodgers missed but he may have reached the valley. We don't know if he's hurt. I'm trying to reach him by radio."

"Say again," Herbert asked. "Two safe, one MIA, rest dead."

"That's correct," August told him.

The intelligence chief looked up at Hood, who was still standing in the doorway. Herbert's face looked drawn. He muttered something in a taut, dry whisper. Hood could not make out what Herbert was saying. Perhaps it was not meant to be heard.

But Hood had heard what August said.

"Colonel, are you all right?" Hood asked.

"Mr. Musicant and I are fine, sir," August replied. "I'm sorry we let you down."

"You didn't," Hood assured him. "We knew this wasn't going to be an easy one."

August's words were still working their way into Hood's sleep-deprived brain. He was struggling for some kind of perspective. Those lives could not simply have ended. So many of them had only just begun. Sondra DeVonne, Ishi Honda, Pat Prementine, Walter Pupshaw, Terrence Newmeyer, and the rest. Hood's mind flashed on their faces. Dossier photos gave way to memories of drilling sessions he had watched, memorial services, barbecues, tackle football games. It was not the same as the death of one man. Hood had been able to focus on the specifics of losing Charlie Squires or Bass Moore. He had concentrated on helping their families get through the ordeal. The scope of this tragedy and of the personal loss was both overwhelming and numbing.

"What's your assessment, Colonel?" Hood asked. His voice sounded strong, confident. It had to for August's sake.

"We'd still like to try and intercept the cell," August went on. "Two extra guns may help them punch through somewhere along the line."

"We're behind you on that," Hood said.

"But there are a lot of infantrymen headed our way," August went on. "Can you contact the Pakistanis and let them know what happened?"

"We'll try," Hood said. "The Pakistani leader has Friday's phone. She is not the most cooperative person we've dealt with."

"Does she know we're coming?" August asked.

"Affirmative," Hood told him.

"Has there been any arrangement with her?" August asked.

The colonel was asking who would be calling the shots once they linked up. "The cell commander and I did not have that conversation," Hood told him. "Use your own initiative."

"Thank you," August said. "One more thing, sir. We're looking at darkness and some heavy winds and cold coming in. I hope you have a contingency plan in place."

"We were just working on that," Hood lied. "But we're still counting on you and Corporal Musicant to pull this one through."

"We'll do our best," August assured him.

"I know that. We also need you two to stay safe," Hood said.

August said he would. He also said he would inform Op-Center if he managed to raise Mike Rodgers. Then he signed off. Hood disengaged the speakerphone. There was a long moment of silence.

"You all right?" Hood asked Herbert.

Herbert shook his head slowly. "We had thirteen people out there," he said flatly.

"I know," Hood said.

"Kids, mostly."

"This was my call," Hood reminded the intelligence chief. "I gave the operation the go-ahead."

"I backed you up," Herbert replied. "Hell, we had no choice. But this is a price they should not have had to pay."

Hood agreed but to say so seemed pathetic somehow. They were crisis management professionals. Sometimes the only barrier between control and chaos was a human shield. As iron-willed as that barricade could be, it was still just sinew and bone.

Hood moved behind the desk. He looked down at the computer. Logic aside, he still felt hollow. Hood and the others had known going in that there were risks involved with this mission. What galled him was that an attack from allied ground forces was not supposed to be one of those risks. No one imagined that the Indian military would shoot at personnel jumping from one of their own aircraft, suspended from the parachutes clearly identified as those belonging to the Indian air force. This phase of the operation was only supposed to pit trained professionals against severe elements. There was going to be a chance for most if not all the Strikers to survive. How did it go so wrong?

"Colonel August was right about us needing a backup plan," Herbert said. "We went off the playbook. We've got to get to work and give him—"

"Hold on," Hood said. "Something's not right."

"Excuse me?" Herbert replied.

"Look at this satellite image," Hood said.

Herbert did.

"The terrorist cell is still moving beneath the overhanging ledges, just as they've done since sunup," Hood said. "But they've also got a little elbow room now. They have these shadows to move in." Hood pointed at the jagged areas of blackness on the monitor. "See how the shadows are lengthening as the sun sets behind the Himalayas?"

"I see," Herbert said. "But I don't get your point."

"Look at the direction of the shadows relative to the sun," Hood told him. "The cell is moving in a westerly direction. Not northwesterly. That's different from before."

Herbert stared for a moment. "You're right," he said. "Why the hell would they be doing that?"

"Maybe there's a shortcut?" Hood suggested. "A secret path through the glacier?"

Herbert brought up the detailed photographic overviews from NASA's Defense Mapping Agency. These photographic maps were marked with coordinates and were used to target satellites. Herbert asked the computer to mark the area that Viens was studying now. Hood leaned over Herbert's wheelchair and looked closely at the monitor as a faint red cursor began to pulse on the region the cell was crossing.

"There's no shortcut," Herbert said. "What the hell are they doing? They're actually taking a longer route to the line of control."

"Will August still intercept them?" Hood asked.

"Yes," Herbert said. The intelligence chief pointed to a region slightly north of where the cell was. "Brett came down here. He's heading southeast. He'll just be meeting them a lot sooner than we expected." Herbert studied the map. "But this still doesn't make sense. This route isn't going to take the Pakistanis through more accessible terrain. It's farther from the LOC, it's not at a lower altitude, and it doesn't look easier to negotiate."

"Maybe they've got a weapons cache or another hideout along the way," Hood suggested.

"Possibly," Herbert said. He went back to the live NRO image. "But they were relatively close to the border where they were. Why would they want to give the Indians more time to catch them?"

The interagency phone line beeped. Herbert punched it on speakerphone. "Yes?" Herbert said.

"Bob, it's Viens," said the caller. "It's getting dark in the target area. The light is now down enough for us to switch to heat-scan without being blinded. We'll be able to track the cell easier."

"Go ahead," Herbert said. He hit the mute button on the phone.

Herbert and Hood continued to look at the overhead map. Hood was studying the area at the foot of the plateau.

"Bob, if we move the satellite will we be able to look into this valley?" Hood asked, pointing at a grid marked "77."

"I don't know," Herbert told him. He glanced over at his boss. "Paul, I want to find Mike too. But we only have the one satellite in the region. Do we want to tie it up looking for him?"

"Mike could have lost or damaged his radio in the fall," Hood said. "If he's alive there might be something he can do for Brett. We need every resource we can get over there."

"Even if they're two thousand vertical miles and God knows how many as-the-crow-flies miles away?" Herbert asked.

"We don't know for certain where Mike is," Hood pointed out. "We need to find out."

Before the intelligence chief could consider what Paul Hood had said, Viens came back on the line.

"Bob, are you looking at the new satellite photos?" Viens asked.

Herbert killed the mute function. "No," he replied and immediately jumped back to the feed from the OmniCom. "Is there a problem?"

"Maybe," Viens said. "Even when the cell was under the ledge we always caught a glimpse of a head or arm so we knew we still had them. What do you see now?"

Herbert and Hood both leaned closer to the monitor as the image formed. The picture looked psychedelic, like something from the sixties. Hot, red shadows were spilling out along a field of green-colored rocks and snow.

The shadows of only three people.

"What the hell's going on there?" Herbert asked.

"I don't know," Viens admitted. "Some of the terrorists could have been lost along the way."

"It's also possible they turned on Friday and the Indian officer," Herbert thought aloud. "Maybe there were casualties. We should try and get them on the radio."

"No," Hood said. "Contact August and let him know there are three individuals ahead. Tell him they may be hostile and that he is to use discretion whether to shadow rather than engage. Stephen, can you get me a look at grid 77 on file map OP-1017.63?"

"I'll bring that map up, see if it's in the OmniCom's focal range," Viens replied. "It'll only take a minute."

"Thank you," Hood said.

Herbert shook his head. "What reason would the cell have for attacking Friday?" he asked.

"Maybe it was Friday who turned against the cell," Hood said. Then he straightened. "Wait a minute," he said. "It could be possible that none of the above happened."

"What do you mean?" Herbert asked.

"Ron Friday must have told the cell that the Indian soldiers were coming toward them," Hood said.

"Right," Herbert said.

"The Pakistanis could not know there was a threat until Friday joined them," Hood went on. "They did not know that getting Nanda to Pakistan was the only way they might be able to stop a nuclear exchange. What would you do with that knowledge, especially if you were also told that an American strike force was coming to link up with you?" Hood said. "If you were smart and bold and probably a little desperate you would try something unexpected."

"Like splitting your forces and using one group to draw the Indian soldiers away," Herbert said.

"Right. Which means that the other four people may be somewhere else, probably holding to the original course," Hood said.

"If that's true, it means we don't want August and Musicant linking up with the splinter group, since they're probably going to want to draw fire from the Indians," Herbert said.

"Correct. Bob, let August know what we're thinking," Hood said. He leaned back over the computer and returned to the NASA map. "Stephen, I need to see into that valley."

"I've got your map up now," Viens said. "I'm looking to see if the coordinates are in the OmniCom computer."

Meanwhile, Herbert punched in Striker's TAC-SAT number. "Paul, you can't be thinking what I think you are," Herbert said.

"I'm sure I am," Hood informed him.

"Assuming he's all right, you don't even know if you can talk to him," Herbert said.

"One thing at a time," Hood said.

"I can do it!" Viens shouted. "I'm sending up the order now. No guarantees about cloud cover and visibility, Paul, but I'll have you in the valley in ninety seconds."

"Thank you," Hood said.

"What are we looking for?" Viens asked.

"A parachute," Hood said. "One that may have Mike Rodgers on the end of it."