Line of Control

FIFTY

It was the last thing Ron Friday expected to feel.

As he neared the kneeling body of Apu Kumar, Friday felt the cell phone begin to vibrate in his vest pocket. It could only be a call from someone at the National Security Agency. But the signal absolutely should not be able to reach him out here. Not with the mountains surrounding the glacier, the distance from the radio towers in Kashmir, and the ice storms that whipped around the peaks in the dark. The friction of the ice particles produced electrostatic charges that made even point-to-point radio communications difficult.

Yet the phone line was definitely active. Absurdly so, as if he were riding the Metro in Washington instead of standing on a glacier in the middle of the Himalayas. Friday stopped and let the gun slip back into his pocket. He reached inside his coat, withdrew the phone, and hit the talk button.

"Yes?" Friday said.

"Is this Ron Friday?" the caller asked in a clear, loud voice.

"Who wants to know?" Friday asked incredulously.

"Colonel Brett August of Striker," said the caller.

"Striker?" Friday said. "Where are you? When did you land?"

"I'm with Sharab in the mountains overlooking your position," August said. "I'm calling on our TAC-SAT. Director Lewis gave us your number and the call code 1272000."

That was the correct ID number for the NSA director in coded communications. Still, Friday was suspicious.

"How many of you are there?"

"Only three of us," August informed him.

"Three? What happened?" Friday asked.

"We were caught in fire from the Indian army," August told him. "Is General Rodgers with you?"

"No," Friday replied.

"It's important that you watch for him and link up," August said.

"Where is he?" Friday asked.

"The general reached the Mangala Valley and is headed east," August said. "Satellite recon gave him your general position."

"The valley," Friday said. His eyes drifted to where Samouel was moving through the darkness. "That's just ahead."

"Good. When you link up you are to proceed to these coordinates on the pilot's map you're carrying," August went on.

"Hold on while I get it," Friday said.

The American crouched and set the phone on the ice. He pulled the map and a pen from his pocket. Friday tried to read the map by the green glow of the cell phone but that was not possible. He was forced to light one of his torches. The sudden brightness caused him to wince. He tried jamming the branch into the glacier but the surface was too solid. Apu reached over and held it for him. Friday remained crouching with the map spread before him.

"I'm set," Friday said as his eyes adjusted to the light.

"Go to seventeen-point-three degrees north, twenty-one-point-three degrees east," August told him.

Friday looked at the coordinates. He saw absolutely nothing on the map but ice.

"What's there?" Friday asked.

"I don't know," August told him.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know," August repeated.

"Then who does?" Friday demanded.

"I don't know that either," August admitted. "I'm just relaying orders from our superiors at Op-Center and the NSA."

"Well, I don't go on blind missions," Friday complained as he continued to study the map. "And I see that following the coordinates you gave me will take us away from the line of control."

"Look," August said. "You know what's at stake in the region. So does Washington. They wouldn't ask you to go if it weren't important. Now I'm sitting up here with my forces depleted and the Indian army at my feet. I've got to deal with that. Either I or William Musicant will call back in two hours with more information. That's about how long it should take you to reach the coordinates from the mouth of the valley."

"Assuming we go," Friday said.

"I assume you'll follow orders the same way my Strikers did," the colonel said. "August out."

The line went dead. Friday shut his phone off and put it away. Arrogant son of a bitch.

Nanda's voice rose from the darkness. "What is it?" she asked.

Friday continued to squat where he was. The heat of the torch was melting the ice beside him but the warmth felt good. The woman obviously had not seen what he was about to do before the telephone vibrated.

"The know-it-alls in Washington have a new plan for us but they won't tell us what it is," Friday said. "They want us to go to a spot on the map and wait for instructions."

Nanda walked over. "What spot?" she asked.

Friday showed her.

"The middle of the glacier," she said.

"Do you know what might be out there?" Friday asked.

"No," she replied.

"I don't like it," Friday said. "I don't even know if that was Colonel August on the line. The Indian army might have captured him, made him give them the code number."

"They didn't," a voice said from the darkness.

Friday and Nanda both started. The American grabbed the torch and held it to his left. That was the direction from which the voice had come.

A man was walking toward them. He was dressed in a white high altitude jumpsuit and U.S. Army equipment vest, and he was carrying a flashlight. Samouel was trailing slightly behind him. Friday shifted the torch to his left hand. He slipped his right hand back into the pocket with the gun. He rose.

"I'm General Mike Rodgers of Striker," said the new arrival. "I assume you're Friday and Ms. Kumar."

"Yes," the woman replied.

Friday was not happy to have company. First, he wanted to be sure the man was who he claimed to be. Friday studied the man as he approached. He did not appear to be Indian. Also, his cheeks and the area around his eyes were wind-blasted red and raw. He looked like he could be someone who walked a long way to get here.

"How do you know that it was actually August who called me?" Friday demanded.

"Colonel August spent several years as a guest of the North Vietnamese," Rodgers said. "He didn't tell them anything they wanted to know. Nothing's changed. Why did he contact you?"

"Washington wants us to go to a point northeast of here, away from the line of control," Friday replied. "But they didn't tell us why."

"Of course not," Rodgers said. "If we're captured by the enemy we can't tell them where we're headed." He removed his radio and tried it. There was only static. "How did Colonel August contact you?"

"TAC-SAT to cell phone," Friday replied.

"Clever," Rodgers said. "Is he holding up all right?"

Friday nodded. As long as August kept the Indians off their trail, he did not care how the pack animal was holding up.

Rodgers walked over to Apu and offered him a hand. Water had begun to pool around the Indian's feet.

"I suggest we start walking before we freeze here," Rodgers said.

"That's it, then?" Friday said. "You've decided that we should go deeper into the glacier?"

"No. Washington decided that," Rodgers replied. He helped Apu to his feet but his eyes remained on Friday.

"Even though we don't know where we're going," Friday repeated.

"Especially because of that," Rodgers said. "If they want to keep the target a secret it must be important."

Friday did not disagree. He simply did not trust the people in Washington to do what was best for him. On top of that, Friday loathed Rodgers. He had never liked military people. They were pack animals who expected everyone else to obey the pack leader's commands and conform to the pack agenda, even if that meant dying for the pack. Standing up to captors instead of cooperating for the good of all. That was not his way. It was the reason he worked alone. One man could always find a way to survive, to prosper.

Nanda and Samouel both moved to where Rodgers was standing with Apu. If the Indian woman had decided to continue on to the line of control, Friday would have gone with her. But if she was joining Rodgers, Friday had no choice but to go along with them.

For now.

Friday extinguished the torch by touching it to the melted ice. The water would freeze in seconds and he could knock the ice off if they needed the torch again.

The group continued its trek across the ice with Samouel in the lead and Rodgers and Nanda helping Apu. Friday kept his right hand in his pocket, on the gun. If at any point he did not like how things were going he would put them back on their original course.

With or without General Rodgers.