Plummer considered what Ambassador Simathna might be up to. Plummer decided on three possibilities. He certainly would have reported the intelligence to the chief executive of the republic, General Abdul Qureshi. Either Islamabad or the embassy might then draft a press release condemning New Delhi for their duplicity. The Indians would vehemently deny the charges, of course. That would rally the people around their respective leaders and ratchet tensions even higher. Especially at Op-Center, which would surely be cited by Islamabad for having provided them with the information.
The second possibility was that there would be no press release. Not yet. Instead, Qureshi and the generals of Pakistan's National Security Council would plan a swift, merciless nuclear strike against India. They would attempt to destroy as many missile installations as possible before releasing the intelligence Op-Center had provided. That would drag the United States into the conflict as a de facto ally of Pakistan.
Hood and Plummer had known that those were both possibilities. They simply hoped that reason would triumph. On the whole, Ambassador Simathna was a reasonable man.
That allowed Plummer to hold out hope for a third possibility, what he called "the one-eighty." It was an option the experts never considered, a development that popped up one hundred and eighty degrees from where the common wisdom had staked its tent. It was the Allies invading Normandy beach instead of Calais during World War II, it was Harry Truman beating Thomas Dewey for the presidency in 1948.
Simathna's parting words, about there being a footnote that only he could access, gave Plummer hope for a one-eighty.
The door opened while Plummer was reading the ninety-year-old paper signed by Khan.
"I often stand where you are and gaze at that document," the ambassador declared as he entered the room. "It reminds me of the dream for which I am an honored caretaker."
The Pakistani shut the heavy door and walked toward his desk. The ambassador seemed to be a little more distracted than before. That could be a good thing or a bad thing for Plummer. Either diplomacy had triumphed and Islamabad would give Mike Rodgers time to try to finish the mission. That meant the ambassador would be the hero or the scapegoat. Or else the children of Aga Khan III were about to write a new Muslim League document. One that would be blasted into the history books by plutonium 239.
Simathna walked quickly behind his desk. He gestured toward a chair on the other side. Plummer sat after the ambassador did. Simathna then turned a telephone toward the American political liaison.
"Would you please call Mr. Hood and ask him to connect you to General Rodgers," Simathna said. "I must speak with them both."
Plummer sat forward in the armchair. "What are you going to tell them?" he asked.
"I spoke with General Qureshi and the members of the National Security Council," the ambassador told him. "There was deep concern but no panic. Preparations are quietly being made to activate defense systems and policies already in place. If what you say about the Indian woman is true, we believe the situation need not escalate."
"How can Op-Center help?" Plummer pressed.
Ambassador Simathna told Plummer what the Pakistani leaders had discussed. Their plan was more than a one-eighty. It was an option that Plummer never could have thought of.
Plummer also realized that the plan carried an enormous risk. The Pakistanis could be looking for an ally in the war against India. If the ambassador were misleading Plummer about their intent, the Pakistani proposal would put the United States at the epicenter of the conflagration.
Literally.
Fortunately or unfortunately, all Ron Plummer had to do was make the call.
Paul Hood was the one who had to make the decision.
FORTY-NINE
Paul Hood was stealing a slice of pizza from his assistant's desk when the call came from Ron Plummer. Hood asked Bugs to have Bob Herbert join him. Then he hurried back to his desk to take the call.
"What have you got?" Hood said as he picked up. He heard the slight reverberation sound that indicated he was on speaker. Hood engaged his own speaker option.
"Paul, I'm here with Ambassador Simathna," Plummer said. "He has a proposal."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ambassador," Hood said. "Tell me how we can help you."
Herbert wheeled in then and shut the door behind him.
"First, Director Hood, I want to offer my condolences on the tragic loss of your Striker unit, and my government's appreciation for what they were attempting to accomplish," Simathna said.
"Thank you," Hood replied. The ambassador sounded a little too compassionate. He had obviously figured out that the team had not been in the region to help stop Indian aggression.
Herbert was a little more blunt. The intelligence chief made an up-and-down motion with his fist.
"Second, my government has a plan that may assist General Rodgers and his personnel," Simathna went on. "As I have already explained to Mr. Plummer, it will require an understanding with your government that details of the operation must remain confidential."
"I am not in a position to speak for the government, only my small corner of it," Hood said. "If you tell me your idea I will immediately confer with people who are in a position to offer those assurances."
Paul Hood was dying inside. Vital seconds and quite possibly lives were slipping away while he and Ambassador Simathna postured. But this was how the dance was done.
"The plan we propose is that your group proceed to a nuclear missile site that our military has erected in the glacier," Simathna said. "It is a remotely operated site with video cameras monitoring the interior. The Indian woman can make her broadcast from inside the silo."
Hood stared at Bob Herbert. Mike Rodgers was being invited to visit one of the silos Striker had originally been sent to find. The irony of the proposal was almost painful. What was difficult to process, however, was the dangers inherent in the plan.
"Mr. Ambassador, would you excuse me a minute?" Hood asked.
"Given the situation I would not take much longer than that," Simathna replied.
"I understand, sir, but I need to confer with one of my associates," Hood replied.
"Of course," Simathna said.
Hood punched the mute button. "What do your instincts tell you, Bob? Are they using us?"
"Man, I just don't know," Herbert admitted. "My gut says that the team needs to get to the nearest, warmest refuge as soon as possible. The more I looked at photographs of the glacier the more I started thinking they'll never be able to cross it without more gear and supplies than they're carrying. And the weather reports for the region suck. It's going to be around ten below zero before midnight. But I have to tell you, of all the places they could go, a Pakistani nuclear silo would be my absolute last choice."
"I agree with all of that," Hood replied. "The problem is we also have to get Nanda Kumar on-camera as fast as possible."
"Nanda, yes," Herbert said. "The problem is Mike and Ron Friday. If the Pakistanis get them on video there's no telling what bullshit story Islamabad might concoct. They could kill the audio, release the video to the news media, and say that Mike and Friday are there as technical advisors. How's that going to play in India, Russia, China, and God knows where else? An American general and intelligence officer working closely with Pakistani nuclear missiles?"
"They'd say we were in on the Pakistani operation from the start," Hood said. "I'm just not seeing any other viable options."
Herbert shook his head. "Nothing's jumping out at me either."
"Then let's move this along and just watch our step," Hood told him. "The first thing we have to do is try to get Brett on the line. Let's see if he can even contact Mike."