Rodgers was leg-weary as his group made its way across some of the starkest landscape Rodgers had ever encountered. The ice was glass-smooth and difficult to navigate. Nanda and Samouel slipped with increasing regularity. Rodgers was glad he still had his crampons, heavy though they were. Rodgers continued to help Apu Kumar along. The farmer's left arm was slung across Rodgers's neck and they were on a gradual incline. Apu's feet had to be dragged more than they moved. Rodgers suspected the only thing that kept the elderly man moving at all was a desire to see his granddaughter reach safety. The American officer would have helped the farmer regardless, but he was touched by that thought.
That was not a sentiment Ron Friday seemed to share.
Friday had stayed several paces behind Rodgers, Apu, and Nanda. Samouel continued to hold the point position, turning the flashlight on at regular intervals. At just under an hour into the trek, Friday stepped beside Rodgers. He was panting, his breath coming in wispy white bursts.
"You realize you're risking the rest of this mission by dragging him along," Friday said.
Though the NSA operative spoke softly, his voice carried in the still, cold air. Rodgers was certain that Nanda had heard.
"I don't see it that way," Rodgers replied.
"The delay is exponential," Friday continued. "The longer it takes the weaker we become, slowing us down even more."
"Then you go ahead," Rodgers said.
"I will," he said. "With Nanda. Across the border."
"No," she said emphatically.
"I don't know why you're both so willing to trust those bastards in Washington," Friday went on. "We're at our closest approach to the border. It's just about twenty or thirty minutes north of here. Troops have probably been pulled out to man the incursion line."
"Some," Rodgers agreed. "Not all."
"Enough," Friday replied. "Heading there makes more sense than going another hour northeast to God-knows-where."
"Not to the guys we report to," Rodgers reminded him.
"They're not here," Friday shot back. "They don't have on-site intelligence. They aren't in our shoes."
"They're not field personnel," Rodgers pointed out. "This is one of the things we trained for."
"Blind, stupid loyalty?" Friday asked. "Was that also part of your training, General?"
"No. Trust," Rodgers replied. "I respect the judgment of the men I work with."
"Maybe that's why you ended up with a valley full of dead soldiers," Friday said.
Mike Rodgers let the remark go. He had to. He did not have the time or extra energy to break Friday's jaw.
Friday continued to pace Rodgers. The NSA agent shook his head. "How many disasters have to bite a military guy in the ass before he takes independent action?" he asked. "Hell, Herbert isn't even a superior officer. You're taking orders from a civilian."
"And you're pushing it," Rodgers said.
"Let me ask you something," Friday went on. "If you knew you could cross the line of control and get Nanda to a place where she could broadcast her story, would you disobey your instructions?"
"No," Rodgers replied.
"Why?"
"Because there may be a component to this we're not aware of," Rodgers replied.
"Like what?" Friday asked.
"A 'for instance'?" Rodgers said. "You flew out here with an Indian officer instead of waiting for us to join the cell, against instructions. Well, you hate taking orders. Maybe you were being headstrong. Or maybe you're working with the SFF. It could be that if we follow your short hop toward the border we'll end up not reaching Pakistan at all."
"That's possible," Friday admitted. "So why didn't I cut you down back at the valley? That would have made certain I get things my way."
"Because then Nanda would have known she's a dead woman," Rodgers told him.
"Can you guarantee that won't happen if she crawls across a glacier with you?"
Rodgers did not answer. Friday had a sharp, surgical mind. Anything the general said would be sculpted to support Friday's point of view. Then it would be fired back at him. Rodgers did not want to do anything that might fuel doubts in Nanda's mind.
"Think about this," Friday continued. "We're following the directions of Washington bureaucrats without knowing where we're going or why. We've been running across the mountains for hours without food or rest. We may not even reach the target, especially if we carry each other around. Have you considered the possibility that's the plan?"
"Mr. Friday, if you want to cross the line of control you go ahead," Rodgers told him.
"I do," Friday said. He leaned in front of Rodgers. He looked at Nanda. "If she goes with me, I'll get her to Pakistan and safety."
"I'm staying with my grandfather," the woman said.
"You were ready to leave him before," Friday reminded her.
"That was before," she said.
"What changed your mind?"
"You," she replied. "When my grandfather was kneeling and you walked over to him."
"I was going to help him," Friday said.
"I don't think so," she said. "You were angry."
"How do you know?" he asked. "You couldn't see me—"
"I could hear your footsteps on the ice," she said.
"My footsteps?" Friday said disdainfully.
"We used to sit in the bedroom and listen to the Pakistanis on the other side of the door," Nanda told him. "We couldn't hear what they were saying but I always knew what they were feeling by how they walked across the wooden floor. Slow, fast, light, heavy, stop and start. Every pattern told us something about each individual's mood."
"I was going to help him," Friday repeated.
"You wanted to hurt my grandfather," Nanda said. "I know that."
"I don't believe this," Friday said. "Never mind your grandfather. Millions of people may go to hell because of something you did and we're talking about footsteps."
Mike Rodgers did not want to become involved in the debate. But he did not want it to escalate. He also was not sure, at this point, whether he even wanted Ron Friday to stay. Rodgers had worked with dozens of intelligence operatives during his career. They were lone wolves by nature but they rarely if ever disregarded instructions from superiors. And never as flagrantly as this. One of the reasons they became field operatives was the challenge of executing orders in the face of tremendous odds.
Ron Friday was more than just a loner. He was distracted. Rodgers suspected that he was driven by a different agenda. Like it or not, that might be something he would have to try to figure out.
"We're going to save Nanda's grandfather as well as those millions of people you're concerned about," Rodgers said firmly. "We'll do that by going northeast from here."
"Damn it, you're blind!" Friday shouted. "I've been in this thing from the start. I was in the square when it blew up. I had a feeling about the dual bombers, about the involvement of the SFF, about the double-dealing of this woman." He gestured angrily at Nanda. "It's the people who pull the strings you should doubt, not a guy who's been at ground zero from the start."
Friday was losing it. Rodgers did not want to waste the energy to try to stop him. He also wanted to see where the rant would lead. Angry men often said too much.
Friday fired up his torch again. Rodgers squinted in the light. He slowed as Friday got in front of them and faced them.
"So that's it, then?" Friday said.
"Get out of the way," Rodgers ordered.
"Bob Herbert barks, Mike Rodgers obeys, and Op-Center takes over the mission," Friday said.
"Is that what this is about?" Rodgers asked. "Your resume?"
"I'm not talking about credit," Friday said. "I'm talking about what we do for a living. We collect and use information."
"You do," Rodgers said.
"Fine, yes. I do," Friday agreed. "I put myself in places where I can learn things, where I can meet people. But we, our nation, need allies in Pakistan, in the Muslim world. If we stay on this glacier we are still behind Indian lines. That buys us nothing."