Hood did not have the luxury of time. He had told Mike Rodgers that he would hear from Brett August in two hours. Two hours had passed. It was time to place the call.
Op-Center's director had rarely felt this isolated. There were usually other field personnel or international organizations backing them up, whether it was Interpol or the Russian Op-Center. Even when he was dealing with the terrorists at the United Nations, Hood had the backing of the State Department. Except for the nominal support of the new head of the NSA, and the help of Stephen Viens at the NRO, they were alone. Alone and trying to stop a nuclear war, a world away, with a cell phone. Even the National Reconnaissance Office was not able to help much now. The towering peaks of the glacier blocked the satellite's view of much of the "playing field," as intelligence experts called any active region. Ice storms blocked the rest. Viens had not even been able to verify there was anything but ice at the coordinates the Pakistani ambassador had provided.
Herbert and August had not spoken for nearly an hour. Herbert had not wanted to distract him. Hood hoped there was someone at the other end of the TAC-SAT to take the call.
Colonel August answered quickly. Herbert put the conversation on the speakerphone. Except for the shrieking winds behind him, the colonel's voice was strong and clear.
Ron Plummer and the Pakistani ambassador were still on Hood's line. As Hood had promised, he left that speakerphone on as well.
"Colonel, I'm with Paul and Lowell Coffey," Herbert told him. "We also have the Pakistani ambassador and Ron Plummer on the other line. You are all on speaker."
"I copy that," August said.
August would know, now, not to say anything that might compromise American security objectives or operations.
"What's been happening there?" Herbert asked.
"Apparently, nothing," August said.
"Nothing at all?" Herbert asked.
"We can't see much now because of the ice storm and darkness," August told him. "But the Indians turn on lights occasionally and as far as we can tell there are still roughly two hundred soldiers at the foot of the plateau. We saw them making preparations for an ascent and then they just stopped about ninety minutes ago. They seem to be waiting."
"For backup?" Herbert asked.
"Possibly, sir," August said. "The delay could also be weather related. We've got a nasty ice storm kicking around us. It would not be a fun climb. Sharab says the winds usually subside just after dawn. The Indians could be waiting for that. With diminished winds they could also bring in low-altitude air support. Or the Indians could just be waiting for us to freeze."
"You feel you're in no immediate danger?" Hood asked.
"No, sir, we don't appear to be," August informed him. "Except for the cold we're all right."
"Hopefully, we'll be able to move you out before too long," Herbert said. "Colonel, we'd like you to raise Mike and his team. If they've arrived at the coordinates, and only if they are at the coordinates, tell them that they have reached an underground Pakistani nuclear missile site. The site is unmanned and operated remotely. Tell them to stand by and then call me back. The ambassador will provide us with passwords that will enable the team to enter the silo. Once inside they will receive instructions on how to access video equipment that the Pakistani military uses to monitor the facility."
"I understand," August said. "I'll contact General Rodgers now."
"Let us know if he has not reached the coordinates and also report back on the condition of his team," Herbert added.
August said he would, then signed off.
Hood did not know whether anything Ambassador Simathna had said to this point was true. But after Herbert hung up, the Pakistani said something on which they both agreed.
"The colonel," Simathna said, "is a courageous man."
FIFTY-SIX
Exhausted and freezing, Rodgers and his team reached the coordinates Brett August had provided.
Rodgers had half-expected to find a field with a temporary Pakistani outpost. Perhaps a few mobile missile launchers, landing lights for helicopters, and a camouflaged shed or two. He was wrong. They found some of the most inhospitable terrain they had yet encountered. Rodgers felt as though he had stepped into some Ice Age environment.
A circle of surrounding peaks enclosed an area of about ten acres. The team had walked through a large, circular, apparently artificial tunnel to get through the wall. Starting very close to the ground, the slopes jutted out at steep angles. At some time in the past slabs of ice must have broken from the facades and covered the ground. Or perhaps this was an ice cave and the roof had simply collapsed. The field itself was extremely rough and uneven, covered with rough-edged lumps of ice and slashed with narrow, jagged fissures. The harshness of the terrain suggested it did not get much sun. There did not appear to be the kind of smoothness that came with melting and refreezing. They were also at a much higher altitude than they were at the mouth of the valley. He doubted that temperatures here got much above zero degrees Fahrenheit.
Samouel and Friday were still relatively alert but Nanda was numb. Shortly after the Mi-35 turned and left, the woman had fallen quiet. Her muscles and expression had relaxed and she seemed almost in a trance. She moved along as he tugged her hand. But she had a rubbery, unfocused gait. Rodgers had seen this kind of emotional shutdown in Vietnam. It usually occurred after a GI had lost a good buddy in combat. Clinically speaking, Rodgers did not know how long the effects lasted. But he did know that he could not count on afflicted soldiers for days thereafter. After everything that had happened, it would be tragic if they could not even get Nanda to tell her story.
Samouel and Friday had been walking a few paces ahead of Rodgers and Nanda. After the men had a chance to light their torches and flashlights and shine them along the walls and ground, they walked over to the general. Friday handed Rodgers the cell phone.
"Here we are," Friday said angrily. "Now the question is where the hell are we?"
Rodgers released Nanda's hand. She stared into the darkness as Rodgers went to check the time on the cell phone. The cold was so intense that the liquid crystal screen cracked. The digital numbers vanished instantly.
"Well done," Friday said.
Rodgers did not respond. He was angry at himself too. The cell phone was their only link to the outside world. He should have foreseen what the intense cold would do. He closed the phone and put it in his pocket, where it would be relatively warm. Then he turned to Nanda. He warmed her exposed cheeks with his breath and was heartened when she looked at him.
"Look around, try and find out why we've been sent here," Rodgers said to the men.
"Probably to die," Friday said. "I don't trust any of these bastards, not the Indians or the Pakistanis."
"Or even your own government," Samouel said.
"Oh, you heard?" Friday said. "Well, you're right. I don't trust the politicians in Washington either. They're all using us for something."
"For peace," Samouel insisted.
"Is that what you were doing in Kashmir?" Friday demanded.
"We were trying to weaken an enemy that has oppressed us for centuries," Samouel told him. "The stronger we are the greater our capacity to maintain the peace."
"Fighting for peace, the great oxymoron," Friday said. "What a crock. You want power just like everyone else."
Rodgers had let the discussion go on because anger generated body heat. Now it was time to stop. He moved between the men.
"I need you to check the perimeter," Rodgers said. "Now."
"For what?" Friday asked. "A secret, open sesame passage? Superman's Fortress of Solitude?"