things can be accomplished.' 'Paul Hood and I share your optimism,' Plummer said.
'Even at this moment?'
'Especially at this moment.' Plummer replied.
Throughout the exchange Plummer had watched the ambassador's dark eyes.
Simathna's mind was elsewhere. Plummer feared that the ambassador was thinking of alerting his government.
The ambassador rose.
'Mr. Plummer, would you excuse me for a few minutes?'
Plummer also stood.
'Mr. Ambassador, one more thing.'
'Yes?'
'I don't wish to push you, sir, but I want to make certain I've made the situation clear,' Plummer said.
'It is vital that your government take no action until our people in the field have had a chance to extract the Indian operative.'
'You have made that quite clear,' the ambassador replied.
'There is the very real danger that even a leaked word could turn this into a self-fulfilling nightmare,' Plummer added.
'I agree,' Simathna assured him. The tall Pakistani smiled slightly and started toward the door.
'Mr. Ambassador, please tell me what you're going to do,' Plummer implored. The American was going to feel very foolish if Simathna were going to get an aspirin or visit the lavatory. But Plummer had to know.
'I am going to do something that will require your assistance,' Simathna replied.
'Anything,' Plummer said.
'What can I do?'
The ambassador opened the door and looked back.
'You must give me something that you just requested of me.'
'Of course,' Plummer told him.
'Name it.' While the PEO waited he replayed the conversation in his mind on fastforward, trying to remember what the hell he had asked the ambassador for.
'I need your trust,' Simathna said.
'You have it, sir. That's why I came here,' Plummer insisted.
'What I need to know is if we're on the same tactical page.'
'We are,' Simathna replied.
'However, I have access to footnotes that you do not.'
With that, the Pakistani ambassador left his office and quietly shut the door behind him.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN.
The Siachin Glacier Thursday, 10:57 p. m.
Ron Friday's anger kept him from freezing.
The NSA operative was not angry when he started this leg of the mission. He had been optimistic. He had effectively taken charge of the mission from Sharab. Even if the woman survived her encounter with the Indian army, Friday would be the one who led the cell into Pakistan. The triumph would be his. And the journey appeared feasible, at least according to the Indian military reconnaissance maps he had taken from the helicopter. The line of control did not appear to be heavily guarded at the Bellpora Pass. The region was extremely wide and open and easy to monitor from the air. Captain Nazir had told Friday that anyone passing through the jagged, icy region risked being spotted and picked off. So Friday and his group would have to remain alert. If the cell was still in the pass during a fly over they would find a place to hide until it was finished.
However, Friday became less enthusiastic about the operation as the hours passed. He was accustomed to working alone. That had always given him a psychological advantage.
Not having to worry about or rely on someone else enabled him to make fast tactical turns, both mentally and physically.
It had been the same with his romantic relationships. They were paid for by the hour. That made them easy, to the point, and, most importantly, over.
Samouel was holding up well enough. He was in the lead.
The Pakistani was deftly poking the ground with a long stick he had picked up, making sure there were no pockets of thin ice. Friday was directly behind him. There were two unlit torches tucked under his right arm. They were made with sturdy branches the men had picked up before the tree line ended. They were capped by tightly wound strangler vines.
The thick vines glowed rather than burned. Friday had stuffed very dry rye grass between the vines to serve as primers.
The torches would only be used in an emergency. Friday had five matches in his pocket and he did not want to waste them.
