'We all do when we're in the field. I was just wondering if your instincts ever told you that Fenwick was a traitor.'
'No,' Friday said.
'So they were wrong,' Rodgers pressed.
Friday made a strange face, as though he were repulsed by the thought of having been wrong.
Or maybe Friday was disturbed by something else. Rodgers thought suddenly. Maybe the man could not admit his instincts were wrong because they had not been wrong.
Maybe Friday had known that Jack Fenwick was attempting to overthrow the government of the United States. Yet Friday certainly could not admit he knew that either.
The implications of Ron Friday's silence were disturbing.
One of the keys to Fenwick's plan had been starting an oil war between Azerbaijan, Iran, and Russia. To help that along, CIA operatives based in the U. S. embassy had to be murdered. The killer of one of those agents was never found.
The phone beeped again. Rodgers and Friday continued to look at one another. Friday's hands were still warming over the fire. Rodgers had his right hand in his pocket. As they stood there they shared a subtle alpha male exchange. Friday started to withdraw his right hand from the fire. He apparently wanted to put it in the pocket where he kept his gun.
Rodgers poked his right hand further into his own pocket so it bulged.
Friday did not know where the general kept his weapon. It happened to be in his equipment vest but Friday apparently did not realize that.
Friday's right hand remained exposed.
In the meantime, Rodgers answered the phone.
'Yes?'
'Mike, are you in a clearing hedged by ice?' August asked.
'Yes,' Rodgers replied.
'All right,' August said.
'Look to the northwest side of the clearing. At the base of one of the slopes you should see a perfectly flat, white slab of ice about two yards by two yards.' Rodgers told Friday to pick up one of the torches.
Then he told Samouel to sit with Nanda. Together, Rodgers and Friday walked toward the northwest side of the clearing.
'We're on our way over,' Rodgers said.
'Brett, any idea what the shape is of the chunk we're looking for?'
'Bob didn't say,' August replied.
'I guess 'slab' means flat.' The men continued walking across the uneven terrain. It was difficult to keep their footing because of all the small pits, cracks, and occasional patches of smooth ice. Rodgers remained several steps behind Friday. Even if Rodgers did not stumble, a man with a lit torch could be a formidable opponent.
Suddenly, Rodgers saw a piece of ice that fit the dimensions August provided. They walked toward it.
'I think we have it!' Rodgers said.
'Good,' August told him.
'You're going to have to move that and then wait for me to call back.'
'For what?' Rodgers asked.
'For the code that will open the hatch underneath,' August said.
'A hatch to what?' Rodgers asked.
'To an unmanned Pakistani nuclear missile facility,' August told him.
'Apparently the Pakistanis use a video setup to monitor the place.
You're going to use that equipment to make your broadcast.'
'I see,' Rodgers said.
'Hold on.'
Mike Rodgers felt a chill from inside. The setting no longer appeared prehistoric. It suddenly seemed calculated, like a theme park attraction. The ice was real but it had probably been arranged to look uninviting and confusing, to discourage ground traffic or overhead surveillance. Pakistani soldiers must have camped here in camouflage tents for months, possibly years, working on the silo and the setting.
The Pakistani air force would have flown in parts and supplies, probably solo excursions at night to lessen the chance of discovery. If they were telling the truth, it was an impressive achievement.
Rodgers kicked the edge of the slab with his toe. It was heavy. They were going to need help. The general turned.
He motioned for Samouel to bring Nanda and join them.
Just then, Rodgers noticed movement along the dimly lit wall behind Samouel. Shadows were shifting on the ice near the northeast slope.
