The movement was being caused by the torchlight. But the shadows were not being cast by the mounds of ice. The shadows of the ice piled near the walls were moving up and down. These shadows were creeping from side to side.
Right beside the entrance to the enclosure.
'Friday,' Rodgers said quietly but firmly, 'kill the light and move away from me fast.'
The urgency in Mike Rodgers's voice must have impressed Ron Friday. The NSA operative shoved the torch into a fissure headfirst and jumped to his left, away from Rodgers.
'Samouel, get behind something!' Rodgers shouted.
The general's voice was still echoing through the enclosure as he ran forward. Rodgers was afraid the phone would fall from his pocket so he tucked it into his equipment vest.
A moment later he tripped on a small pit and banged his left shoulder on a chunk of ice. Instead of getting up again he moved ahead on all fours, crablike. It was the only way to negotiate the uneven terrain without falling. He kept moving toward where he had last seen Samouel and Nanda.
He did not feel pain. The only thing that mattered was getting to Nanda.
And hoping that he was wrong about what he saw.
He was not.
A moment later the fire of automatic weapons sent deep pops and dull sparks bouncing from the icy walls.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN.
Washington, D. C. Thursday, 5:00 p. m.
Hood's office was supernaturally silent when Herbert's phone beeped.
His heart had begun to race just moments before, as though he knew the call was coming. Or maybe he was just getting more anxious as the minutes crept by.
Even if nothing was happening, Herbert did not like being out of touch.
The intelligence chief jabbed the audio button. Wind screamed from the tiny speaker. It seemed to draw Herbert into the Himalayas. Or maybe he was feeling something else.
A sense of exposure. The sound was being sucked from Herbert's armrest to the speakerphone on Hood's desk. The intelligence officer was unaccustomed to working with an audience. He did not like it.
'Go ahead,' Herbert shouted.
'Bob, I think something just happened at the missile site,' Colonel August informed him.
Herbert fired a glance at Hood's phone. Then he looked at Hood.
Herbert wanted his boss to mute the damn thing.
'Mike's ass is on the line,' Herbert said through his teeth.
'The damage is already done,' Hood said softly as he nodded toward the speakerphone on his desk where the Pakistani ambassador was still on the line. He raised his voice.
'Colonel, what's the situation?' Hood asked.
'I'm not certain, sir,' August said.
'I heard gunfire and shouting. Then there was nothing. I hung on for a few minutes before deciding to call. I thought I could use the downtime to get the codes in case Mike came back on.'
'Colonel, was there any indication who might be firing at who?' Herbert asked.
'No,' August replied.
'Before it started, all I heard was someone shouting for the others to duck and take cover. I assume it was General Rodgers.'
'Are you still secure?' Herbert asked.
'Nothing has changed here,' August replied.
'All right,' Herbert said.
'Hold on.'
Hood turned to the speakerphone.
'Mr. Ambassador, did you hear the colonel's report?'
'Every word,' Ambassador Simathna replied.
'It does not sound like a happy situation.'
'We don't know enough to say what the situation is exactly,' Hood pointed out.
'I do agree with Colonel August about having the codes ready to give to Mike Rodgers. Perhaps if he can get inside the silo--'
'I cannot agree,' Simathna interrupted.
'Why is that, sir?' Hood asked.
'Almost certainly those are Indian troops attacking the general's group,' Simathna said.
