'I did repair work for the Islamabad militia and--'
'On handsets too?' Rodgers interrupted.
'Walkie-talkies?' Samouel asked.
'Not just walkie-talkies,' Rodgers said. He stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. His questions and plans were racing ahead of the answers.
'What I mean is this. If there is a satellite dish on the ledge would you be able to hook a cell phone to it?'
'I see,' Samouel replied.
'Is it a government cell phone with safeguards of any kind?' 'I don't think so,' Rodgers said.
'Then I can probably rig something as long as you can expose the satellite cable,' Samouel told him.
'What kind of tools would you need?' Rodgers asked.
'Not more than my pocket knife, I would imagine,' Samouel said.
'Very good,' Rodgers said.
'Now tell me more about the ledge. Was there any way to get to the dish?
Ledges, projections, handholds.'
'I don't think so,' Samouel told him.
'It looked like a straight climb up a smooth wall.'
'I see,' Rodgers said.
The genera) had become slightly disoriented in the dash to save Nanda.
He needed to get his bearings again. He turned himself completely around so he was facing what he believed was the back of the enclosure.
He crouched on the balls of his feet.
'Friday, are you still at the slab?' Rodgers yelled.
Friday was silent.
'Say something!' Rodgers screamed.
'I'm here!' Friday said.
Rodgers pinpointed Friday's voice. He kept his eyes on the dark spot.
At the same time, he reached into his vest and removed the cell phone.
He gave the unit to Samouel.
'If Colonel August calls, tell him to keep the line open,' Rodgers told Samouel.
'What are you going to do?' the Pakistani asked.
'Try and get to that dish,' Rodgers replied.
'How are you set for ammunition?' 'I have a few rounds and one extra clip,' Samouel told him.
'Use them sparingly,' Rodgers said.
'I may need the cover when I start up the slope.'
'I will be very careful,' Samouel promised.
Mike Rodgers flexed his cold, gloved fingers then put his hands on the ground. He was anxious. A lot was riding on what he knew to be a long shot. He was also concerned about Ron Friday, about something the NSA operative had said earlier. Even if they got through this impasse Rodgers wondered if a deadlier one lay ahead. But that was not something he could afford to worry about now. One battle at a time.
After pausing to take a long, calming breath, the general once again began moving crablike across the rugged terrain.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE.
The Siachin Glacier Friday, 2:42 a. m.
Ron Friday listened as someone approached. He assumed it was either Rodgers or Samouel.
Probably Rodgers, the NSA operative decided. The go-get' em warrior.
The general would have a plan to salvage this mission. Which was fine with Friday. No one wanted a nuclear war. But barring such a plan, Friday also cared about getting the hell off this glacier and into Pakistan. And then from Pakistan to somewhere else. Anywhere that was upwind from the fallout that would blanket the Indian subcontinent.
Friday wanted out of here not because he was afraid to die. What scared him was dying stupidly. Not for a trophy or a jewel but because of a screw up. And right now they were in the middle of a massive screw up. A side trip that should never have happened. All because they had trusted the bureaucrats in Washington and Islamabad.
Friday waited behind the slab. The Indians must have heard the movement too because fresh gunfire pinged around the perimeter. There was not a lot of it. They were obviously conserving ammunition. They fired just enough to keep the person low and on the move.
Friday peered out at the blackness. His own weapon was drawn. His nostrils and lungs hurt from the knife-
