studying the glacier, or soldiers patrolling the region, or whatever they like.'
'None of which helps us get Mike out of there,' Coffey said gravely.
The phone beeped as Herbert was talking. Hood picked it up. It was Stephen Viens at the National Reconnaissance Office.
'Paul, if Mike is still out in the Chittisin Plateau, we've got something on the wide-range camera he should know about,' Viens said.
Hood punched on the speakerphone and sat up.
'Talk to me, Stephen,' he said.
'A couple of minutes ago we saw a blip moving back into the area,' Viens said.
'We believe it's an Indian Mi-35, possibly the same one they tangled with before. Refueled and back for another round.'
While Viens had been speaking, Hood and Herbert swapped quick, hopeful looks. The men did not have to say anything. There was suddenly an option. The question was whether there was time to use it.
'Stephen, stay on the line,' Hood said.
'And thank you.
Thank you very much.'
Moving with barely controlled urgency, Herbert scooped up his wheelchair phone and speed-dialed his Indian military liaison.
Hood also did something. Inside, in private.
He speed-dialed a silent word of thanks to whoever was looking after Mike.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN.
The Siachin Glacier Friday, 4:00 a. m.
Rodgers was crouched behind the slab, his gun drawn as he looked across the clearing. He had allowed the fire to die while Nanda continued to make her broadcast. Although the Indians had not moved on them, he did not want to give them a target if they changed their minds. He could think of several reasons they might.
If Nanda's message had gotten through, the soldiers certainly would have let Rodgers know by now. The Indians would not want to risk being shot any more than he did.
Their silence seemed to indicate that either the Indians were waiting for Rodgers to slip up or for reinforcements to arrive.
Possibly they were waiting for dawn to attack. They had the longer-range weapons. All they needed was light to climb the slopes and spot the targets. It could also be that the Indians were already moving on them, slowly and cautiously.
Ron Friday may have gone over to rat out their position in exchange for sanctuary. That would not surprise Rodgers at all. The man had given himself away when he registered no surprise about why Fenwick had resigned. Only Hood, the president, the vice president, the First Lady, and Fenwick's assistant had known he was a traitor.
But Friday knew. Friday knew because he may have been the son of a bitch's point man in Baku, Azerbaijan. For all Rodgers knew, Friday may have had a hand in the attacks on the CIA operatives who had been stationed there. One way or another, Ron Friday would answer for that.
Either he'd hunt him down here or end their broadcast with a message for Hood.
With the fire gone, however, Mike Rodgers had another concern. He had sacrificed his gloves and jacket for the cause. His hands were numb and his chest and arms were freezing. If he did not do something about that soon he would perish from hypothermia.
He took a moment to make sure that Nanda was protected from gunfire by what remained of the slab. Then he crept back to where he had left Samouel behind the ice barricade.
The Pakistani was dead.
That did not surprise Rodgers. What did surprise him was the sadness he felt upon finding the lifeless body.
There was something about Samouel that did not fit the template of an objective-blinded terrorist. In the Pakistani's final moments, while he should have been praying for Allah to accept his soul, Samouel was telling Rodgers how to splice the dish to his radio. Along with Samouel's dogged trek alongside two historic enemies, that had touched Rodgers.
Now, in death, Samouel was even responsible for saving Rodgers's life.
The general felt grateful as he removed the dead man's coat and gloves.
Stripping the bodies of enemies had always been a part of warfare. But soldiers did not typically take even things they needed from fallen allies. Somehow, though, this felt like a gift rather than looting.
Rodgers knelt beside the body as he dressed. As the general finished, his knees began to tickle. At first he thought it was a result of the cold. Then he realized that the ground was vibrating slightly. A moment later he heard a low, low roar.
It felt and sounded like the beginnings of an avalanche.
He wondered if the explosions had weakened the slopes and they were coming down on them. If that were the case the safest place would not be at the foot of the slopes.
Rising, Rodgers ran back toward Nanda. As he did, he felt a rumbling in his gut. He had felt it before. He recognized it.
