Tom Clancy's Op-center Novels 7-12 (9781101644591)

by Clancy, Tom

Friday swore. “I don’t have time for a pissing contest, Herbert. I’ll straighten you out later. We’ve learned that a Pakistani cell, part of the Free Kashmir Militia, stayed at the farm of Apu Kumar for about five months. The farmer’s granddaughter, Nanda, is the only child of a couple who died fighting the Pakistanis. The girl wrote poetry the whole time the cell was here. It appears to have contained coded elements reporting on the cell’s activities. She used to recite her poems aloud while she took care of the chickens. We suspect members of the Special Frontier Force heard what she was saying, probably by cell phone. She was with them when the bazaar attack in Srinagar took place and we believe the SFF was behind the temple bombing. We also believe that she is still with them, and might have the cell phone to signal SFF.”

  “She was signaling the SFF,” Herbert replied.

  “What happened?” Friday asked.

  It was time to give Friday a little information, a little trust. “The Indian pursuit team was just taken out by a powerful explosion in the Himalayas,” Herbert informed him.

  “How do you know that?” Lewis asked.

  “We’ve got ELINT resources in the region,” Herbert said.

  Herbert used the vague electronics intelligence reference because he did not want Lewis to know that he had satellite coverage of the region. The new NSA head might start pushing the NRO for off-the-books satellite time of his own.

  “How many men were killed?” Lewis asked.

  “About thirteen or fourteen,” Herbert replied. “They were closing in on what appeared to be an outpost about eight thousand feet up in the mountains. The men, the outpost, and the side of the mountain are all gone.”

  “Were you able to ID the commandos?” Friday asked. “Were they wearing uniforms?”

  “They were SFF,” Herbert replied.

  “I knew it,” Friday said triumphantly. “What about the cell?”

  “We don’t know,” Herbert admitted. “We’re trying to find out if they got away.”

  Herbert looked at the computer monitor. Stephen Viens had just finished zooming in slowly on the northern side of the cliff. The resolution was three meters, sufficient to show footprints. The angle of the sun was still low. That would help by casting shadows off the side walls of any prints. Viens began panning the flattest, widest areas of the slopes. Those were the sections where people were likely to be walking in the darkness.

  “If the cell did get away the SFF is not going to give up,” Friday continued. “There’s a possibility the SFF set them up to take the fall for the temple bombings in Srinagar.”

  “Do you have proof of that?” Herbert asked. He was interested that Friday had come to the same conclusion as he and General Rodgers.

  “No,” Friday admitted. “But the Black Cats would normally have handled the investigation and they were cut out of it by the SFF. They also obviously knew about the cell.”

  “That doesn’t mean they were involved in the destruction of the temple,” Herbert said. “The Free Kashmir Militia are known terrorists. According to Indian radio they already took credit for the bombing—”

  “Whoever made that call may not have known the extent of the attack,” Friday said.

  “That could be,” Herbert agreed. “I’m still not ready to declare them innocent. Maybe someone in the group betrayed them and rigged the extra explosions. But let’s assume for the moment you’re right, that the SFF organized the bombing to advance an agenda. What is that agenda?”

  “My Black Cat partner believes it’s a holy war,” Friday said. “Possibly a nuclear holy war.”

  “A preemptive strike,” Hank Lewis said.

  Again, Herbert was encouraged by the fact that Ron Friday and the Indian Black Cat officer reached the same conclusions that he and Rodgers had. It meant there might be some truth to their concerns. But he was also discouraged for the same reason.

  “We think the SFF forces used gas against the Pakistani stronghold,” Herbert said. “Which would mean they wanted to try and capture them alive.”

  “A perp walk and confessions,” Friday said.

  “Probably. But I’ve got to believe the main reason the cell is running is not to save their own lives,” Herbert said. “Even if they get back to Pakistan no one in India is going to take their word that they’re innocent.”

  “They need the girl,” Friday said.

  “Exactly,” Herbert said. “If she worked with the SFF to stage the attack, they need to get a complete public statement from her. One that doesn’t look or sound like it’s a forced confession.”

  “I’m missing something here,” Lewis said. “If we suspect that this is going on, why don’t we just confront the SFF or someone in the Indian government? Get them involved.”

  “Because we don’t know who may already be involved in this operation and how high up it goes,” Herbert said. “Talking to New Delhi may just accelerate the process.”

  “Accelerate it?” Lewis said. “How much faster can it possibly go?”

  “In a crisis like this days can become hours if you’re not careful,” Herbert said. “We don’t want to panic the people in charge. If we’re right, the SFF will still try to capture the cell.”

  “Or at least Nanda,” Friday said. “Maybe she’s the one they’re really after. Think about a teary-eyed Hindu woman going on television and telling the public how the FKM plotted to blow up the temple, not caring how many Hindu men, women, and children they killed.”

  “Good point,” Herbert said. “What about the girl’s grandfather? If the cell is alive and we can find them before the SFF does, do you think he’d be willing to talk to her? To convince her to tell the public what she knows?”

  “I’ll make sure he’s willing to talk to her,” Friday said.

  As they spoke the satellite camera stopped on what looked like it might be several footprints. Viens began zooming in.

  “What are you thinking of doing, Bob?” Hank Lewis asked.

  “We’ve already got two men on the ground and a field force on the way,” Herbert said. “If I can get Paul to sign off on it, I’m going to ask General Rodgers to try and intercept the cell.”

  “And do what?” Lewis demanded. “Help avowed terrorists make it home safely?”

  “Why not?” Friday said. “That might win us allies in the Muslim world. We can use them.”

  “America doesn’t ‘win’ allies in the Muslim world. If we’re lucky we earn their forbearance,” Herbert said.

  “A smart man knows how to work that too,” Friday said.

  “Maybe you’ll get to show us how it’s done,” Herbert replied.

  “Maybe,” Friday replied.

  The intelligence chief had worked with hundreds of field ops over the years. He had been one himself. They were a tough, thorny, independent breed. But this man was more than that. Herbert could hear it in his voice, the edge to his words and the confidence of his statements. Usually, men who sounded like Friday were what spy leaders called HOWs—hungry old wolves. Working on their own year after year they began to feel invisible to the host government and beyond the reach of their own government. They’d been out in the cold so long that they tended to bite anyone who came near them.

  But Friday had not spent a lot of time on his own. He had come from an embassy post. That suggested something else to Herbert: an I-spy. The espionage game’s equivalent of a bad cop, someone who was in this for themselves. Whatever Striker ended up doing in the field, if it involved Ron Friday Herbert would tell Mike Rodgers to watch him very, very closely.

  “Bob?” Viens said on the speakerphone. “You still there?”

  “I’m here,” Herbert said. He told Lewis and Friday to hold the line.

  “Are you looking at the monitor?” Viens asked.

  “I am,” Herbert said.

  “You see that?” Viens asked.

  “I do,” Herbert replied.

  There were footprints. And they were made during the previous night. The sun had not had a chance to m
elt and refreeze them. The cell had definitely left the cave and was heading north, toward Pakistan. Unfortunately, they could not tell from the jumble of footprints how many people were in the party.

  “Good work, Stephen,” Herbert said. He archived the image with the rest of them. “Have you got time to follow them?”

  “I can track them for a bit but that won’t tell you much,” Viens said. “I looked at one of the overviews. We’re going to lose the trail behind the peak about a quarter of a kilometer to the northwest. After that all we’ve got is a shitload of mountain to examine.”

  “I see,” Herbert said. “Well, at least let’s make sure they went as far as the turn. And see if we can get a better idea of how many people there were and maybe what they were carrying.”

  “I’m guessing they weren’t carrying much,” Viens said. “Three inches or so of snow cover, two inches of print. They look about the right depth for an average hundred-and-sixty-pound individual. Besides, I can’t imagine they’d be carrying much more than ropes and pitons trekking through that region.”

  “You’re probably right,” Herbert said.

  “But I’ll see if we can’t get a head count for the group,” Viens said.

  “Thanks, Stephen,” Herbert said.

  “Anytime,” Viens replied.

  Herbert clicked off the speakerphone and got back on with Hank Lewis and Ron Friday. “Gentlemen, we’ve definitely got the cell heading north,” he said. “I suggest we table the political debate and concentrate on managing the crisis. I’ll have a talk with Paul. See if he wants to get involved with this or whether we should abort the Striker mission altogether and turn the problem over to the State Department. Hank, I suggest you and Mr. Friday talk this over and see what you want your own involvement to be. Whether we stick to the original mission or work out a new one, it could get ugly out there.”

  “We’ll also have to talk about what to tell the president and the CIOC,” Lewis said.

  “I have a suggestion about that,” Herbert told him. “If you tag Mr. Friday as a loan-out to Striker as of right now, the NSA doesn’t have to be involved in making that decision.”

  “That’s a negative,” Lewis told him. “I’m new on the job, Bob, but I’m not a novice. You let me know what Paul’s thinking is and I’ll make the call on our end.”

  “Fair enough,” Herbert said. He smiled. He respected a man who did not pass the buck. Especially a buck this big.

  “Ron,” Lewis said, “I’d like you to talk to the farmer and to Captain Nazir. See if they’re with you on a possible search-and-capture. I agree with Bob. Mr. Kumar can be very useful if we’re able to locate his granddaughter.”

  “I’ll do it,” Friday said.

  “Good,” Herbert said. “Hank, you and I will talk after I’ve discussed this with Paul and General Rodgers. Mr. Friday—thank you for your help.”

  Friday said nothing.

  Herbert hung up. He swore at the very thought of Ron Friday and then put him from his mind—for now. There were larger issues to deal with.

  He made an appointment to see Paul Hood at once.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Kargil, Kashmir Thursday, 7:43 A.M.

  Before leaving the helicopter Ron Friday opened a compartment between the seats. He found an old backup book of charts in there. The chopper’s flight plan was dictated by computer-generated maps. These animated landscapes and grid overlays were presented on a monitor located above the primary flight display screen between the pilot and copilot stations. A keypad beneath the monitor was used to punch in coordinates. Friday tore out the maps he wanted and shoved them in the pocket of his windbreaker.

  As he headed back to the farm, Friday punched the air. He unleashed a flurry of strong, angry uppercuts that did not just hit the imaginary chin of Bob Herbert. The punches went through his new nemesis as he struck at the sky. Who the hell did Bob Herbert think he was? The man had been wounded in the line of duty. That entitled him to disability compensation, not respect.

  The pismire, Friday thought. Bob Herbert was just a wageslave drone in the hive.

  Friday finished his flurry of blows. His heart was ramming his chest, his arms perspiring. Breathing heavily, he flexed his fingers as he stalked across the rocky, uneven terrain.

  It’s all right, Friday told himself. He was here, at the heart of the action, in control of his destiny. Bob Herbert was back in Washington barking orders. Orders that could easily be ignored since Lewis had not allowed him to be seconded to Op-Center. Friday put the self-pitying bureaucrat from his mind and concentrated on the work at hand.

  Captain Nazir had gone inside with Apu Kumar. The Black Cat officer was looking around the house while Kumar sat quietly on the tattered couch. Both men turned as Friday entered.

  “What did they say?” Nazir asked.

  “The Pakistani cell is alive and well and apparently moving north through the Himalayas,” Friday told Nazir. “Op-Center and the NSA are considering a joint mission to try and apprehend the cell along with Mr. Kumar’s granddaughter. They want to keep them all out of the hands of the SFF. Would the Black Cat Commandos and their allies in the government have a problem with an American-run search-and-recover mission?”

  “Does your government believe there is a chance for a nuclear exchange?” Nazir asked.

  “If they didn’t think so, they would not even be considering a covert action,” Friday replied. “It looks like your friends from the Special Frontier Force wanted that cell bad enough. Our ELINT resources caught a squad of them chasing the Pakistanis through the mountains.”

  “Where is the SFF squad?” Nazir asked.

  “Waiting in line for reincarnation,” Friday replied.

  “Excuse me?”

  “From what I gathered the commandos were caught by a Pakistani suicide bomber,” Friday told him.

  “I see,” Nazir said. He thought for a moment. “The SFF presence supports what we were thinking, that they set this up.”

  “It sure looks that way,” Friday said.

  “Then yes,” Nazir said. “The Black Cat Commandos would help you in any way we can.”

  “Good,” Friday said. He walked over to Kumar. “We’re going to need your help, too,” he told the farmer. “Your granddaughter was apparently working for the SFF. Her testimony is the key to war and peace. If we catch up to them she must be made to tell the truth.”

  Apu Kumar rolled a slumped shoulder. “She is an honest girl. She would not lie.”

  “She’s also a patriot, isn’t she?” Friday asked.

  “Of course,” Apu agreed.

  “Patriotism has a way of dulling the senses,” Friday told him. “That’s why soldiers sometimes throw themselves on hand grenades. If your granddaughter helped the SFF frame the Pakistanis for the destruction of a Hindu temple, she has to tell that to the Indian people.”

  Apu seemed surprised and gravely concerned. “Do you think that is what she’s done?” he asked.

  “We do,” Friday told him.

  “Poor Nanda,” Apu said.

  “We’re not just talking about Nanda,” Captain Nazir said.

  “If she does not tell what she knows then millions of people may die.”

  Apu rose. “Nanda could not have known what she was doing. She would never have agreed to such an outcome. But I will help you,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “For now, get some warm clothes together and wait,” Friday said. “If you have extra gloves and long johns, bring them too.”

  Apu said he would and then hurried to the bedroom. Friday walked over to a small table and pulled the maps from his pocket.

  “Captain?” he said. It was a command, not a question.

  “Yes?” Nazir replied.

  “We need to make plans,” Friday said.

  “Flight plans?” Nazir said, noticing the charts.

  “Yes,” Friday replied.

  But that was just the start. Whatever the mission and however it turned out
, Friday would be in good stead with the Black Cat Commandos and his own friends and advocates in the Indian government. He was sure Hank Lewis would allow him to remain here when this was all over. And then Ron Friday would be free to nurture his ties to the nuclear and oil industries. That was where the nation’s future lay.

  That was where his own future lay.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Siachin Base 3, Kashmir Thursday, 9:16 A.M.

  The call from Commander San Hussain did not surprise Major Dev Puri. Ever since he was informed of the top-secret plan to use the Pakistani cell, the major had been expecting to hear from the Special Frontier Force director at about this time. However, what Commander Hussain had to say was a complete surprise. Major Puri sat in his bunker for several moments after hanging up. For weeks, he had been expecting to play an important part in this operation: the quick and quiet evacuation of the line of control.

  But Puri had not anticipated playing this role. The role that was supposed to have been played by the SFF’s MEAN—Mountain Elite Attack Nation. That was the name of the original resistance force that worked to overthrow British imperial rule on the subcontinent.

  The most important role.

  Puri reached into a tin box on the desk. He plucked out a wad of chewing tobacco and placed it beside his gum. He began to chew slowly. Puri had been expecting to hear that the Pakistani cell had been captured in their mountain headquarters. After that, Puri’s units were supposed to begin preparing for retreat. The preparations were supposed to be made quietly and unhurriedly, without the use of cell phones or radios. As much as possible should be done underground in the shelters and low in the trenches. The Pakistanis would notice nothing unusual going on. Devi’s four hundred soldiers were supposed to be finished by eleven A.M. but they were not to move out until they received word directly from Hussain.

  Instead, Commander Hussain had called with a much different project. Major Puri was to take half the four hundred soldiers in his command and move south, into the mountains. They were to carry full survival packs and dress in thermal camouflage clothes. Hussain wanted them to proceed in a wide sweep formation toward the Siachin Glacier, closing in as the glacier narrowed and they neared the summit. “Wide sweep” meant that the militia would consist of a line of men who came no closer than eyesight. That meant the force could be stretched across approximately two miles. Since radio channels might be monitored, Hussain wanted them to communicate using field signals. Those were a standardized series of gestures developed by MEAN in the 1930s. The Indian army adopted them in 1947. The signals told them little more than to advance, retreat, wait, proceed, slow down, speed up, and attack. Directions for attacks were indicated by finger signals: the index finger was north, middle finger south, ring finger west, and pinky east. The thumb was the indication to “go.” Those hand signals were usually enough. The commands were issued by noncommissioned officers stationed in the center of each platoon. They could be overruled by the company lieutenants and by Puri himself, who would be leading the operation from the center of the wide sweep. In the event of an emergency, the men had radios they could use.