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

by Clancy, Tom

  “Yes,” the woman said. “We rescued an old farmer—”

  “That is not what I mean,” Herbert said.

  There was another brief silence. Herbert could imagine the woman scanning the skies for other choppers.

  “I see,” said the woman. “I will talk to him. American intelligence, I do not know if I can take this radio with me,” the woman went on. “If there is anything else I need to know, tell me now.”

  Herbert thought for a moment. “There is one more thing,” he informed her. He spoke clearly and strongly so she would not miss a word. “We are helping you because inaction would result in unprecedented human disaster. I have no respect for terrorists.”

  “American intelligence,” she said, using that as if it were Herbert’s name. “I have lost nothing. If the world respected us before now, there would be no need for terrorism.”

  With that, the line went dead.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Mt. Kanzalwan Thursday, 4:16 P.M.

  Sharab could barely feel her fingers as she put the receiver back inside the radio. Despite the heavy gloves and the constant movement, the cold was beyond anything she had ever experienced. Her hands were numb when they were still, like dead weight. They burned when she moved them and blood was forced to circulate. It was the same with her feet. Her eyes were wind-blasted dry. Each blink of her icy lashes was agony.

  But the worst pain was still the one inside. It had been strongest in those moments when the powerful winds slowed and the overhanging rock receded and the sun burned through the murderous cold. When survival was not a moment-to-moment concern and she had time to think.

  Sharab had let herself be outsmarted by Indian security forces. She had let her nation, her people, and her fellow patriots down. That failure had cost brave Ishaq his life. And it had brought her and her small loyal militia to this precipice, to this flight. Her failure had made it unlikely that they would escape these mountains and tell the world the truth, that India and not Pakistan had been responsible for attacking the Hindu sites.

  And yet, as it said in the Koran, “the wrongdoers shall never prosper.” Perhaps Allah forgave her. It seemed as though He was looking out for her when this man dropped from the sky. Sharab did not like or trust Americans. They made war on Muslims around the world and they had traditionally curried favor with New Delhi instead of Islamabad. But she would not question the will of God. It would be ironic if this man were to provide them with salvation.

  Ron Friday was still lying on his stomach. To the right, Nanda was huddled with her grandfather. Sharab would deal with them in a moment. She told Samouel to help pick the American up. Together, they pushed him back under the ledge, against the wall. It was even colder here because the sun was not on them. But there was less chance of them slipping off the ledge. Until Sharab heard what this man had to say, she did not want him falling to his death.

  The man groaned as she pinned her forearm against his shoulder to help him stand.

  “All right,” Sharab said to him. “Tell me what you know.”

  “What I know?” Friday said. Puffy white breath and gasps of pain emerged from his mouth with each syllable. “To start with, you shot down our ticket out of here.”

  “You should not have come unannounced in an Indian helicopter,” Sharab replied. “That was stupid.”

  “Unavoidable,” Friday protested loudly.

  The exclamation was followed by a painful wince. Sharab had to lean into the man to keep him from doubling over. She wondered if he had broken some ribs in the hard landing. But that was all right. Pain could be useful. It would keep him alert and moving.

  “Never mind now,” Friday said. “The main thing is that the Indian SFF set you up. They set Nanda up. She helped them blow up the temple and the bus. According to our intelligence, the SFF thought that would help solidify the Indian people behind the military. Nanda probably did not know that the Indian military intends to respond to the attack with a nuclear strike.”

  “For destroying the temple?” Sharab said. She was stunned.

  “Yes,” Friday said. “We believe certain militants will tell the populace that it’s the first shot of an Islamic jihad against the Hindu people. Moderate government ministers and military officials may have no choice but to go along.”

  “You said you have intelligence,” Sharab said. “What intelligence ? American?”

  “American and Indian,” Friday said. “The pilot who brought me here was a Black Cat Commando. He had special information about SFF activities. Our people in Washington arrived at the same conclusion independently. That’s why they’re diverting the American strike force from their original mission.”

  “Which was?”

  “To help the Indian military scout for possible Pakistani nuclear emplacements,” Friday replied.

  “They came to help India and now I’m supposed to trust them?” Sharab declared.

  “You may not have a choice,” Friday said. “There’s something else. While we were searching for you we saw a force of Indian soldiers headed this way. They’re moving in a wide sweep down from the line of control. You’ll never get through them.”

  “I expected that after we killed their commandos in the mountains,” Sharab said. “How many are there?”

  “I could only see about one hundred soldiers,” Friday told her. “There may be more.”

  “How many American soldiers are there and how will they find us?” Sharab asked.

  “There are about a dozen elite soldiers and they’ve been watching you by satellite,” Friday said.

  “They can see us now?” Sharab asked.

  Friday nodded.

  “Then why did you have to search for us?” the woman pressed.

  “Because they didn’t want to tell me where you were,” Friday said. “I’m with a different agency. There’s mistrust, rivalry.”

  “Stupidity,” she snarled. She shook her head. “Less than twenty soldiers against one hundred. When will the Americans be here?”

  “Very soon,” Friday said.

  “How are they arriving?”

  “By Indian transport, Himalayan Eagles squadron,” Friday replied.

  Sharab thought for a moment. Militarily, the American unit would not be much assistance. However, there might be another way that she could use them. “Can you contact the American unit?” she asked Friday.

  “Through Washington, yes,” he replied.

  “Good. Samouel?”

  “Yes, Sharab?” said the big man.

  “I want you to wait here with Nanda,” Sharab said. “I will lead the others down to the valley. A half hour after we leave you continue along the route we planned.”

  “Yes, Sharab,” he replied.

  Sharab turned to go over to where Nanda and Apu were speaking.

  “Wait!” Friday said. “We’re already outnumbered. Why do you want to split up?”

  “If we contact the Americans by radio we can make sure the Indian ground troops also pick up the message,” Sharab said. “That will draw them to us.”

  “What makes you think they’ll be taking prisoners?” Friday asked.

  “It does not matter, as long as we hold them there as long as we can,” Sharab said. “It will leave the path clear for Samouel’s group to get through. You said yourself that Nanda is the key to stopping the nuclear attack. She must reach Pakistan. Her people will listen to her confession, her testimony.”

  “How do you know she won’t betray you?” Friday asked.

  “Because I know something you don’t,” Sharab said. “The missiles your team is looking for? They are already in place. Dozens of them. They are in the mountains, pointed at New Delhi, Calcutta, Bombay. A strike against Pakistan will turn the entire subcontinent into a wasteland.”

  “Let me tell my superiors,” Friday said. “They will warn the Indians not to strike—”

  “Warn them how?” Sharab asked. “I have no proof! I don’t know where the missiles are and my government
won’t reveal that information. I only know that missiles have been deployed. We staged attacks to distract the Indian military when elements were being moved into place.” The woman took a breath, calmed herself. If she grew angry and began to perspire the sweat would freeze. “Unless Nanda wishes to see her nation ravaged, she will have to cooperate with us. But that means getting her to Pakistan without the Indians killing her!”

  “All right,” Friday agreed. “But I’m going with her. She’ll need protection. She’ll also need international credibility. I was a witness to the blasts. I can make certain that officials from our embassy support her claims.”

  “How do I know you won’t kill her?” Sharab cried. The winds had picked up and she had to shout to be heard over them. “You arrived in an Indian helicopter. How do I know you didn’t want to take us back to Kargil? I only have your promises and a radio communication that could have come from anyone! These do not make you an ally!”

  “I could have shot at you from the helicopter!” Friday yelled. “That makes me not your enemy.”

  Sharab had to admit that the American had a point. Still, she was not ready to believe him entirely. Not yet.

  “You’re wasting what little time we have,” the man went on. “Unless you plan on killing me, I’m going with Nanda.”

  Sharab continued to hold Friday against the wall. His hot breath warmed her nose as she looked at him. His eyes were tearing from the cold but that was the only life in them. Sharab could not find anything else there. Not truth, not conviction, not selflessness. But she also did not see fear or hostility. And at the moment, that would have to be good enough.

  “Samouel will run the operation,” Sharab told Friday.

  Friday nodded vigorously. Sharab released him. Samouel held Friday up until he was sure the American had his feet under him.

  “Wait here,” Sharab said, then turned.

  With her back to the cliff wall Sharab edged toward Nanda. The Indian woman was crouched in a small fissure with her grandfather. She rose when Sharab arrived. She was wearing a heavy scarf across her face. Only her eyes were visible.

  Sharab told Nanda that she would be traveling in one group, with Samoeul, the American, and her grandfather.

  “Why are you doing that?” Nanda asked.

  When Sharab finished telling her everything Friday had said, she saw doubt and concern in Nanda’s eyes. Perhaps the Indian woman did not know what the SFF and members of the military had been doing.

  Unfortunately, Nanda’s reaction told Sharab what she needed to know.

  That the American’s story could be true.

  Nuclear war could indeed be just hours away.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Washington, D.C. Thursday, 6:51 A.M.

  Paul Hood was not surprised that Bob Herbert had been blunt with the woman on the radio. Herbert’s wife had been killed by Islamic terrorists. Working with the Pakistani cell had to be ripping him apart.

  But what Herbert had told the woman, that he opposed her and her profession, was also a smart and responsible alliance tactic. Strangers tend to be suspicious of indulgence and flattery. But tell someone that you don’t like them and are only working with them out of necessity and they tend to trust whatever information you give them.

  “You okay, Bob?” Hood asked.

  “Sure,” he replied. “She got in a good one, though.”

  “So did you.”

  “She never felt it,” Herbert said. “Zealots have skin like a tank. But it’s all right,” he went on. “I’m a big boy. I know how this works.”

  “Sometimes it just strikes a little close to the heart,” Hood said.

  “Yes, it does,” Herbert agreed.

  Hood had been through situations like this before with Herbert. The intelligence chief just had to work through it.

  “We’ll talk more about this later, Bob,” Hood said. “Right now, I’ve got to brief the president. He’ll need to know what we’re planning.”

  The intelligence chief was silent for a moment. “I guess that’s also bothering me, though. Whether we should really be doing this.”

  “What?” Hood asked. “Letting Striker go in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me an option,” Hood said.

  “Dump the problem in the president’s lap,” Herbert said. “Let him slug it out with the Indian government.”

  “He won’t do that without proof,” Hood said. “I’ll tell him what our concerns are and what we’re going to do about it. I know what he’s going to say. He will okay having Striker on the ground for on-site intel, especially since the Indian government has authorized their being there. He’s going to give us his blessings to go that far. The rest will be Mike’s call.”

  Herbert was silent.

  “But you’re still uneasy,” Hood said.

  “Yeah,” Herbert told him. “Let’s just go over our command tent options again.”

  “All right,” Hood said patiently.

  “We’ve decided that the Indian government is probably out of the loop on this nuclear option,” Herbert said. “So unless we get that Kargil woman, Nanda, in front of a TV camera to explain this was an inside job we have no proof to offer the president or the Indian people.”

  “That’s it,” Hood said. “We’ve also got Indian troops moving in to cut Nanda and the Pakistanis down.”

  “We assume,” Herbert said.

  “We have to assume it’s search and destroy,” Hood pointed out. “The SFF gains nothing by capturing the Pakistanis and letting the truth come out. We need to give the cell a chance to get home.”

  “God help us,” Herbert said.

  “Bob, there’s a bigger picture than aiding terrorists,” Hood said. “You know that.”

  “I know,” Herbert said. “I just don’t like it.”

  “The time it would take us to move this through diplomatic channels could cost the Pakistanis their lives,” Hood said.

  “And going ahead with this operation can cost Striker their lives,” Herbert said.

  “That’s been true every time they’ve gone into the field,” Hood reminded Herbert. “If Mike or Colonel August has any doubts about this action they can call it off at any time.”

  “They won’t,” Herbert assured him. “Not with what’s at stake.”

  “That’s probably true,” Hood agreed.

  “And not with the balls Mike’s got,” Herbert went on.

  “It’s more than that,” Hood said. “He knows his people. Did he ever run that quote past you, the one from the duke of Wellington?”

  “I don’t think so,” Herbert said.

  “I was watching Striker drill one morning and I asked Mike how he could tell when he had pushed his people as far as they could go,” Hood said. “He told me that Wellington had a simple way to determine when he had created the best fighting unit possible. ‘I don’t know what effect these men will have upon the enemy,’ Wellington wrote, ‘but, by God, they terrify me.’ Mike said that when he felt his people were tough enough to scare him, that was when he stopped.”

  “Paul, I don’t need to be reminded that Striker is the best,” Herbert said. “But I’m worried about the jump into the Himalayas. I’m worried about the odds and having to trust terrorists. I’m worried about having no backup for them and, worse than that, no exit strategy.”

  “I’m worried about all that too,” Hood replied. “I’m also aware that we have no other options.”

  The intelligence chief was quiet for a moment. The silence was uncomfortable. Hood felt as if Herbert were judging him.

  Herbert must have felt that too. “I know we’re doing what we have to do,” he said. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Herbert’s voice was no longer angry or searching. It was resigned.

  Herbert said that he would call the NRO to get the exact location of the cell and then give Striker a final update before H-hour. Hood thanked him and hung up.

  Op-Center’s director rubbed his eyes. Herbert had h
is personal demons but so did Hood.

  Unlike the intelligence chief, Hood had never put his life on the line. He had been a mayor and a financial officer before taking this job. He had sent Striker into danger before but never into an armed conflict. To do that seemed cavalier, hypocritical, cowardly.

  But, as Hood had told Herbert, it was also necessary. Paul Hood’s personal issues could not affect his professional decisions. He had to be dispassionate. He owed the president and the nation that much.

  Hood stopped rubbing his eyes. He was tired inside and out. It did not help that when this was over he had to deal with the closing of the press office. Fortunately, he would be able to minimize his contact with Ann Farris until then. Because this was a military action Hood would instruct her to institute a total press blackout on any Op-Center activities until noon. She would have to shut down the phones and computers. No press department staff would be permitted to answer their cell phones. Queries to the automated main number would go unreturned. As for Hood, he would go into the Tank with Bob Herbert, Liz Gordon, and Lowell Coffey until the crisis had passed.

  Then Hood would give Ann Farris the bad news along with his complete attention.

  He owed her that much.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The Great Himalaya Range Thursday, 4:19 P.M.

  The parachutes were zero-porosity mixed-fabric PF 3000s “Merits.” They had been selected for the Indian military in this region because they gave jumpers maximum control over their descent. If there were a sudden current in any direction the fabric would retain its shape and buoyancy. The canopies themselves were slightly elliptical with a tapered wing. That shape provided for the softest landings. First used militarily by the French air force, the Merits also provided the safest jump for novice parachutists.

  The parachutes were stowed in slender Atom Millennium containers. They had classic plastic handle ripcords and narrow chest straps along with lightweight Cordura fabric exteriors. The thin straps and light weight would be relatively unrestrictive if Striker were forced to engage the enemy or the elements before doffing the backpacks. There was also an instant-collapse system operated by a rubber pull-string. That would allow the chute to be deflated immediately upon landing in the event of strong ground winds.