Line of Control - Tom Clancy [24]
What Sharab really meant was that Ishaq should go to area 2E. The E came from the 5 and the 2 from the B. Anyone who might be listening to the conversation and who might have obtained a copy of their map would go to the wrong spot.
"Can you meet us there at seven o'clock?" "Yes," he said.
"What about the old man?"
"Leave him," she said. She glanced at Nanda. The younger girl's expression was defiant.
"Remind him that we have his granddaughter. If the authorities ask him about us he is to say nothing. Tell him if we reach the border safely she will be set free."
Ishaq said he would do that and meet the others later.
Sharab hung up. She folded the cell phone and slipped it in the pocket of her blue windbreaker.
There would be time enough for analysis and regrouping.
Only one thing mattered right now.
Getting out of the country before the Indians had live scapegoats to parade before the world.
CHAPTER TEN.
Siachin Base 3, Kashmir Wednesday, 5:42 p. m.
Major Dev Puri hung up the phone. A chill shook him from the shoulders to the small of his back.
Puri was sitting behind the small gunmetal desk in his underground command center. On the wall before him was a detailed map of the region.
It was spotted with red flags showing Pakistan emplacements and green flags showing Indian bases. Behind him was a map of India and Pakistan.
To his left was a bulletin board with orders, rosters, schedules, and reports tacked to it. To his right was a blank wall with a door.
Affectionately known as "the Pit," the shelter was a twelve-by-fourteen-foot hole cut from hard earth and granite.
Warping wood-panel walls backed with thick plastic sheets kept the moisture and dirt out but not the cold. How could it? the major wondered. The earth was always cool, like a grave, and the surrounding mountains prevented direct sunlight from ever hitting the Pit. There were no windows or skylights. The only ventilation came from the open door and a rapidly spinning ceiling fan.
Or at least the semblance of ventilation, Puri thought. It was fakery.
Just like everything else about this day.
But the cool command center was not what gave Major Puri a chill. It was what the Special Frontier Force liaison had said over the phone.
The man, who was stationed in Kargil, had spoken just one word.
However, the significance of that word was profound.
"Proceed," he had said.
Operation Earthworm was a go.
On the one hand, the major had to admire the nerve of the SFF. Puri did not know how high up in the government this plan had traveled or where it had originated. Probably with the SFF. Possibly in the Ministry of External Affairs or the Parliamentary Committee on Defence.
Both had oversight powers regarding the activities of nonmilitary intelligence groups. Certainly the SFF would have needed their approval for something this big. But Puri did know that if the truth of this action were ever revealed, the SFF would be scapegoated and the overseers of the plot would be executed.
On the other hand, part of him felt that maybe the people behind this deserved to be punished.
A "vaccination." That was how the SFF liaison officer had characterized Operation Earthworm when he first described it just three days before.
They were giving the body of India a small taste of sickness to prevent a larger disease from ever taking hold. When the major was a child, smallpox and polio had been fearful diseases. His sister had survived smallpox and it left her scarred. Back then, vaccination was a wonderful word.
This was a corruption. However necessary and justifiable it might be, destroying the bus and temple had been vile, unholy acts.
Major Puri reached for the Marlboros on his desk. He shook a cigarette from the pack and lit it. He inhaled slowly and sat back. This was better than chewing the tobacco. It helped him to think clearly, less emotionally.
Less judgment ally Everything was relative, the officer told himself.
Back in the 1940s his parents were pacifists. They had not approved of