Line of Control - Tom Clancy [72]
They will have up-to-the-minute coordinates of the cell and the resources to get you and your companions into the mountains.
If anything changes, we'll let you know."
"We're wasting time," Friday protested.
"I could probably be in and out by the time Striker arrives."
"I admire your enthusiasm," Herbert said.
"But the leader of the cell is cagey. They've been moving in shadows and beneath overhangs wherever possible. We don't know for certain what weapons they're carrying. They may have a rocket launcher. If you come after them in an Indian chopper they will probably shoot you down."
"If you tell us where they are we can circle wide and intercept them,"
Friday pointed out.
"There's also a chance that a Pakistani aircraft might try to slip in and rescue the cell," Herbert said.
"We don't want to precipitate a firefight with an Indian aircraft. That could give the Indians even more ammunition to launch a major offensive."
Friday squeezed the phone. He wished he could strangle the deskbound bureaucrat. He did not understand field personnel.
None of them did. The best field ops did not like sitting still. And the best of the best were able to improvise their way in and out of most things. Friday could do this.
More than that, he wanted it. If he could grab the cell and bring them home he would have a chance to get in with their Pakistani controllers.
Having strong ties to New Delhi, Islamabad, and Washington would be invaluable to an operative in this region.
"Are we on the same page?" Herbert asked.
Friday looked down at the map.
"Yes," he said. And as he looked he remembered something that Herbert had told him about the explosion. It had occurred at approximately eight thousand feet. That would put the cell on the southwest side of the range. Everything north of that, up through the glacier and the line of control, was at a higher elevation.
Friday's grip relaxed. To hell with desk jockeys in general and Bob Herbert in particular.
"We'll brief you again when we have Striker's precise ETA and location,"
Herbert said.
"Do you have any questions?"
"No," Friday replied calmly.
"Is there anything you wanted to add. Hank?" Herbert asked.
Lewis said there was nothing else. The NSA head thanked Friday and the men hung up. Friday returned the phone to its cradle.
"What is it?" Captain Nazir asked.
"What we've been waiting for," Friday said.
"They found the cell?" Nazir asked.
Friday nodded.
"And my granddaughter?" Apu asked.
"She's with them," Friday said. He did not know if she was or not, of course. But he wanted Apu with them. The farmer had harbored the enemy cell. If they needed to forestall any action by India, Apu's confession would play very well on Pakistani TV.
Friday looked at the map. Herbert had told him that the cell was sticking to the mountain ledges. That meant that if the chopper started following the line of the range at eight thousand feet and flew up one side and then down the other they were sure to encounter the cell.
Friday glanced down at the inset come projection and smiled. The round-trip was less than two hundred miles.
He would have them. And he would have that do-nothing Herbert.
"Come on," Friday said to Nazir.
"Where are we going?" the officer asked.
"To catch a terrorist cell," Friday replied.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.
Washington, D. C. Thursday, 4:02 a. m.
Paul Hood's office was just a few steps away from Op Center high-security conference room. Known as the Tank, the conference room was surrounded by walls of electronic waves that generated static for anyone trying to listen in with bugs or external dishes.
Hood entered after everyone was already there. The heavy door was operated by a button at the side of the large oval conference table.
Hood pushed it when he sat down at the head of the table.
The small room was lit by fluorescent lights hung in banks over the conference table. On the wall across from Hood's chair the countdown clock was dark. When they had a crisis and a deadline,