Line of Control - Tom Clancy [86]
"Well, we can backtrack and raise him," Herbert said.
"Thanks. I'll let you know when we have him."
Herbert ended the call and glanced at the computer clock.
It was six thirty. Kevin Custer, Op-Center's director of electronic communications, would be in his office by now. Herbert called over.
Custer was a thirty-two-year-old MIT graduate and a distant relative of General George Armstrong Custer through the general's brother Nevin.
Military service was expected in the Custer family and Kevin had spent two years in the army before taking a job at the CIA. He had been there three years when he was snatched up by Bob Herbert. Custer was the most chronically optimistic, upbeat, can-do person Herbert had ever met.
Custer told Herbert that he would get the information for him if he would hold the line. It wasn't even, "I'll get it and call you back."
It was, "Don't go away. I'll have it in a second." And he did.
"Let's see," Custer said.
"NSA log has the call coming through with input 101.763, PL 123.0 Hz, 855 inversion scrambling. I can contact the source of the call if you like." "Put it through," Herbert said.
A moment later Herbert heard a beep.
"I'll get off now," Custer said.
"Let me know if there's anything else."
"Actually, there is," Herbert said.
"Would you ring Paul Hood and patch this call through?" Custer said he would. The radio beeped again. Then a third time. Then a fourth.
"Bob, what is it?" Hood asked when he got on. He sounded groggy. He had probably been napping too.
"Viens and I just watched the Pakistani cell haul two people in from what looked like a downed chopper," Herbert said. The radio beeped a fifth time.
"We're trying to ascertain if one of them was Ron Friday."
"I thought he was going to Jaudar," Hood said.
"Exactly," Herbert replied.
The radio beeped two more times before someone answered.
It definitely was not Ron Friday.
"Yes?" said a woman's voice.
"This is 855 base," Herbert said, using the coded identification number.
"Who is this?"
"Someone who has your radio and its operator," the woman replied.
"I just saved him from death. But the reprieve may only be temporary."
The woman's accent definitely belonged to that region.
Herbert would be able to place it better were it not for the screaming wind behind her. The woman was also smart. She had said only that she saved Friday's life. There was no reference to the rest of the cell or the other man they were holding. She had given Herbert as little information as possible.
Herbert hit the mute button.
"Paul-I say we talk to her," he said quickly, urgently.
"We need to let her know that Striker is on the way."
"This channel isn't secure, is it?" Hood asked.
"No," Herbert admitted.
"Friday will probably tell her that."
"He got there in an Indian chopper. They may not believe him," Herbert said.
"Let me give her the overview." "Be careful. Bob," Hood warned.
"I don't want you telling her who we are, exactly."
Herbert killed the mute.
"Listen to me," he said.
"We are with American intelligence. The man you have works with us." "He told me that his last name is Friday," the woman said.
"What is his first name?"
"Ron," Herbert replied.
"All right," the woman said.
"What do you want with us?"
"We want to get you home alive," Herbert said. He weighed his next words with care in case anyone was listening.
"We know what happened in Srinagar. We know what your group did and did not do."
He did not have to say more. She would know the rest.
There was a short silence.
"Why do you want to help us?" the woman finally asked.
"Because we believe there will be extreme retaliation," Herbert informed her.
"Not against you but against your nation."
"Does your person Friday know about this?" she asked.
"He knows about that and more," Herbert informed the woman.
"And he is not alone." "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