08 Line of Control by Jeff Rovin

Author:Jeff Rovin [Rovin, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY

Ankara, Turkey Thursday, 11:47 A.M.

The Indian air force AN-12 transport is a cousin of the world’s largest aircraft, the Russian Antonov AN-225 Mriya. The AN-12 is half the size of that six-engine brute. A long-range transport, it is also one-third smaller than the C-130 that had brought Striker as far as Ankara. With the cargo section in the rear and an enclosed, insulated passenger cabin toward the front, the IAF aircraft is also much quieter. For that Mike Rodgers was grateful.

Rodgers had caught five solid hours of sleep on the final leg of the C-130 flight. He did that with the help of wax earplugs he carried expressly for that purpose. Still, the small downclick in sound and vibration was welcome. Especially when Corporal Ishi Honda left his seat in the rear of the small, cramped crew compartment. He ducked as he made his way through the single narrow aisle that ran through the center of the cabin. The team’s grips, cold-weather gear, and parachutes were strapped in bulging mesh nets on the ceiling over the aisle.

The communications expert handed the TAC-SAT to General Rodgers. “It’s Mr. Herbert,” Honda said.

Colonel August was sitting beside Rodgers in the forward-facing seats. The men exchanged glances.

“Thank you,” Rodgers said to Honda.

The corporal returned to his seat. Rodgers picked up the receiver.

“There are parachutes onboard, Bob,” Rodgers said. “For us?”

“Paul’s given the go-ahead for an expedited search-and-recover of the cell,” Herbert said.

“Expedited” was spy-speak for “illegal.” It meant that an operation was being rushed before anyone could learn about it and block it. It also meant something else. They were probably going to be jumping into the Himalayas. Rodgers knew what that meant.

“We have the target spotted,” Herbert went on. “Viens is following them through the mountains. They’re at approximately nine thousand feet and heading northwest toward the line of control. They’re currently located thirty-two miles due north of the village of Jaudar.”

Rodgers removed one of the three “playbooks” from under the seat. It was a fat black spiral-bound notebook containing all the maps of the regions. He found the town and moved his finger up. He turned to the previous page where the map was continued. Instead of just brown mountains there was a big dagger-shaped slash of white pointing to the lower left.

“That puts them on direct course for the Siachin Glacier,” Rodgers said.

“That’s how our people read it,” Herbert said. “They can’t be carrying a lot of artillery. It would make sense for them to head somewhere the elements might help them. Cold, blizzards, avalanches, crevasses—it’s a fortress or stealth environment if they need it.”

“Assuming it doesn’t kill them,” Rodgers pointed out.

“Trying to go through any lower would definitely kill them,” Herbert replied. “The NSA intercepted a SIG-INT report from a Russian satellite listening in on the line of control. Several divisions have apparently moved out and are headed toward the glacier.”

“Estimated time of encounter?” Rodgers asked.

“We don’t have one,” Herbert said. “We don’t know if the divisions are airborne, motorized, or on foot.

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