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.