He had been optimistic. He had effectively taken charge of the mission from Sharab. Even if the woman survived her encounter with the Indian army, Friday would be the one who led the cell into Pakistan. The triumph would be his. And the journey appeared feasible, at least according to the Indian military reconnaissance maps he had taken from the helicopter. The line of control did not appear to be heavily guarded at the Bellpora Pass. The region was extremely wide and open and easy to monitor from the air. Captain Nazir had told Friday that anyone passing through the jagged, icy region risked being spotted and picked off. So Friday and his group would have to remain alert. If the cell was still in the pass during a fly over they would find a place to hide until it was finished.

However, Friday became less enthusiastic about the operation as the hours passed. He was accustomed to working alone. That had always given him a psychological advantage.

Not having to worry about or rely on someone else enabled him to make fast tactical turns, both mentally and physically.

It had been the same with his romantic relationships. They were paid for by the hour. That made them easy, to the point, and, most importantly, over.

Samouel was holding up well enough. He was in the lead.

The Pakistani was deftly poking the ground with a long stick he had picked up, making sure there were no pockets of thin ice. Friday was directly behind him. There were two unlit torches tucked under his right arm. They were made with sturdy branches the men had picked up before the tree line ended. They were capped by tightly wound strangler vines.

The thick vines glowed rather than burned. Friday had stuffed very dry rye grass between the vines to serve as primers.

The torches would only be used in an emergency. Friday had five matches in his pocket and he did not want to waste them.

Nanda and her grandfather were at the rear of the line.

Nanda herself was doing all right. She was a slight woman and she lost body heat quickly. But she had a fighting spirit and would have kept up the pace if not for Apu. The elderly farmer was simply exhausted.

If not for his granddaughter the Indian probably would have lain down and died.

As darkness had descended over the ice and the temperature had fallen, Friday had become increasingly disgusted with the Kumars. He had no tolerance for Apu's infirmity.

And Nanda's devotion frustrated him. She had a responsibility to end the crisis she had helped cause. Every minute they spent nursing Apu across the glacier slowed their progress and drained the energies of Nanda, Friday, and the other man.

The farmer's life just did not matter that much.

Friday had taken a last look around before night finally engulfed them.