"Then who does?" Friday demanded.

"I don't know that either," August admitted.

"I'm just relaying orders from our superiors at Op-Center and the NSA."

"Well, I don't go on blind missions," Friday complained as he continued to study the map.

"And I see that following the coordinates you gave me will take us away from the line of control." "Look," August said.

"You know what's at stake in the region. So does Washington. They wouldn't ask you to go if it weren't important. Now I'm sitting up here with my forces depleted and the Indian army at my feet. I've got to deal with that. Either I or William Musicant will call back in two hours with more information. That's about how long it should take you to reach the coordinates from the mouth of the valley."

"Assuming we go," Friday said.

"I assume you'll follow orders the same way my Strikers did," the colonel said.

"August out."

The line went dead. Friday shut his phone off and put it away.

Arrogant son of a bitch.

Nanda's voice rose from the darkness.

"What is it?" she asked.

Friday continued to squat where he was. The heat of the torch was melting the ice beside him but the warmth felt good. The woman obviously had not seen what he was about to do before the telephone vibrated.

"The know-it-alls in Washington have a new plan for us but they won't tell us what it is," Friday said.

"They want us to go to a spot on the map and wait for instructions."

Nanda walked over.

"What spot?" she asked.

Friday showed her.

"The middle of the glacier," she said.

"Do you know what might be out there?" Friday asked.

"No," she replied.

"I don't like it," Friday said.

"I don't even know if that was Colonel August on the line. The Indian army might have captured him, made him give them the code number."

"They didn't," a voice said from the darkness.

Friday and Nanda both started. The American grabbed the torch and held it to his left. That was the direction from which the voice had come.

A man was walking toward them. He was dressed in a white high altitude jumpsuit and U. S. Army equipment vest, and he was carrying a flashlight. Samouel was trailing slightly behind him. Friday shifted the torch to his left hand.

He slipped his right hand back into the pocket with the gun.

He rose.

"I'm General Mike Rodgers of Striker," said the new arrival.

"I assume you're Friday and Ms. Kumar."

"Yes," the woman replied.

Friday was not happy to have company. First, he wanted to be sure the man was who he claimed to be. Friday studied the man as he approached.

He did not appear to be Indian.

Also, his cheeks and the area around his eyes were wind blasted red and raw. He looked like he could be someone who walked a long way to get here.