"Hell, Herbert isn't even a superior officer. You're taking orders from a civilian."

"And you're pushing it," Rodgers said.

"Let me ask you something," Friday went on.

"If you knew you could cross the line of control and get Nanda to a place where she could broadcast her story, would you disobey your instructions?"

"No," Rodgers replied.

"Why?"

"Because there may be a component to this we're not aware of," Rodgers replied.

"Like what?" Friday asked.

"A 'for instance'?" Rodgers said.

"You flew out here with an Indian officer instead of waiting for us to join the cell, against instructions. Well, you hate taking orders.

Maybe you were being headstrong. Or maybe you're working with the SFF.

It could be that if we follow your short hop toward the border we'll end up not reaching Pakistan at all."

"That's possible," Friday admitted.

"So why didn't I cut you down back at the valley? That would have made certain I get things my way."

"Because then Nanda would have known she's a dead woman," Rodgers told him.

"Can you guarantee that won't happen if she crawls across a glacier with you?"

Rodgers did not answer. Friday had a sharp, surgical mind.

Anything the general said would be sculpted to support Friday's point of view. Then it would be fired back at him.

Rodgers did not want to do anything that might fuel doubts in Nanda's mind.

"Think about this," Friday continued.

"We're following the directions of Washington bureaucrats without knowing where we're going or why. We've been running across the mountains for hours without food or rest. We may not even reach the target, especially if we carry each other around.

Have you considered the possibility that's the plan?"

"Mr. Friday, if you want to cross the line of control you go ahead,"

Rodgers told him.

"I do," Friday said. He leaned in front of Rodgers. He looked at Nanda.

"If she goes with me, I'll get her to Pakistan and safety."

"I'm staying with my grandfather," the woman said.

"You were ready to leave him before," Friday reminded her.

"That was before," she said.

"What changed your mind?"

"You," she replied.

"When my grandfather was kneeling and you walked over to him."

"I was going to help him," Friday said.

"I don't think so," she said.

"You were angry." "How do you know?" he asked.

"You couldn't see me-"

"I could hear your footsteps on the ice," she said.

"My footsteps?" Friday said disdainfully.

"We used to sit in the bedroom and listen to the Pakistanis on the other side of the door," Nanda told him.

"We couldn't hear what they were saying but I always knew what they were feeling by how they walked across the wooden floor. Slow, fast, light, heavy, stop and start. Every pattern told us something about each individual's mood."

"I was going to help him," Friday repeated.

"You wanted to hurt my grandfather," Nanda said.

"I know that."

"I don't believe this," Friday said.