In a crisis situation, an individual's fight-or-flight mechanisms are in conflict. When that happens, the shout of an authority figure typically shuts down the combative side. A harsh command usually closes it just enough to let the survival instinct prevail by following the order. In this case, however, Rodgers's cry killed Nanda's flight response. Friday stopped moving altogether as Nanda became as combative as Rodgers.

"Where is he?" the woman screamed.

"Your grandfather didn't make it," Rodgers said.

She screamed for the old man again and started to go back.

Rodgers stuffed Apu's parka under his arm then grabbed Nanda's shoulders. He held them tight and wrestled her in the opposite direction.

"I won't leave him!" she cried.

"Nanda, he shielded me with his body!" Rodgers shouted.

"He begged me to save you!"

The young woman still grappled with him as she attempted to go back.

Rodgers did not have time to reason with her.

He literally hoisted Nanda off her feet, turned her around, and pulled her forward. She fought to keep her feet beneath her, but at least those struggles kept her from fighting with him.

Rodgers half-carried, half-dragged the woman as he ran forward. She managed to get her balance back and Rodgers took her hand. He continued to pull her ahead. She went with him, though Rodgers heard her sobbing under the drone of the oncoming chopper. That was fine, as long as she kept moving.

The slope circled sharply toward the northeast. Samouel was still in the lead as they rushed to stay out of the helicopter's line of sight.

But without the added drumming of the guns to dislodge fresh ice particles, the pilot would soon be able to see them. Rodgers was going to have to do something about that.

"Samouel, take Nanda's hand and keep going!" Rodgers said.

"Yes, sir," Samouel said.

The American held the woman's arm straight ahead as the Pakistani reached behind him. He found Nanda's hand and Rodgers released her.

The two continued ahead. Rodgers stopped and Friday ran into him.

"What are you doing?" Friday asked.

"Give me the torches and the matches. Then go with them," Rodgers said as he took Apu's parka from under his arm.

The NSA operative did as he was instructed. When Friday was gone, Rodgers took one of the torches, lit it, and jammed it into a small crack in the slope. Then he hung Apu's coat on a crag just behind it.

Removing his gun from his equipment vest, Rodgers moved away from the ice wall. He got down on one knee, laid the torch across his boot to keep it dry, then pointed his automatic up at a sixty-degree angle.

That would put his fire about sixty feet up the cliff. He could not see anything above twenty feet or so but he did not have to.

Not yet.

Within moments the helicopter crept around the curve in the glacier.

The pilots stopped to kill their night-vision goggles.