There is not a lot of overlap in our job descriptions."

"But you obviously had some contact with him," Rodgers said.

"You were stationed in Azerbaijan. That was where he worked his last operation. He had some personal, hands-on involvement with that."

"We talked a few times," Friday acknowledged.

"He asked for intelligence, I got it for him. There was nothing unusual about that. Why do you ask?" "You put a lot of faith in your instincts,"

Rodgers said.

"We all do when we're in the field. I was just wondering if your instincts ever told you that Fenwick was a traitor."

"No," Friday said.

"So they were wrong," Rodgers pressed.

Friday made a strange face, as though he were repulsed by the thought of having been wrong.

Or maybe Friday was disturbed by something else. Rodgers thought suddenly. Maybe the man could not admit his instincts were wrong because they had not been wrong.

Maybe Friday had known that Jack Fenwick was attempting to overthrow the government of the United States. Yet Friday certainly could not admit he knew that either.

The implications of Ron Friday's silence were disturbing.

One of the keys to Fenwick's plan had been starting an oil war between Azerbaijan, Iran, and Russia. To help that along, CIA operatives based in the U. S. embassy had to be murdered. The killer of one of those agents was never found.

The phone beeped again. Rodgers and Friday continued to look at one another. Friday's hands were still warming over the fire. Rodgers had his right hand in his pocket. As they stood there they shared a subtle alpha male exchange. Friday started to withdraw his right hand from the fire. He apparently wanted to put it in the pocket where he kept his gun.

Rodgers poked his right hand further into his own pocket so it bulged.

Friday did not know where the general kept his weapon. It happened to be in his equipment vest but Friday apparently did not realize that.

Friday's right hand remained exposed.

In the meantime, Rodgers answered the phone.

"Yes?"

"Mike, are you in a clearing hedged by ice?" August asked.

"Yes," Rodgers replied.

"All right," August said.

"Look to the northwest side of the clearing. At the base of one of the slopes you should see a perfectly flat, white slab of ice about two yards by two yards." Rodgers told Friday to pick up one of the torches.

Then he told Samouel to sit with Nanda. Together, Rodgers and Friday walked toward the northwest side of the clearing.

"We're on our way over," Rodgers said.

"Brett, any idea what the shape is of the chunk we're looking for?"

"Bob didn't say," August replied.