"I guess 'slab' means flat." The men continued walking across the uneven terrain. It was difficult to keep their footing because of all the small pits, cracks, and occasional patches of smooth ice. Rodgers remained several steps behind Friday. Even if Rodgers did not stumble, a man with a lit torch could be a formidable opponent.

Suddenly, Rodgers saw a piece of ice that fit the dimensions August provided. They walked toward it.

"I think we have it!" Rodgers said.

"Good," August told him.

"You're going to have to move that and then wait for me to call back."

"For what?" Rodgers asked.

"For the code that will open the hatch underneath," August said.

"A hatch to what?" Rodgers asked.

"To an unmanned Pakistani nuclear missile facility," August told him.

"Apparently the Pakistanis use a video setup to monitor the place.

You're going to use that equipment to make your broadcast."

"I see," Rodgers said.

"Hold on."

Mike Rodgers felt a chill from inside. The setting no longer appeared prehistoric. It suddenly seemed calculated, like a theme park attraction. The ice was real but it had probably been arranged to look uninviting and confusing, to discourage ground traffic or overhead surveillance. Pakistani soldiers must have camped here in camouflage tents for months, possibly years, working on the silo and the setting.

The Pakistani air force would have flown in parts and supplies, probably solo excursions at night to lessen the chance of discovery. If they were telling the truth, it was an impressive achievement.

Rodgers kicked the edge of the slab with his toe. It was heavy. They were going to need help. The general turned.

He motioned for Samouel to bring Nanda and join them.

Just then, Rodgers noticed movement along the dimly lit wall behind Samouel. Shadows were shifting on the ice near the northeast slope.

The movement was being caused by the torchlight. But the shadows were not being cast by the mounds of ice. The shadows of the ice piled near the walls were moving up and down. These shadows were creeping from side to side.

Right beside the entrance to the enclosure.

"Friday," Rodgers said quietly but firmly, "kill the light and move away from me fast."

The urgency in Mike Rodgers's voice must have impressed Ron Friday. The NSA operative shoved the torch into a fissure headfirst and jumped to his left, away from Rodgers.

"Samouel, get behind something!" Rodgers shouted.

The general's voice was still echoing through the enclosure as he ran forward. Rodgers was afraid the phone would fall from his pocket so he tucked it into his equipment vest.

A moment later he tripped on a small pit and banged his left shoulder on a chunk of ice. Instead of getting up again he moved ahead on all fours, crablike. It was the only way to negotiate the uneven terrain without falling. He kept moving toward where he had last seen Samouel and Nanda.