Ron Friday's breathing stayed in the same place. Nanda's action must have shamed him. Or maybe Friday had been testing Rodgers. Sometimes, what a man did not say in response to a threat said more, and was more dangerous, than a saber-rattling reply.

"I'll be right back with Samouel," Rodgers said evenly.

The general turned and recrossed the small area between the two positions. The Indians maintained their silence. Rodgers was now thinking they had been advance scouts for another party. Their orders were obviously to keep the enemy pinned until backup could arrive.

Hopefully, that would not be for another half hour or so. If everything else went right in his improvisation, that was all the time Rodgers would need.

Samouel was breathing rapidly when Rodgers reached him. The general was not a doctor. He did not know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Under the circumstances, breathing at all was good.

"How're you doing?" Rodgers asked.

"Not very well," Samouel said. He was wheezing. It sounded as if there were blood in his throat.

"You're just disoriented by the trauma," Rodgers lied.

"We'll fix you up as soon as we're done here."

"What can we do without the cell phone?" Samouel asked.

Rodgers slipped his arms under the Pakistani.

"We still have my point-to-point radio," the general told him.

"Will that work?"

"It should," Samouel replied.

"The wiring is basically the same."

"That's what I thought," Rodgers said.

"I'm going to get us to the cable and pry the back from the radio. Then you're going to tell me how to hook it to the satellite dish."

"Wait," Samouel said.

Rodgers hesitated before lifting him.

"Listen," Samouel said.

"Look for the red line underground.

Red is always the audio. Inside the radio, find the largest chip.

There will be two lines attached. One leads to the microphone. The other to the antenna. Cut the wire leading to the antenna. Splice the red wire from the dish to that one."

"All right," Rodgers replied.

"You understand all that?" Samouel asked.

"I do," Rodgers assured him.

"Then go," Samouel said.

The Pakistani's voice had become weaker as he spoke.

Rodgers did not argue with him. Pausing only long enough to squeeze Samouel's hand, Rodgers turned and hurried back to the slab.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE.

The Siachin Glacier Friday, 3:25 a. m.

Nanda did not remember much of what had happened since the helicopter had attacked them. She knew that her grandfather had died. But it seemed as if after that her mind had drifted. She was awake but her spirit had been elsewhere.

The shock of her grandfather's death must have dulled her kundalini, her life force. That forced the Shakti to take over.

Those were the female deities that protected true believers in times of strife. Using their own secret mantras and mandalas, the mystical words and diagrams, the Shakti had guarded her life force until Nanda's own depleted natural energies could revive it.