Free Line of Control by Tom Clancy, Steve Pieczenik, Jeff Rovin

white tunics and mountain men leading ponies from the marketplace. Distant rice paddies were visible at the misty foot of the Himalayas.
        Trucks bearing more soldiers sped past them, headed toward the bazaar.
        Maybe they did not know who was responsible for the attack. Or maybe they did not want to catch them right away. Perhaps whoever had framed them was waiting to see if they linked up with other terrorists in Kashmir before closing in.
        If that was the case they were going to be disappointed.
        Sharab opened the glove compartment and removed a map of the region.
        There were seventeen grids on the map, each one numbered and lettered.
        For the purposes of security the numbers and letters were reversed.
        "All right, Ishaq," she said into the phone, "I want you to leave the house now and go to position 5B."
        What Sharab really meant was that Ishaq should go to area 2E. The E came from the 5 and the 2 from the B. Anyone who might be listening to the conversation and who might have obtained a copy of their map would go to the wrong spot.
        "Can you meet us there at seven o'clock?" "Yes," he said.
        "What about the old man?"
        "Leave him," she said. She glanced at Nanda. The younger girl's expression was defiant.
        "Remind him that we have his granddaughter. If the authorities ask him about us he is to say nothing. Tell him if we reach the border safely she will be set free."
        Ishaq said he would do that and meet the others later.
        Sharab hung up. She folded the cell phone and slipped it in the pocket of her blue windbreaker.
        There would be time enough for analysis and regrouping.
        Only one thing mattered right now.
        Getting out of the country before the Indians had live scapegoats to parade before the world.

CHAPTER TEN.
        
        Siachin Base 3, Kashmir Wednesday, 5:42 p. m.
        Major Dev Puri hung up the phone. A chill shook him from the shoulders to the small of his back.
        Puri was sitting behind the small gunmetal desk in his underground command center. On the wall before him was a detailed map of the region.
        It was spotted with red flags showing Pakistan emplacements and green flags showing Indian bases. Behind him was a map of India and Pakistan.
        To his left was a bulletin board with orders, rosters, schedules, and reports tacked to it. To his right was a blank wall with a door.
        Affectionately known as "the Pit," the shelter was a twelve-by-fourteen-foot hole cut from hard earth and granite.
        Warping wood-panel walls backed with thick plastic sheets kept the moisture and dirt out but not the cold. How could it? the major wondered. The earth was always cool, like a grave, and the surrounding mountains prevented direct sunlight from ever hitting the Pit. There were no windows or skylights. The only ventilation came from the open door and a rapidly spinning ceiling fan.
        Or at least the semblance of ventilation, Puri thought. It was fakery.
        Just like everything else about this day.
        But the cool command center was not what gave Major Puri a chill. It was what the Special Frontier Force liaison had said over the phone.
        The man, who was stationed in Kargil, had spoken just one word.
        However, the significance of that word was profound.
        "Proceed," he had said.
        Operation Earthworm was a go.
        On the one hand, the major had to admire the nerve of the SFF. Puri did not know how high up in the government this plan had traveled or where it had originated. Probably with the SFF. Possibly in the Ministry of External Affairs or the Parliamentary Committee on Defence.
        Both had oversight powers regarding the activities of nonmilitary intelligence groups. Certainly the SFF would have needed their approval for something this big. But Puri did know that if the truth of this action