Read Online Line of Control by Tom Clancy, Steve Pieczenik, Jeff Rovin - Free Book Online
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Suspense, Action & Adventure, Espionage, Military, War & Military, Adventure stories, Fiction - Espionage, India, Pakistan, Intrigue, Crisis Management in Government - United States, Crisis Management in Government, Government investigators - United States, National Crisis Management Centre (Imaginary place)
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the ground not knowing what might explode next. They were lying under stalls or behind wheelbarrows and carts. As his ears began to clear Friday could hear sobbing, prayer, and moans.
Friday turned back toward the remains of the temple and the police station. The drizzle was helping to thin the cloud of smoke and douse the few fires that had been ignited. No longer light-headed, he began walking toward the rubble. He just now noticed that the police officers who had been standing outside were dead. The backs of their uniforms were bloodied, peppered with shrapnel. Whatever did this had been a concussive device rather than incendiary.
It was strange. Besides the bus, there appeared to be two blast ways the fanlike spray debris followed from the epicenter of an explosion.
One line led from the front of the police station. The other led from deep inside the temple.
Friday could not understand why there had been two separate explosions on this site. It was unusual enough for two religious targets to be bombed, a temple and a busload of pilgrims.
Why was the police station attacked as well?
Sirens cut through the cottony quiet as police who had been on patrol began to arrive. Other officers, who had been out on foot, began to run toward the toppled buildings. People began to get up and leave the bazaar proper. They did not want to be here if there were more explosions. Only a few people headed toward the rubble to see if they might be able to help pull out any survivors.
Ron Friday was not one of those people.
He started walking back toward the inn where he was staying.
He wanted to get in touch with his contacts in India and Washington.
Learn if they had any intel on what had just happened.
There was a sound like bowling pins falling. Friday looked back just as one of the surviving back walls of the temple crashed onto the rubble.
Thick balls of dust swirled from the new wreckage, causing people to step back. After the blocks stopped tumbling, people started moving forward again.
Many of them had dustings of white on their faces and hands, like ghosts.
Friday continued walking. His mind was in overdrive.
A police station. A Hindu temple. A busload of pilgrims.
Two religious targets and one secular site. Friday could imagine the temple being brought down by accident, collateral damage from an attack on the police station. A lot of terrorist bomb makers were not skilled enough to measure precise charges. A lot of terrorist bomb makers did not care if they took down half a city. But there were those two blast lines suggesting concurrent explosions. And the bus proved that this was a planned assault against Hindus, not just against Indians. Friday could not remember a time when that had happened. Certainly not on this scale.
Yet if Hindus were the target, why did the terrorists attack the police station as well? By striking two religious sites they were obviously not looking to disguise their intent.
Friday stopped walking.
Or were they? he thought suddenly. What if the attack on the temple and bus were distractions? Maybe something else was happening here.
Explosions drew crowds. What if that were the point? To get people to a place or away from one.
Friday wiped his eyes and continued ahead. He looked around as he walked. People were either hurrying toward the disaster site or away from it. Unlike before there were no eddies within eddies. That was because the choices were simple now. Help or flee. He peered down side streets, into windows.
He was looking for people who did not appear to be panicked. Perhaps he would see someone, perhaps he would not. The bag on the bus could have been planted at a previous stop. Explosives could have been set to go off with a timer in a suitcase or backpack well padded to take the bumps of the road.
Friday turned back toward the remains of the temple and the police station. The drizzle was helping to thin the cloud of smoke and douse the few fires that had been ignited. No longer light-headed, he began walking toward the rubble. He just now noticed that the police officers who had been standing outside were dead. The backs of their uniforms were bloodied, peppered with shrapnel. Whatever did this had been a concussive device rather than incendiary.
It was strange. Besides the bus, there appeared to be two blast ways the fanlike spray debris followed from the epicenter of an explosion.
One line led from the front of the police station. The other led from deep inside the temple.
Friday could not understand why there had been two separate explosions on this site. It was unusual enough for two religious targets to be bombed, a temple and a busload of pilgrims.
Why was the police station attacked as well?
Sirens cut through the cottony quiet as police who had been on patrol began to arrive. Other officers, who had been out on foot, began to run toward the toppled buildings. People began to get up and leave the bazaar proper. They did not want to be here if there were more explosions. Only a few people headed toward the rubble to see if they might be able to help pull out any survivors.
Ron Friday was not one of those people.
He started walking back toward the inn where he was staying.
He wanted to get in touch with his contacts in India and Washington.
Learn if they had any intel on what had just happened.
There was a sound like bowling pins falling. Friday looked back just as one of the surviving back walls of the temple crashed onto the rubble.
Thick balls of dust swirled from the new wreckage, causing people to step back. After the blocks stopped tumbling, people started moving forward again.
Many of them had dustings of white on their faces and hands, like ghosts.
Friday continued walking. His mind was in overdrive.
A police station. A Hindu temple. A busload of pilgrims.
Two religious targets and one secular site. Friday could imagine the temple being brought down by accident, collateral damage from an attack on the police station. A lot of terrorist bomb makers were not skilled enough to measure precise charges. A lot of terrorist bomb makers did not care if they took down half a city. But there were those two blast lines suggesting concurrent explosions. And the bus proved that this was a planned assault against Hindus, not just against Indians. Friday could not remember a time when that had happened. Certainly not on this scale.
Yet if Hindus were the target, why did the terrorists attack the police station as well? By striking two religious sites they were obviously not looking to disguise their intent.
Friday stopped walking.
Or were they? he thought suddenly. What if the attack on the temple and bus were distractions? Maybe something else was happening here.
Explosions drew crowds. What if that were the point? To get people to a place or away from one.
Friday wiped his eyes and continued ahead. He looked around as he walked. People were either hurrying toward the disaster site or away from it. Unlike before there were no eddies within eddies. That was because the choices were simple now. Help or flee. He peered down side streets, into windows.
He was looking for people who did not appear to be panicked. Perhaps he would see someone, perhaps he would not. The bag on the bus could have been planted at a previous stop. Explosives could have been set to go off with a timer in a suitcase or backpack well padded to take the bumps of the road.
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