Georgiev Holstered His Weapon And Stepped Through The Open Door. Facing The Security Team, He Shut The Door Behind Him. Slowly, Fearlessly. He Was Tempted To Scratch His Head Or His Side And Watch Them Jump. But He Didn’t. Just Knowing They Would Was Enough.
And More Importantly, They Knew It, Too. They Knew Who Had More Courage And Who Was More At Ease.
Coming Out Here Was The Right Thing To Do. He Looked At Chatterjee.
“What Do You Want?” He Asked Her.
“I Want To Resolve This Situation Without Further Bloodshed,” She Told Him.
“You Can,” He Replied. “Give Us What We Asked.” “I’m Trying,” She Said. “But The Nations Have Refused To Pay.” He Had Expected That. “Then Someone Else Must Pay,” He Told Her. “Let The United States Rescue The World Again.” “I Can Talk To Them,” She Said, “But It Will Take Time.” “You Can Have It,” He Said. “The Price Is One Life Every Hour.” “No, Please,” Chatterjee Said.
“I Would Like To Suggest Something. A Moratorium.
I’ll Have A Better Chance Of Getting What You Ask If I Can Tell Them You’re Cooperating.” “Cooperating?” He Said. “You’re The One Who’s Wasting Time.” “But It Will Take Hours, Maybe Days,” She Said. Georgiev Shrugged A Shoulder. “Then The Blood Is On Your Hands, Not On Mine.” The Secretary-General Continued To Look At Him, Though She Was Less Composed Than Before. Her Breathing Was Faster, Her Eyes More Restless. That Was Good. He Wanted Compliance, Not A Negotiation. Behind Her, Georgiev Noticed The Security Chief Shifting Uneasily.
He Must Not Have Come From The Un Command Ranks. He Had The Bearing Of A Tethered Bull.
Chatterjee Looked Down. She Shook Her Head Slowly. She’d Never Had To Deal With Anything Like This Before.
He Almost Felt Sorry For Her. What Does A Diplomat Do When You Keep Saying No? “I Give You My Word,” She Said. “Stop The Killing. I Will Get You Everything You Want.” “You Will Get It For Me Anyway,” He Said.
Chatterjee Looked At Him. She Seemed To Be Searching For Something Else To Say, But It Had All Been Said. Georgiev Turned Toward The Door. “Don’t Do This,” Chatterjee Said.
He Continued Walking. He Reached For The Doorknob.
Chatterjee Moved After Him. “Don’t You Understand?
No One Will Benefit From This,” She Said. She Grabbed His Arm In Desperation.
Georgiev Stopped And Wrenched His Arm Toward Him.
The Woman Held On.
“Listen To Me!” She Implored.
So The Peacemaker Had Claws. The Big Man Threw His Arm Back. Chatterjee Fell Against The Wall That Stood Out Beyond The Door. Georgiev Tanned Back Toward The Door.
There Were Footsteps Behind Him. Georgiev Reached For His Automatic And Turned Just As An Elbow Came Swinging Across His Line Of Vision.
His Vision Swirled Red, The Bridge Of His Nose And His Forehead Were Numb, And He Was Light-Headed. He Was Fighting To Stay Alert When A Second Blow Turned Everything Black.
New York, New York Saturday, 11:42 Pm.
“Something Just Happened,” Mike Rodgers Said To Paul Hood. Rodgers Was Sitting At The Computer With Ani Hampton. Hood Had Arrived Moments Before, Still Breathing Hard From The Run. Am Had Checked Him On The Video Surveillance Camera At The Door And Then Buzzed Him In. Rodgers Wanted To Know What Had Brought Hood Here, But What Was Happening With Mala Chatterjee Was What The Military Called “Breaking News.” Ani Had Put The Bug’s Audio On The Computer Speakers. Even Though The Sound Was Being Recorded, He Didn’t Want To Miss A Word Of The Very Faint Conversation Between The Secretary-General And The Terrorist.
“Paul Hood, Annabelle Hampton,” Rodgers Said, Introducing Them Now That He Found It Difficult To Hear Anything At All. Ani Acknowledged Hood With A Quick Look And A Nod. She Seemed Extremely Intent On What Was Happening.
“We Think Something Just Happened Outside The Security Council,” Rodgers Told Hood. “One Of The Terrorists Came Out To Talk With The Secretary-General.
From The Sound Of Things, She Shouted And Then Someone-Probably Colonel Mott Of The Un Security Team, Who We Believe Was Closest To Her-Apparently Attacked The Terrorist. It Sounds Like They Have Him, But We Can’t Be Certain. Everyone Is Being Very Quiet.” They Listened Silently For A Moment More. Then Hood Spoke. “This May Not Have Anything To Do With What’s Going On,” He Said, “But I Just Got A Call From Bob.
There Are Two People Inside The Security Council Who’ve Spent At Least Eight Years With The Cambodian Khmer People’s National Liberation Armed Forces. They Started As Coun-Terterrorists Fighting The Khmer Rouge And Then Became Assassins Working For Son Sann.” Ani Fired Him A Look.
“They Came Into The Country Two Days Ago With The Permission Of Someone In Their Government, Though Their Backgrounds Were Intentionally Obscured,” Hood Continued. “The Question Is, Are They There By Chance, Are They Working With The Terrorists, Or Is Something Else Going On That We Don’t Know About?” Rodgers Shook His Head As There Was Another Buzz At The Door. Ani Put The Surveillance Image On The Computer; It Was Brett August. Rodgers Okayed Him And Ani Reached Under The Table To Buzz Him In. Rodgers Excused Himself To Greet The Striker Leader. As Rodgers Hurried To The Office Reception Area, He Reflected On The Fact That This Was The Kind Of Situation That Hostage Negotiators In Every Country Encountered Every Day. Some Of The Crises Were Large-Scale Political Events That Made The News; Others Were Small And Involved No More Than One Or Two People In An Apartment Or Convenience Store. But All Of Them, Wherever They Were And Whoever. Was Involved, Had One Thing In Common: Volatility. In His Experience, Battles Could Change Quickly, But They Tended To Change En Masse. They’d Pick Up Inertia And Continue In One Direction As The Participating Armies Surged And Flowed.
Hostage Situations Were Different. They Were Subject To Hairtrigger Fluidity. They Lurched, Stalled, Jerked, Turned, And Then Ran In Unpredictable Ways. And The More People That Were Involved, The More Likely That Things Would Change Dramatically At Any Given Moment. Especially If Those People Were A Mixture Of Frightened Kids, Fanatical Terrorists, Single-Minded Assassins, And Diplomats Whose Only Weapon Was Talk.
Colonel August Was Sweaty And Grease-Stained When He Arrived. He Saluted Rodgers, Then Explained That He’d Done A Pencil Roll From The C-130’S Hydraulically Operated Cargo Ramp While It Was Being Raised. Since It Was Dark, No One Saw Him As He Rolled Tight And Low Down The Ramp. There Was A Four-Foot Drop From The Lip To The Tarmac, And Apart From A Few Bruises, The Colonel Was Okay. He Was Wearing A Kevlar Bulletproof Vest Under His Sweatshirt And That Had Taken Some Of The Impact. Because August Was A Fully Equipped Tourist, He’d Had His Wallet With Him And Enough Cash For The Cab Ride To Manhattan.
Rodgers Brought Him Up To Date As They Walked To Ani’s Office. As They Neared, August Stopped Suddenly. “Hold On,” August Said Quietly.
“What’s Wrong?” “You’ve Got A Pair Of Cambodian Assassins In The Security Council?” August Asked.
“That’s Right.” August Thought For A Moment, Then Nodded Toward The Offices In Back. “Did You Know That Your Lady Here Worked For The Cia In Cambodia?” “No,” Rodgers Said. He Was Openly Surprised. “Tell Me About It.” “I Downloaded Her File On The Flight Over,” August Said. “She Recruited Operatives In Cambodia For Nearly A Year.” Rodgers Let His Mind Run Through Possible Scenarios, Looking For Possible Connections. “She Signed In Downstairs About Fifteen Minutes Before The Attack Began. She Said She’d Come Here To Catch Up On Some Work.” “That Could Very Well Be True,” August Said. “It Could,” Rodgers Agreed. “But She Got Here Early And She Has The Ability To Eavesdrop On The Secretary-General. She Also Has A Tacsat In The Office.” “Not Standard Cia Office Issue,” August Said. “No,” Rodgers Agreed. “Sounds Like A Nice Setup If You Want To Pass Intel To People Who Are Involved In This Takeover.” “But Which Side Of The Takeover?” August Asked.
“I Don’t Know,” Rodgers Said.
“Is The Tacsat Turned On?” August Asked. “Can’t Tell. It’s In A Sack.” August Snickered. “You Spend Too Much Time Behind A Desk. Roll Up Your Sleeves.” “What Do You Mean?” Rodgers Asked.
“Get The Back Of Your Arm Near The Unit,” August Said. “I Still Don’t Follow.” “The Hair. Static Electricity,” August Told Him. “Shit,” Rodgers Said.
“You’re Right.” An Insulated Piece Of Equipment, When Active, Would Generate An Electric Discharge-Static Electricity. That Would Cause The Hairs On His Arm To Stand Up When He Got Close.
Rodgers Nodded, And They Continued Toward The Office.
Neither Man Was An Alarmist. But From The Start Of Their Careers, With Anywhere From One Life To Thousands Of Lives Hanging On Any Decision They Made, Neither Man Had Ever Been Complacent. And As Rodgers Turned Into The Office, He Reminded Himself Of Something That The Cia Had Learned The Hard Way. That Volatility Didn’t Always Come From The Outside.