“They May Try To Come In Again.” “I Will,” Downer Said. He Pulled His Bloodred Gloves From Under Georgiev And Looked Across The Room. The Smaller Of The Two Terrorists Was Running Down The Stairs. That Meant Sazanka Had Taken The Hit. Downer Watched As Barone Bent Over Him. The Uruguyan Stood And Dragged A Finger Across His Throat. Their Pilot Was Dead. Downer Swore. So Did Vandal. Downer Looked Down. Vandal Had Removed Georgiev’s Mask. Only It Wasn’t Georgiev Who Was Lying On The Landing.
“Then They’ve Got Him,” Downer Said.
“I Thought I Heard Noise Out There. The Bastards Have Got Him.” He Spit On The American-Looking Face That Lay Lifeless On The Carpet.
Vandal Pulled Back The Man’s Glove And Felt For A Pulse. He Dropped The Man’s Wrist.
“He’s Dead.” Vandal Looked Down At The Bodies Lying Near The Gallery. “Those Were Un Security Police Who Came In, And I’ll Bet This Man Was With Them. But Who Were Those Other Two?” “Probably Undercover Police,” Downer Said.
“Working Security For The Party.” “Then Why Didn’t They Move Sooner?” Vandal Wondered Aloud. “Try And Save The Delegates?” “Maybe They Sent Some Kind Of Silent Signal For Reinforcements,” Downer Said. “They Were Just Waiting.” “I Don’t Think So,” Vandal Said. “They Almost Seemed Surprised When They Saw The United Nations Team Come In.” Downer Went Back Up The Stairs, And Vandal Turned And Hurried Down The Steps. He Was Worried About The Doors, Though He Didn’t Really Think There Would Be Another Attack Now. The Un Forces Had Gotten Hurt. They Took Away The Wounded Girl, But He Didn’t Think That Was Their Objective. They Came In Looking Like They Wanted To Establish A Beachhead. Four In With Reinforcements Waiting To Move Through The Center. Why Didn’t The Reinforcements Pull The Girl Out? The Firefight Had Put The Hostages Low On The Floor Or Sent Them Ducking Under The Table.
Vandal Would Leave Them Where They Were For Now. There Was A Lot Of Sobbing And Whimpering, But Everyone Had Been Rattled By The Attack. No One Was Going Anywhere.
Vandal Reached The Two People Who Had Been Killed At The Foot Of The Gallery. They Were Asian. He Squatted And Checked The Pockets Of The Man’s Jacket. He Had A Cambodian Passport.
There Was A Connection, At Least. Georgiev Was Into A Number Of Unsavory Businesses During The Untac Operation, From Spying To Prostitution. Maybe This Was Supposed To Be Some Kind Of Payback. But How Did They Know He Was Here?
Barone Had Come Over. Vandal Dropped The Passport And Rose.
“Is He Dead?” Barone Asked, Nodding Toward Georgiev. “It Isn’t Him,” Vandal Said.
,”What?” “They Got Him When He Went Out,” Vandal Said.
“Made A Switch.” “Who Would Have Thought They Had The Cajones?” Barone Said. “That Could Be Why The Security Team Came In. They Were Following Their Man’s Lead.” “Very Possibly,” Vandal Said.
Barone Shook His Head. “If He Gives Them Information About The Bank Accounts, Then Even If We Get Out Of Here With The Money, They’ll Take It Right Back.” “Agreed,” Vandal Said.
“So What Do We Do?” Barone Asked.
“We Still Have What They Want,” Vandal Said, Thinking Aloud. “And We Still Have The Means To Kill The Hostages If The Security Forces Come In Again. So I Suggest We Stick To Our Plan With Two Differences.” “What?” Barone Asked.
Vandal Turned Toward The Conference Table. “We Tell Them We Want Cash,” He Said As He Walked Forward, “And We Speed Up The Clock.” His Eyes Moved From The Empty Seat Where The Girl Who Ran Had Been Sitting. They Settled On Harleigh Hood.
There Was Something About Her, Something Defiant, That Hit Him Wrong. He Told Barone To Get Her.
New York, New York Saturday, 11:51 P.M.
The Audio Bug In The Corridor Picked Up The Shots From The Security Council Chamber. The Reports Were Muffled, As Were The Shouts In The Corridor, But It Was Clear To Paul Hood And The Others That One Side Or The Other Had Made A Move. The Shouts Continued After The Gunfire Had Stopped.
Hood Was Standing Behind Ani. Except For Swinging Over To A Laptop On Another Desk To Try And Boost The Audio Quality, She Said-The Young Agent Had Stayed At Her Post. She Was Calm And Very Focused. August Was Standing To Hood’s Left. Rodgers Had Removed His Jacket, Rolled Up His Sleeves, And Had Pulled A Chair From The Other Desk. He Had Asked For, And Was Given, A Book Of Blueprints Of The United Nations. Hood Had A Look At The Book Over Rodgers’s Shoulder. The Fbi Had Obviously Assembled The Blueprints In Order To Plant Primitive Eavesdropping Devices In Structural Materials Back In The 1940’S.
Updated Notations On The Pages Suggested That The Cia Also Used The Blueprints To Program Routes For Their Mobile Bugs.
On The Floor Near Where Rodgers Had Pulled His Chair Was An Upright Canvas Case. The Zippered Bag Was Open On Top, And Hood Could See A Tacsat Phone Inside.
As Hood Stood There Listening, He Heard His Cell Phone Beep. He Assumed It Was Bob Herbert Or Ann Farris With Information. Hood Slipped The Phone From His Pocket. Mike Rodgers Rose And Came Over. “Hello?” Hood Said.
“Paul, It’s Me.” “Sharon,” Hood Said.
Christ, Not Now, He Thought. Rodgers Stopped.
Hood Turned His Back To The Room. “I’m Sorry, Hon,” Hood Said Quietly. “I Was On My Way Up To See You When Something Happened. Something That Had To Do With Mike.” “He’s Here?” “Yes,” Hood Said. He Wasn’t Really Listening To The Phone. He Was Trying To Hear What Was Happening In The Secretariat Building. “Are You Holding Up Okay?” He Asked.
“You’ve Got To Be Kidding,” She Said. “Paul, I Need You.” “I Know,” He Said. “Look, We’re In The Middle Of Something Here. We’re Trying To Get Harleigh And The Others Out. Can I Call You Back?” “Sure, Paul. Just Like Always.” Sharon Hung Up. Hood Felt Like He’d Been Slapped. How Could Two People Be So Close One Night, Then Be Totally Unconnected The Next Day? But He Didn’t Feel Guilty. He Felt Angry. He Was Doing This To Try And Save Harleigh. Sharon Wasn’t Happy Being Alone, But That Wasn’t What The Hangup Was About. It Was About The Fact That Op-Center Had Separated Them Again.
Hood Folded His Phone And Put It Away. Mike Placed A Hand On Hood’s Shoulder.
Suddenly, They Heard Chatterjee’s Voice Clearly.
“Lieutenant Mailman, What Happened?” The Secretary-General Asked. “Someone Shot Colonel Mott Before The Rest Of The Team Went In,” He Said Breathlessly. “He May Be Dead.” “No,” Chatterjee Said While He Was Still Speaking. “God, No.” “They Killed Ore Of My People And Then We Got One Of The Terrorists Before Withdrawing,” The Lieutenant Went On. “We Also Pulled A Girl Out. She’d Been Shot. There Was No Way We Could Get In Without Taking A Lot Of Casualties.” Hood Felt His Knees Weaken.
“I’ll Find Out Who It Is,” Rodgers Said.
“Don’t Call Sharon. You May Worry Her For Nothing.” “Thanks,” Hood Said.
Rodgers Went To The Office Phone And Called Bob Herbert. In Order To Keep Track Of Known Terrorists And Underworld Figures-Many Of Whom Were Regularly Hurt In Explosions, Car Accidents, Or Gunfights-Op-Center Had A Program That Was Connected With All The Big-City Hospitals And Interfaced With The Social Security Administration.
Whenever A Social Security Number Was Entered On A Hospital Computer, It Was Checked Against Op-Center’s Database To Make Sure That The Person Wasn’t Someone The Fbi Or Police Were Looking For. In This Case, Herbert Would Have Matt Stoll Check On Everyone Who Was Admitted To A Un’-Area New York Hospital In The Last Half Hour.
The Conversation Continued In The Secretariat. “You Did The Right Thing Pulling Out,” Chatterjee Said.
“There’s Something Else,” The Lieutenant Said. “Two Of The Delegates Were Armed And Firing.” “Which Two?” Chatterjee Said.
“I Don’t Know,” The Lieutenant Replied.
“One Of The Team Members Who Got A Good Look Said It Was An Asian Man And Woman.” “It Could Be Japan, South Korea, Or Cambodia,” Chatterjee Said. “Both Of The Delegates Were Killed By The Terrorists.” “Who Were The Delegates Shooting At?” Chatterjee Asked. “Believe It Or Not, They Were Firing At Colonel Mott,” He Replied. “At The Colonel?” She Said. “They Must Have Mistaken Him For-Was “The Terrorist He Replaced,” The Lieutenant Said. A Radio Beeped As The Lieutenant Was Speaking. Chatterjee Answered It. “This Is Secretary-General Chatterjee.” “That Was Stupid And Reckless,” Said The Voice On The Other End. The Man’s Voice Was Scratchy And Faint And Spoken With An Accent, But Hood Was Able To Make Out Most Of What Was Being Said. Concentrating On That Was A Welcome Distraction From Thinking About The Wounded Girl.
“I’m Sorry For What Happened,” Chatterjee Said. “We Tried To Reason With Your Partner-Was “Don’t Try And Make This Our Fault!” The Caller Snapped. “No, It Was All Mine-Was “You Knew The Rules, And You Ignored Them,” He Said. “Now We Have New Instructions For You.” “First Tell Me,” Chatterjee Said. “What Is The Condition Of Our Officer?” “He’s Dead.” “Are You Sure?” Chatterjee Implored.