Then He Took Off His Belt, Slid The Flapend Through The Radio Case, And Pulled Until The Case Rested Against The Buckle. Then He Looped The Belt Around One Of The Thin Stanchions That Supported The Rail.
Holding The Two Ends Of The Strap, He Lowered Himself Over The Side. Still Holding The Buckle End Of The Belt And The Radio, He Let Go Of The Other End And Dropped The Five Feet To The Asphalt. August Landed With His Knees Slightly Bent. He Stood Quickly. The United Nations Garage Was To The South, Directly Ahead. August Couldn’t See The Site Clearly Yet, Since It Was Blocked By The Corner Of A Building On The Northeastern Side Of The Street. August Put His Belt Back On As He Crept Through The Eerie Silence Under The Highway. As He Neared The Garage Entrance, He Saw Two Policemen Standing To The East Of The Open Door. The Inside Of The Garage Was Lighted, But The Outside Was Dark. If He Could Draw The Officers Away, Then Getting To The Door Unseen Wouldn’t Be A Problem.
August Looked At His Watch. In Twenty Seconds, Rodgers Would Turn His Own Radio To Maximum Volume. With His Own Radio Turned Up, The Overload Would Generate A Static Feedback. When That Happened, The Police Would Do One Of Three Things.
Both Officers Would Go To Investigate; One Officer Would Investigate While The Other Remained At His Post; Or They Would Call For Backup. August Expected That Both Officers Would Go. They Couldn’t Afford To Leave A Possible Threat Unchecked, And He Imagined That The Nypd Followed The Field Policy Of Most Big-City Police Departments. That Officers Were Not Allowed To Enter A Potentially Dangerous Situation Alone.
If That Didn’t Happen, August Was Going To Have To Take Down One Or Both Officers. He Didn’t Relish Attacking Men Who Were On The Same Team, But He Was Prepared To Do It. He Shifted To A Confrontational Mind-Set, With His Focus On The Goal And Not The Means. The Colonel Moved Quickly Through The Shadows Un Der The Highway, Then Put His Radio Down Beside The Curb. He Made Sure The Volume Was Turned All The Way Up. Then, With Just Seconds Remaining, He Ducked Into A Darkened Doorway Across From The Garage. He Was Approximately Thirty Feet From The Corner And Roughly The Same Distance From The Garage.
August Slipped Off His Shoes.
Less Than Five Seconds Later, A Piercing Screech Ripped Through The Night. August Watched As The Officers Looked Over. One Drew His Gun And Flashlight And Started Toward The Street While The Other Radioed In The 10-59, Which Identified It As A Non Crime-Related Noise.
“Sounds Like A Radio,” Said The Officer Who Was Reporting The Incident. “We Have Anyone Else On The Block?” “Negative,” Said The Dispatcher.
“I Copy That,” Said The Officer. “I’m Going Over With Orlando.” The First Police Officer Approached Cautiously With His Flashlight Turned Toward The Side Of The Building On The Northeast Corner. The Second Officer Stayed Slightly To The Side, His Gun Drawn And His Radio On. He Was Betting That These Men Would Shoot Him On Sight If They Saw Him. He Had To Make Certain That They Did Not. While The Radio Continued To Crackle Loudly, August Watched The Officers. When They Reacted The Corner, He Ducked Low And Ran Across The Street In His Stocking Feet. He Made No Sound, Did Not Feel Anything He Stepped On. The Goal Was All That Mattered. And As He Entered The Garage And Saw The Elevator Ahead, He Had Only One Goal. To Win.
New York, New York Sunday, 12:06 A.M.
The Secretary-General Was Still Standing In The Corridor Outside The Security Council. Little Had Changed Since The Siege Began. A Few Of The Delegates Had Left, And Others Had Come Up.
Security Personnel Were More Agitated Than Before, Especially Those Who Had Taken Part In The Aborted Assault. Young Lieutenant Mailman, A British Officer Who Had Come Here After Helping To Plan Desert Fox, Was The Most Restless Of All. After Chatterjee Had Phoned The Terrorists To Relay Hood’s Message, The Officer Walked Over.
“Ma’am?” He Said.
The Silence Was Oppressive. Though He Was Whispering, His Voice Sounded Very Loud.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” “Ma’am, Colonel Mott’s Plan Was A Good One,” He Insisted. “We Couldn’t Have Anticipated The Variable, The Other Gunmen.” “What Are You Asking?” She Said.
“There Are Only Three Terrorists Left Now,” He Told Her, “And I Have A Plan That Might Work.” “No,” She Said Adamantly. “How Do You Know There Won’t Be Other Variables?” “I Don’t,” He Admitted. “Soldiering Isn’t About Pre Dicting The Future. It’s About Fighting Wars. And You Can’t Do That Standing On The Sidelines.” There Were Sounds From Behind The Door Of The Security Council. Whimpering, Knocking, Snarls. Something Was Happening. “I’ve Given You My Answer,” She Replied.
A Moment Later, Paul Hood Called Back.
Enzo Donati Handed Her The Cell Phone.
“Yes?” Chatterjee Said Anxiously. “She Turned On Us,” Hood Said. “God, No,” Chatterjee Said. “Then That’s What’s Happening Inside.” “What’s Happening?” Hood Said.
“A Struggle,” She Said. “They’re Going To Execute The Hostage.” “Not Necessarily,” Hood Said. “One Of My Men Is On The Way Up.
He’s Dressed In Civilian Clothes-Was “No!” The Secretary-General Said. “Madam Secretary, You’ve Got To Let Us Handle This,” Hood Said. “You Don’t Have A Plan. We Do-Was “You Had A Plan, And We Tried It,” She Said.
“It Failed.” “This One Won’t-Was “No, Mr. Hood!” Chatterjee Said As She Cut Him Off. She Felt Like Screaming. The Phone Beeped Again. She Shut It Off And Handed It To Donati.
She Told Her Assistant To Leave.
It Was As Though Someone Had Spun The World Like A Top.
She Was Dizzy, Electrified, And Exhausted At, The Same Time. Is This What War Was Like? A White-Water River That Carried You To Places Where The Best You Could Do, The Best You Could Hope For, Was To Take Advantage Of Someone Who Was Slightly More Dizzy And Exhausted Than You? Chatterjee Looked At The Security Council Door. She Would Have To Try To Go In Again.
What Else Was There To Do? Just Then, There Was A Commotion From The Hallway Just Past The Economic And Social Council Chambers. Several Of The Delegates Turned Around, And Members Of The Security Force Were Going Over To See What Was Happening.
“Someone’s Coming!” Shouted One Of The Security Police. “Quiet, Damn You!” Mailman Hissed.
The Lieutenant Ran Over To The Police Line.
He Arrived Just As The Barefoot Colonel August Shouldered Through The Crowd Of Delegates. August Raised Both Hands To Show The Security People That He Was Unarmed, But He Didn’t Stop Moving.
“Let Him Through!” Mailman Said, His Voice An Insistent Whisper. The Line Of Blue Shirts Parted Immediately, And August Stepped Through. As He Did, He Reached Into His Pants Pockets And Withdrew Both Berettas. The Officer’s Movements Were Fast And Sure, No Wasted Action. He Was Less Than Ten Feet From The Door. All That Stood Between Him And The Security Council Chamber Was Mala Chatterjee.
The Secretary-General Looked At August’s Face As He Neared. His Eyes Reminded Her Of A Tiger She’d Once Seen In The Wild In India. This Man Had Smelled His Prey, And Nothing Was Going To Come Between Them. At The Moment, Those Eyes Seemed Like The Only Steady Thing In Her Universe.
This Wasn’t How It Was Supposed To Be. Leon Trotsky Had Once Written That Violence Seemed To Be The Shortest Distance Between Two Points. The Secretary-General Didn’t Want To Believe That.
When She Was A Student At The University Of Delhi, Professor Sandhya A. Panda, An Acolyte Of Mohandas Gandhi, Had Taught Pacifism As Though It Were A Religion. Chatterjee Had Practiced That Faith Devoutly. Yet In Five Hours, Everything That Could Go Wrong Did. Her Best Efforts, Her Self-Sacrifice, Her Calm Thoughts.
At Least Colonel Mott’s Aborted Attempt Had Managed To Get A Wounded Girl To The Hospital.
Just Then, There Was A Soft Cry From The Other Side Of The Door. It Was A Girl’s Voice, High And Muffled. “No!” The Voice Sobbed. “Don’t!” Chatterjee Choked On An Involuntary Cry Of Her Own. She Turned Reflexively To Go To The Girl, But August Stopped Her With A Firm Nudge As He Rushed Past.
Armed With A Handgun, Lieutenant Mailman Followed August. He Stopped Several Paces Behind The Colonel. Chatterjee Started After Them.
Mailman Turned And Held Her Back.
“Let Him Go,” The Lieutenant Said Quietly.
Chatterjee Didn’t Have The Energy Or Will To Resist.
In A Madhouse, Only The Insane Are At Home.
They Both Watched As The Colonel Paused At The Door, But Only For A Moment. He Turned The Handle With The Heel Of His Left Hand And Remained Standing. Once Again, His Movements Were Clean And Efficient.
A Hearbeat Later, He Followed Both Guns In.
New York, New York Sunday, 12:07 A.M.