Shortly After Answering The Tacsat Call From Barone, Annabelle Hampton Went To The Closet, Took One Of The Last Remaining Berettas, And Walked Into The Hallway. The Corridor Was Empty. The Bastards Who Had Tried To Bully Her Were Gone. She Headed Past The Closed Offices, Custodial Closet, And Rest Rooms Toward The Stairwell.
Annabelle Didn’t Want To Take The Elevator For Two Reasons. First, There Were Security Cameras Built Into The Ceiling. Second, The Men From Op-Center Might Be Waiting For Her In The Lobby.
She Wanted To Take The Stairs To The Cellar And Slip Out The Side Door. She Would Reconnect With Georgiev Later, As Planned. She Had Sent The Two Cia Floaters To Pick Him Up At The Un Infirmary. Annabelle Would Tell Her Superior That She Had Georgiev Removed Because Of What He Knew About Cia Operations In Bulgaria, Cambodia, And In The Rest Of The Far Fast. She Didn’t Want That Information Falling Into The Hands Of The United Nations. She Would Also Tell Him That The Men From Op-Center Were In League With The Terrorists. That Would Keep Them At Bay Long Enough For Her To Collect Her Share Of The Ransom And Get Out Of The Country. If There Was No Ransom, She’d Still Use The Money Georgiev Had Paid Her Up Front To Go To South America. 0 The Door Opened In. It Was Solid Metal, As Required By Fire Laws. There Was No Window, So The Young Woman Opened It Cautiously In Case Anyone Was On The Other Side.
No One Was Waiting There. Annabelle Let The Door Shut And Started Across The Concrete Landing. There Were Five Floors To The Cellar; Hood Or One Of His Men Could Still Be Waiting For Her Down There. She Didn’t Think The Police Would Be There. Nypd Policy Was To Throw A Tight Net. They Would Have Come Up To The Fourth Floor To Shut Her In, Not Give Her An Opportunity To Get Away. She Started Down The Steps. And Then The Lights Went Off. Even The Security Spots Went Down, Which Could Only Be Controlled From The Utility Room. The Young Woman Thought Angrily, Right Next To The Men’s Room. Goddam Whichever Of Those Bastards Thought Of That.
She Was Angrier At Herself For Not Having Checked The Room. Annabelle Considered Going Back, But She Didn’t Want To Waste The Time Or Risk A Showdown With Whoever Had Cut The Lights. Switching The Gun To Her Left Hand, She Grabbed The Handrail With Her Right Hand And Made Her Way Down Slowly. She Reached The Landing, Turned The Corner, And Started Down The Second Half Of The Stairs. She Was Pleased With The Progress She Was Making. Until A Bright Light Snapped On In Front Of Her And Then A Sharp, Crippling Pain Struck Her Left Thigh.
She Fell Over, Unable To Breathe And Losing The Gun As Pain Rocked Her Entire Left Side.
“Put “Em Back On!” Someone Shouted.
The Stairwell Lights Snapped Back, And Annabelle Looked Up. She Saw A Beefy, Black-Haired Man Looming Over Her. He Was Dressed In A White Shirt And Wearing Navy Blue Trousers. In His Thick Hands Were A Radio And A Black Police-Style Baton. He Was State Department Security. The Name Tag On His Shirt Said Deputy Chief Bill Mohalley.
Mohalley Picked Up Her Gun And Tucked It In His Waistband. Annabelle Tried To Get Up But Couldn’t.
She Could Barely Breathe. As She Lay There, She Heard The Door Open On The Fourth Floor Landing.
While The State Department Officer Radioed For The Rest Of His Team To Come To The Third Floor, Hood Ran Down The Stairs. He Must Have Been The One Who Turned Off The Lights. Hood Stopped On The Landing And Looked Down At The Young Woman. His Expression Seemed Sad. “I Thought We Had A Deal,” She Gasped.
“So Did I,” Hood Replied. “But I Know What You Did. I Heard.” “You’re Lying,” She Said.
“I Saw You In The Camera.” Hood Just Shook His Head. Mohalley Stepped Over As His Team Ran Up The Stairs.
“My Team Will Take It From Here,” Mohalley Said To Hood. “Thanks For Your Help.” “Thanks For Having Given Me Your Card,” Hood Said. “Have You Heard Anything About The Wounded Girl?” Mohalley Nodded. “Barbara Mathis Is On The Operating Table. She’s Lost A Lot Of Blood, And The Bullet’s Still In Her. They’re Doing Everything They Can, But It Doesn’t Look Good.” He Looked Down At Annabelle. “She’s Just Fourteen Years Old.” “I Didn’t Want Any Of The Children Hurt,” Annabelle Said. Hood Stepped Back. Shaking His Head Again, He Turned And Ran Down The Stairs.
Annabelle Lay Back As Other State Department Security Personnel Arrived. Her Thigh Was Throbbing Painfully, And Her Back Hurt Where It Had Hit The Stairs. But At Least She Was Able To Breathe Again.
What Annabelle Had Said To Whalley Was True.
She Felt Sorry That One Of The Young Musicians Might Die. That Wasn’t Supposed To Happen. If The Secretary-General Had Cooperated, If She Had Done The Right Thing, None Of The Girls V Ould Have Been Hurt.
Without Quite Being Able To Wrap Her Brain Around The Idea, Annabelle Knew That She Was Probably Going To Spend The Rest Of Her Life In Prison. As Disturbing As That Was, However, What Bothered Her Most Was The Fact That Paul Hood Had Outsmarted Her. That Once Again, A Man Had Come Between Her And Her Goal.
New York, New York Sunday, 12:08 A.M.
The Wooden Door Of The Security Council Opened Outward. Colonel August Stood In The Doorway, Simultaneously Looking For The Killer And Making Himself The Target. He Was Wearing His Bulletproof Vest And Was Willing To Trade Hits If It Would Save A Hostage’s Life. The Terrorist Couldn’t Shoot A Hostage If He Was Shooting At August.
The First Person August Saw Was A Slender, Teenage Girl. She Was On Her Knees Less Than Five Yards Away. She Was Whimpering And Shaking.
August Wasn’t Sure Who The Girl Was. The Terrorist Was Standing Very Close Behind Her. Using Peripheral Vision, August Noted The Location Of The Other Two Terrorists. One Of Them Was Standing In The Front Of The Security Countil Chamber, Behind The Semicircular Desk. The Other Terrorist Was Standing Right Beside The Door That Led To The Adjoining Trusteeship Council. The Terrorists Were All Dressed In Black And Wearing Ski Masks. The One Nearest Him Was Holding The Girl’s Long Blonde Hair By The Roots, Close To Her Forehead, So That Her Face Was Staring Straight Up. He Had A Gun Pointed Directly Ahead, At The Top Of Her Skull.
August Had The Middle Of The Man’s Mask In His Gun Sight, But He Didn’t Want To Fire First. If He Hit The Terrorist, The Man’s Finger Might Tighten Around The Trigger And Take The Top Of The Girl’s Head Off. August Knew That Was Wrong; If He Had The Shot, He Should Take It. The Thought That This Could Be Paul Hood’s Daughter Stopped Him.
The Terrorist Hesitated And Then He Did Something That Surprised August. He Dropped Directly Behind The Kneeling Girl And Then Threw Himself To His Right, Into The Row Of Seats. Still Holding The Girl’s Hair, He Pulled Her With Him. Obviously, He Did Not Want To Trade Gunfire. And Now He Had A Shield. You Should Have Taken The Damn Shot, August Reprimanded Himself. Instead Of Having One Less Terrorist To Deal With, Everyone Was At Risk.
The Terrorist And The Girl Were Four Rows Down The Sloping Gallery. August Pocketed The Beretta That Was In His Right Hand, Turned To His Left, And Jogged A Few Feet Along The Back Of The Gallery. Silent In His Bare Feet, He Put His Free Hand On The Railing That Ran Along The Seat Backs Of The Last Row. He Leaped The Green Velvet Seats And Immediately Jumped The Next Row. He Was Now Two Rows From The Terrorist And The Girl.
“Downer, He’s Coming For You!” One Of The Terrorists Shouted. He Had A French Accent. “Behind You” “Get Out Or I’ll Kill Her!” Shouted Downer, The Pinned Terrorist. “I’ll Blow Her Goddam Brains Out!” August Was Still Two Rows Away. The Man With The French Accent Started Running Toward Him. He Would Be On The Stairs In Two Or Three Seconds. The Third Man Was Covering The Hostages. “Barone, The Gas!” The Frenchman Said.
The Third Terrorist, Barone, Ran Toward A Duffel Bag That Sat Open In The Front Of The Chamber, Near The North-Side Window. August Finished Hopping Over The Third Row. He Could Now See Downer And The Girl.
They Were On The Floor Of The Next Row. The Terrorist Was On His Back With The Girl Faceup On Top Of Him.
But August Had A Problem.
The Bottleneck Had Required Preventing The Girl’s Death, Disabling The Nearest Of The Three Terrorists, And Establishing A Beachhead In The Back Of The Chamber Before General Rodgers Got Here. That Hadn’t Happened. Unfortunately, Not Only Was The Bottleneck Dead, But The Colonel Had To Reorder His Priorities. He Had To Deal With The Gas.