Barone Was On The Opposite Side Of The Semicircular Table, Protected By The Table And By The Hostages. He Had Already Removed His Ski Mask And Had Pulled Three Gas Masks From The Duffel Bag.
The Terrorist Slipped One Of The Masks On As He Handed The Others Out. The Other Men Didn’t Put Them On Yet Because The Goggles Impaired Their Peripheral Vision. Then Barone Returned To The Bag And Removed A Black Canister.
August Turned And Ran Toward The North Side Of The Chamber. The French Terrorist Had Reached The Stairs On The South Side Of The Security Council And Was Running Up. August Didn’t Want To Stop And Shoot It Out With Him. Even If The Frenchman Tagged Him, August Would Be In A Better Position To Kill Barone If He Were On The Same Side Of The Chamber.
The Table And The Tightly Huddled Hostages Were Still In August’s Way.
“No One Move!” August Shouted. Running, They Might Get Between Him And Barone.
No One Moved At All.
August Reached The Stairwell And Started Down. He Kept His Right Arm Across His Chest. Cocked At His Side, The Arm Would Be More Vulnerable. The Frenchman Was Directly Across The Room. The Terrorist Suddenly Stopped And Fired Several Rounds. Two Of The Four Shots Hit August In The Waist And Ribs. The Impact Threw Him Against The Wall, Though The Bulletproof Vest Stopped The Slugs. “You’re Down, You Bastard!” The Frenchman Cried Triumphantly. “Downer, Cover Me!” He Yelled As He Cut Through One Of The Middle Rows Of The Gallery, Heading Toward The North Side. The Australian Threw The Girl Aside And Stood. He Screamed In Raw, Frustrated Rage.
Pulling Himself Off The Wall, August Continued Crawling Down The Steps. He Ignored The Sharp Pain In His Side. Where He Was, Behind The Seats, The Frenchman Did Not Have A Shot At Him. And Barone Was Almost In View.
Just Then, A Loud Crack Broke From The Back Of The Room. From The Corner Of His Eye, August Saw The Frenchman Fall Forward Between The Rows. Downer Ducked Fast As Lieutenant Mailman Crouched Behind His Gun In The Open Door.
“Keep Going, Sir!” Mailman Shouted.
Good Man, August Thought. Mailman Had Shot At The Frenchman, Though August Couldn’t Tell Whether Or Not The Terrorist Had Been Hit.
August Reached The Bottom Step As Barone Carefully Peeled A Red Plastic Strip From The Mouth Of The Canister. He Threw The Tape Aside And Began Unscrewing The Cap. August Fired Twice. Both Bullets Punched Holes In The Side Of Barone’s Head, Spilling Him Toward The Front Of The Chamber. The Canister Fell To The Carpet, A Thin Wisp Of Green Vapor Slipping Around The Neck Of The Container.
August Swore. He Got To His Feet And Ran Toward The Door That Adjoined The Trusteeship Council. He Had It In Mind To Get To The Canister And Shut It. If He Couldn’t Do That, Then Maybe He Could Cover The Hostages As They Ran Out Through That Door. He Never Made It.
The Frenchman Emerged On The North Side Of The Gallery. He Was Unhurt And Opened Fire. This Time He Aimed At August’s Legs. August Felt Two Sharp Bites, One In His Left Thigh And One In His Right Shin. He Went Down, The Wounds Burning Fiercely. August Ground His Teeth Together And Crawled Forward. Pain Management Training Had Taught Him To Set Small, Attainable Goals. That Was How Soldiers Stayed Conscious And Functioning In The Field.
He Concentrated On Where He Needed To Be.
Behind Him, Downer Fired At Mailman, Driving Him Back Outside The Door. Meanwhile, The Frenchman Crept Down Several Steps. The Canister Was Just A Few Feet Away. The Cap Was Still On, But The Gas Was Beginning To Spread. August Needed To Screw It Back On. He Didn’t Have Time To Turn And Fire.
Suddenly, There Was A Massive Pop About Ten Feet In Front Of August. The Great Brown Drapes On The Northernmost Window Blew Open And Bulletproof Glass Flew Straight Across The Front Of The Security Council. Almost Simultaneously, There Was A Terrific Crash As The Upper Part Of The Towering Window Came Crashing Down. A Moment Later, Right On Schedule, Mike Rodgers Stepped Into The Room.
New York, New York Sunday, 12:11 A.M.
This Is Not A Bottleneck Operation, Mike Rodgers Thought Gravely As He Looked Across The Security Council Chamber. This Was Proof Of The Striker Axiom That Nothing Was Guaranteed. Rodgers Had Crossed The Rose Garden The Same Way August Had. By The Time He’d Reached The Courtyard, However, The Gun Battle Had Begun, And Most Of The Police Who Were Outside The Lobby Had Gone Inside. He Was Able To Reach The Hedges On The East Side Of The Courtyard Unseen. Creeping Ahead To The North-Side Window Of The Security Council Chamber, He Immediately Placed And Detonated The C-4. He Only Used A Small Amount In Order To Keep The Flying Glass To A Minimum. He Suspected That Once The Bottom Of The Window Was Blown In, The Rest Of The Pane Would Collapse. He Was Right. Entering The Chamber, Rodgers Saw Colonel August Roughly Four Yards In Front Of Him. The Colonel Was On His Knees And Bleeding From Both Legs. Between Them Was A Dead Terrorist And A Container Leaking Gas. Rodgers Also Saw The Armed Terrorist In The Northside Gallery Stairwell. Obviously, Something Had Gone Terribly Wrong. Firing Two Shots To Drive The Terrorist Gunman Back Between The Seats, Rodgers Turned And Grabbed The Drape. The Blast Had Tom It In The Middle And, Yanking Hard, He Ripped The Bottom Half From The Window. Many Kinds Of Poison Gas Were Lethal If They Came Inffcontact With Flesh. He Would Rather Try To Contain The Gas This Way Than Close The Canister.
Rodgers Pulled The Heavy Fabric Over The Container. ” He Figured That Should Buy Them About Five Minutes In Here Enough Time To Get Everyone Out. He’d Have Them Leave Through The Broken Window; Since It Was Behind Him, It Would Be Easier For Him To Cover. As Rodgers Turned To The Girls Who Were Gathered Around The Table, August Swung Onto His Back And Sat Up.
He Was Facing The Back Of The Chamber And Still Holding One Of His Berettas. “All Right!” Rodgers Said, Looking At Their Faces. “I Want All Of You To Go Out Through The Window, Quickly!” Led By Ms. Dom, The Girls Hurried Toward The Outside Terrace And Safety. As They Did, Rodgers Turned Back To August.
“Where’s The Third Terrorist?” He Asked.
“Fourth Row From The Top Of The Gallery,” August Said. “He’s Holding One Of The Girls.” Rodgers Swore. He Hadn’t Seen Harleigh Hood Among The Girls Down Here. It Had To Be Her.
As August Spoke, He Had Maneuvered Onto His Knees And Crept Back Toward The Stairwell.
Raising Himself Up On The Wooden Banister, He Started Up The Steps. Walking Was Obviously Agony For The Colonel, Who Put Most Of His Weight On His Left Arm. He Held His Right Arm Out,, Beretta Pointed Ahead. Rodgers Didn’t Have To Ask Him What He Was Doing; He Was Using Himself As Bait To Draw The Terrorist’s Attention. He Watched As The Colonel Made His Way Up The Stairs.
Rodgers Stood Between The Hostages And The Gallery.
Several Of The Delegates Also Rose And Scrambled To Get Out, Pushing The Girls Aside As They Ran. If It Were Up To Rodgers, He Would Have Shot Them. But He Didn’t Want To Turn His Back On The Gallery. Not With One Of The Terrorists Still Up There.
The Chamber Was Emptying, And The Thick Drapery Seemed To Be Holding Down The Gas For Now. Rodgers Wished He Could Move Over To The North Side Of The Chamber To Cover August, But He Knew He Had To Look Out For The Safety Of The Hostages. He Watched As August Limped Higher.
Rodgers Turned For A Moment To Check On The Girls. All Of Them Had Been Evacuated, And The Last Of The Delegates Were Heading Toward The Window. Then, As Rodgers Turned Back, He Heard A Shot From The Gallery. He Saw August’s Arms Fly Back As The Colonel Lost His Gun And He Stumbled Against The Wall. A Moment Later, August Went Down Back First.
Rodgers Swore And Ran Toward The Stairwell.
The Terrorist Rose And Fired At The General. Since Rodgers Wasn’t Wearing A Bulletproof Vest, He Had To Drop To The Floor In Front Of The Gallery.
“Don’t Worry!” The Terrorist Shouted At Rodgers. “You’ll Get Your Turn!” “Give It Up!” Rodgers Yelled Back As He Wriggled Toward The Stairwell On His Belly.
The Terrorist Didn’t Answer. Not With Words. The Next Thing Rodgers Heard Were Two Shots And Then A Cry. Rodgers Swore. I’ll Kill Him, He Thought Bitterly As He Rose Quickly, Hoping To Nail The Terrorist Before He Could Turn And Aim.
But Rodgers Was Too Late. He Watched As The Terrorist Dropped His Gun, Twisted, And Then Slumped Over The Back Of One Of The Seats. There Were Two Large Red Exit Wounds In His Back. Stepping Toward The Stairway, Rodgers Saw August Still Lying On His Back. There Was A Bullet Hole In His Left Pocket.