fired.
Something to the left caught his eye. He turned. Near the mouth of the river, the Statue of Liberty was just catching the first rays of dawn. Barone hadn’t realized the monument was out there, and seeing it at first surprised and then angered him. He had no gripe with the United States and her cherished notions of freedom and equality. But there, in the harbor, was a giant idol celebrating a spiritual concept. It seemed sacrilegious. The way he was raised, these things were very personal. They were celebrated in the heart, not in the harbor.
Finally, shortly before seven A.M., the door behind him opened. Downer leaned out.
“You’re to come around back,” the Australian said, then shut the door.
Barone didn’t feel like making fun of Downer’s accent. Since the incident in the helicopter over Paris, he hadn’t felt like talking to the unrepentent mercenary Downer at all.
Barone turned to his left and walked around the side of the building. His new boots had deeply treaded rubber soles that squeaked on the asphalt as he made his way along the driveway. To his right was a tire shop surrounded by a high chain-link fence. A guard dog slept in the shadows. Earlier in the evening, the soldier had tossed him some of his hamburger — American meat tasted funny to the Uruguayan — and the animal became his best friend.
Barone walked past a pair of green trash bins to where the rented van was parked. There were seventeen weapons — three guns for each man and a pair of rocket launchers — plus ammunition and bulletproof vests. Each weapon was swaddled in bubble wrap. Sazanka and Vandal were already carrying them from the body shop as Barone hopped into the open side door of the van. As the men handed the weapons up, Barone carefully placed them in six plain cardboard boxes. Downer watched from the back door of the body shop, making sure none of the weapons were dropped. It was the first time Barone had ever seen the Australian so quiet and professional.
As he worked, the sense of loneliness left the Uruguayan. Not because he was with his teammates but because he was moving again. They were close to their goal now. Barone had always believed in the plan, but now he believed they might actually pull this off. Just a few small steps remained.
Months before, Georgiev had obtained a counterfeit New York State driver’s license. Since rental car companies routinely checked police records before letting cars off the lot, the Bulgarian had to pay extra to have it entered into the motor vehicle department computer system. He even gave himself a traffic ticket a year before, not just to show residency but because people who drove in big cities usually got one. A clean record might arouse suspicions.
All the team had to do now was make certain they didn’t run any lights or have an accident before reaching the hotel. They’d drawn straws earlier, and Vandal would be sleeping in the van while the others went up to the room to rest. Georgiev didn’t want to risk the van being stolen by Ustinoviks.
Then, at seven P.M., they’d leave the hotel garage and head to Forty-second Street. They’d drive east, across town, and at First Avenue they’d turn north. Once again, Georgiev would drive carefully.
Then, suddenly, he would speed up. He would approach the target at between sixty and seventy miles an hour, and in less than ten minutes, the target would fall.
The United Nations would be theirs. And then the third and final part of their plan could commence.
SIX
The League of Nations was formed after World War I, conceived, in the words of its covenant, “to promote international cooperation and to achieve international peace and security.” Though President Woodrow Wilson was a fierce advocate of the League, the American Senate wanted no part of it. Their key objections involved the potential use of United States troops to help preserve the territorial integrity or political independence of other countries, and acknowledging the jurisdiction of the League in matters pertaining to North, Central, or South America. President Wilson collapsed and suffered a stroke as a result of his ceaseless efforts to promote American acceptance of the League and its mandate.
Housed in a spectacular, six-million-dollar palace built for it in Geneva, the League and its noble intentions proved ineffectual. They were unable to prevent the Japanese occupation of Manchuria in 1931, Italy’s taking of Ethiopia in 1935, and the German conquest of Austria in 1938. It was also notably ineffective in preventing World War II. It’s a matter of ongoing debate whether an American presence in the League would have changed the unfolding of any of these events.
The United Nations was formed in 1945 to try to accomplish what the League of Nations had failed to do. This time, however, things were different. The United States had a reason to be actively involved with the sovereignty of other nations. Communism was perceived as the greatest threat to the American way of life, and each nation that fell gave the enemy another foothold.
The United Nations chose the United States as the home of its international headquarters. Not only had the United States emerged from World War II as the world’s dominant military and economic force, but it had agreed to provide one-quarter of the United Nations’s annual operating budget. Moreover, because of the despotic tradition of many European nations, the Old World was deemed unacceptable as a site for a world body promoting a new era of peace and understanding. New York was selected because it had become the hub of international communications and finance and was also the traditional link between the Old World and the New. Two other potential sites in America were rejected for very different reasons. San Francisco, which was favored by the Australians and Asians, was vetoed because the Soviet Union did not want to make travel more convenient for the hated Chinese or Japanese. And rustic Fairfield County, on the Long Island Sound in Connecticut, was disqualified when New Englanders, opposed to what they perceived as the onset of “world government,” stoned United Nations prospectors who were looking at possible locations.
A large parcel of land for the new United Nations headquarters — the site of an abattoir on the East River — was bought with $8.5 million donated by the Rockefellers. The family was granted a tax exemption for their gift. The Rockefellers also benefited from the development of land they still owned all around the new complex. Offices, housing, restaurants, shopping, and entertainment came to the once-dilapidated neighborhood in order to service the thousands of delegates and workers who staffed the United Nations.
The limited acreage made available for the project caused two things to happen. First, the headquarters had to be designed in skyscraper form. The skyscraper was a uniquely American invention created to maximize space on the small island of Manhattan, and the look of the complex would make the United Nations even more American. However, this limitation suited the founders of the United Nations. It gave them an excuse to decentralize key functions of the organization, from the World Court to the International Labor Organization. These were located in other world capitals. The UN’s principal ancillary headquarters was established at the old League of Nations palace in Geneva. This was a pointed reminder to the United States that a world peace group had been tried once before and failed because not every nation was committed.
Paul Hood remembered some of that from junior high school. He also remembered something else from junior high school. Something that had permanently shaped his view of the building itself. He had come to New York from Los Angeles for a week during the Christmas vacation with other honor students. As they drove to the city from Kennedy International Airport, he looked across the East River and saw the United Nations at dusk. All the other skyscrapers he saw were facing north and south: the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, the Pan Am Building. But the thirty-nine-story glass-and-marble United Nations Secretariat Building was facing east and west. He happened to mention that to James LaVigne who was in the seat next to him.
The thin, bespectacled, very intense LaVigne looked up from
“You know what that reminds me of?” LaVigne said.
Hood said he had no idea.
“It’s like the symbol on Batman’s chest.”
“What do you mean?” Hood asked. He had never read a Batman comic book and had only seen the popular TV show once, just to see what everyone was talking about.
