The young guards never made it. Upon seeing the intruders, they stopped. Then, like any soldier or police officer who had never been in combat, they snapped into the only thing they knew: training mode. From the United Nations security force manual, Vandal knew that in a showdown situation, they would attempt to spread out and present a less concentrated target, take cover if possible, and attempt to disable the enemy.
Georgiev and Sazanka didn’t give them the chance. Firing their Uzis from the hip, they sliced across the guards’ thighs and dropped them virtually where they stood. Guns and radios clattered on the tile floor. As the wounded guards moaned, the two men walked on, firing a second burst into the head of each one. They stopped a few yards from the bodies. Georgiev picked up two of the radios that had skidded across the floor.
“Come on,” Vandal said and hurried on.
Barone and Downer joined him, and the five men continued forward. Now the only things that stood between them and the Security Council chambers were four dead guards and a blood-slicked floor.
NINE
All the parents in the correspondents’ area heard and felt the crash downstairs. Since there were no windows in the room, they couldn’t be sure exactly where or what it was.
Paul Hood’s first thought was that there had been an explosion. That was also the conclusion of several parents who wanted to go and make sure the children were all right. But Mr. Dillon walked in then. The guard asked everyone to stay where they were and to remain calm.
“I just went across the hall to the Security Council,” Dillon said. “The children are fine. Most of the delegates are also there waiting for the secretary-general. Security personnel are on the way to evacuate the kids, the delegates, and then you folks. If you stay calm, everyone will be fine.”
“Do you have any idea what happened?” one of the parents asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mr. Dillon said. “It looks like a van ran through the barrier and into the courtyard. I could see it out the window. But no one knows—”
He was interrupted by several pops from below. It sounded like gunfire. Dillon got on his radio.
“Station Freedom-Seven to base,” he said.
There was a lot of yelling and noise. Then someone on the other end said, “There’s been a breach, Freedom-Seven. Intruders unknown. Go to Everest-Six, Code Red. Do you have that?”
“Everest-Six, Code Red,” Dillon said. “I’m on my way.” He clicked off the radio and headed toward the door. “I’m going back to the Security Council chambers to wait for the other guards. Please, all of you — just stay here.”
“How long until the other guards arrive?” one of the fathers shouted.
“A few minutes,” Mr. Dillon replied.
He left. The door shut with a solid click. Except for shouts from somewhere outside the building, everything was quiet.
Suddenly, one of the fathers started toward the door. “I’m going to get my daughter,” he said.
Hood stepped between the larger man and the door.
“Don’t,” Hood said.
“Why?” the man demanded.
“Because the last thing security, medics, and fire personnel need is people getting in the way,” Hood said. “Besides, they called this a code red situation. That probably means there’s been a major security breach.”
“All the more reason to get our kids out!” one of the other fathers said.
“No,” Hood replied. “This is international soil. American laws and niceties don’t apply. The guards will probably shoot unidentified personnel.”
“How do you know that?”
“I worked for a federal intelligence agency after I left Los Angeles,” Hood told them. “I’ve seen people gunned down for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The man’s wife came over and took his arm. “Charlie, please. Mr. Hood is right. Let the authorities handle this.”
“But our daughter is out there,” Charlie said.
“So is mine,” Hood said. “And getting myself killed isn’t going to help her.” It hit him just then that Harleigh
“Paul,” she whispered. “I–I think we should be with Harleigh.”
“We will be, soon,” he said.
There were footsteps in the hall followed by the distinctive
“Whose side was that?” Charlie asked no one in particular.
Hood didn’t know. He left Sharon and walked toward the door. He crouched low in case someone fired and motioned for everyone in the room to stand back, clear of the door. Then he reached up and slowly turned the silver knob. He eased the door open.
There were four bodies lying in the corridor between the correspondents’ room and the Security Council. They belonged to UN security personnel. Whoever had shot them was gone, though they’d left bloody tracks in their wake. Tracks that led to the Security Council.
Hood experienced a strange flashback. He felt like Thomas Davies, a firefighter he used to play softball with in Los Angeles. One afternoon, Davies had gotten a call that his own home was burning. The man knew what to do, he knew what was happening, yet he couldn’t react.
Hood shut the door and walked toward the desks.
“What is it?” Charlie asked.
Hood didn’t answer him. He was trying to get himself moving.
“Dammit, what happened?” Charlie shouted.
Hood said, “Four guards are dead, and whoever shot them has gone into the Security Council chambers.”
“My baby,” one of the mothers sobbed.
“I’m sure they’re all right for now,” Hood said.
“Yeah, and you were sure they’d be all right if we stayed in here!” Charlie yelled.
Charlie’s rage brought Hood out of his shock. “If you’d been outside, you’d be dead now,” Hood said. “Mr. Dillon wouldn’t have let you into the chambers, and you’d’ve been killed with the guards.” He took a breath to calm himself. Then he slipped his cell phone from the pocket of his blazer. He punched in a number.
“Who are you calling?” Sharon asked.
Her husband finished entering the number. He looked at her and touched her cheek. “Someone who won’t give a shit that this is international territory,” he replied. “Someone who can help us.”
TEN
Mike Rodgers was going through a Gary Cooper phase. Not in his real life but in his movie life — though at the moment, the two lives were entirely codependent.
Op-Center’s forty-five-year-old former deputy director, now acting director, had never been confused or insecure. He had his nose broken four times playing college basketball because he saw the basket and went for it, damning the Torpedoes — as well as the Badgers, the Ironmen, the Thrashers, and the other teams he played.
