“Of course not!” she said.
“But you knew
“How the hell should I know?” Ani cried.
Rodgers shoved the chair back. It rolled across the tile floor and slammed into a filing cabinet. Ani started to rise, and Rodgers pushed her back down.
“Mike!” Hood shouted.
“We don’t have time for this bullshit, Paul,” Rodgers said. “Your daughter could be the next one they kill!” He glared down at Ani. “Your TAC-SAT is on. Who were you calling?”
“My superior in Moscow—”
“Call him now,” Rodgers said.
She hesitated.
Ani didn’t move.
“Who’s on the other end of that line?” Rodgers demanded. “Was it the Cambodians, or is it the terrorists?”
Ani said nothing. Her hands were on the armrests. Rodgers slapped one of his hands on top of hers. She couldn’t move it. He pushed a thumb under her index finger and bent it back. She screamed and reached over with her other hand to try and pry him off. He used his free hand to shove her hand back to the armrest and kept up his pressure on the other.
“Who’s on the other end of the goddamn
“I told you!”
Rodgers bent the finger back until the nail was nearly touching the wrist. Ani screamed.
“Who’s on the other end?” Rodgers pressed.
“The terrorists!” Ani cried. “It’s the terrorists!”
Hood felt sick.
“Are there any other outside units besides you?” Rodgers demanded.
“No!”
“What are you supposed to do next?” Rodgers asked.
“Tell them if the money’s really being delivered,” she said.
Rodgers released her hand. He rose.
Hood was staring at the young woman. “How could you help them?
“We don’t have time for that now,” Rodgers said. “They’re going to kill someone else in three minutes. The question is how do we stop them?”
“By paying them,” August said.
Rodgers looked at him. “Explain.”
“We get Chatterjee’s number from Op-Center,” August said. “We ask her to get on the radio to tell the terrorists she has the money. Then our lady here corroborates that. We contact the NYPD, get a chopper over there like they asked for, and have a SWAT unit take them when they come out.”
“They’ll come out, but with hostages,” Hood said.
“We’re going to have to risk the hostages at some point,” August said. “At least this way we’ll save more than we could in the Security Council — and one of them for sure.”
“Do it,” Hood said, glancing at his watch. “Fast.”
FORTY
Secretary-General Chatterjee raced down the escalator to the infirmary, which was located on the first floor not far from the visitor’s lobby. An aide had joined her at the foot of the escalator and was walking with her. Enzo Donati was a young graduate student from Rome who was earning credits for his degree in international relations. He had her cell phone and he was in touch with the New York office of Interpol. They had learned that the prisoner’s name was Ivan Georgiev, a former officer in the Bulgarian army. The Bulgarian ambassador had not been at the soiree and had been notified.
Chatterjee passed through the Delegates Only doorway near the Hiroshima exhibit and made her way along the brightly lighted corridors. She tried not to think of the loss of Colonel Mott or the other security personnel, or of the deaths of the delegates. She focused on the approach of midnight, on the impending death of one of the young violinists, and how to avoid it. Chatterjee had it in mind to offer Georgiev a deal. If he would urge his accomplice to postpone the shooting, and help to defuse the situation, she would do what she could to get him clemency.
Chatterjee assumed, of course, that Georgiev was even awake. She hadn’t spoken to the emergency medical people since they’d brought him down here. If not, she didn’t know what she was going to do. They had less than five minutes. Mott’s military approach had been repulsed, and her own diplomatic efforts had failed. Cooperation was an option, but the six million dollars they asked for would take time to put together. She had called Deputy Secretary-General Takahara and asked him to sit down with the other members of the emergency team to figure out how to do that. She knew that even if they paid, there would still be further bloodshed. The NYPD or the FBI would move in as soon as the terrorists tried to leave. But at least there was a chance that they could still get some of the delegates and young violinists away safely.
Why did international crises seem so much more manageable than this? Because the ramifications were so severe? Because there were two or more sides where no one really wanted to pull the trigger? If that were true, then she really wasn’t a peacemaker. She was simply a medium, like a telephone or even one of her father’s movies. She may have come from the land of Gandhi but was nothing like him. Nothing.
They turned a corner and approached the door to the infirmary. Enzo slipped ahead of the secretary-general and opened it for her. Chatterjee walked in. She stopped abruptly.
Two EMTs were lying on the floor in the reception area. The attending nurse was also lying on the floor, in the doctor’s office. So were a pair of security guards.
Enzo ran to the nearest bodies. There were spots of blood on the tile. The technicians were alive but unconscious, evidently from blows to the head. The nurse was also unconscious.
There were no tears in their clothes, no indication that there had been a struggle.
There was no trace of the handcuffs and no sign of Georgiev.
As Chatterjee took a moment to process what had happened, there was only one conclusion to be drawn: that someone had been here waiting.
FORTY-ONE
Hood called Bob Herbert and told him to get them Chatterjee’s mobile phone number. While Hood held the line, Rodgers bound Ani Hampton to her chair. He used black electrical tape he’d found in the supply closet to tie her left wrist to the armrest. There had been packaging twine on the shelf, but using tape was a habit from field interrogations: it didn’t leave marks or tear the skin, and it was tougher to work lose. Rodgers had also found several handguns and other CIA field gear in the closet. The guns were locked in a metal gun rack. After binding Ani, Rodgers took the key case from her blazer, which was hanging in the closet. CIA regulations required that whoever was in charge of a shell have access to the “self-defense materiel.” Rodgers found the key that unlocked the rack and took a pair of Berettas for himself and another pair for August. Each handgun held a clip with a
