“Mrs. Hood, my name is Lisa Baroni,” she said. “Can I have a few words with you?”
The request brought an instant welling of nausea.
“What’s wrong?” Sharon asked.
Lisa gently maneuvered Sharon away from the last of the parents. The two women stood just inside the door, beside one of the couches.
“What is it?” Sharon demanded.
“Mrs. Hood,” she said, “I’m afraid your daughter is still inside.”
The words sounded ridiculous. A moment ago, everyone was safe. She was happy. “What do you mean?” Sharon asked.
“Your daughter is still inside the Security Council.”
“No, they’re out!” Sharon said, growing angry. “That man just said they’re out!”
“Most of the children were evacuated through a broken window,” the woman said. “But your daughter was not with the group.”
“Why not?”
“Mrs. Hood, why don’t you sit down?” Lisa said. She urged her back toward the seat. “I’m going to stay with you.”
“Why wasn’t my daughter with them?” Sharon demanded. “What’s happening in there? Is my husband with them?”
“We don’t know everything about the situation,” Lisa said softly. “What we
The woman grabbed Sharon’s wrists and held them gently but firmly. She moved her fingers into Sharon’s tightly curled fingers and squeezed them.
“Where’s my husband!” Sharon cried.
“Mrs. Hood, you’ve got to listen to me,” Lisa said.
“You know they’re going to do everything they can to protect your daughter, but it may take a little time. You’re going to have to be strong.”
“I want my husband!” Sharon sobbed.
“Where did he go?” the woman asked.
“I don’t know,” Sharon said. “He — he said he had to do something about this. He has a cell phone. I have to call him!”
“Why don’t you give me the number; I’ll do it,” the woman said.
Sharon gave the woman Paul’s cell phone number.
“Okay,” Lisa said. She released Sharon’s hands and pointed to one of the tables. “I’m just going over there to make the call. You sit here, and I’ll be right back.”
Sharon nodded. Then she started to cry again.
She sat there sobbing as Lisa Baroni walked over to the table with the telephones. She tried the number. Hood had shut off his phone.
Sharon couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt such anger and despair. She didn’t need a State Department official holding her hand right now. She needed her husband. She needed to talk to him, not to feel so utterly alone. Whatever he was doing, wherever he was, at least he could have given her that. Just that.
However this ended, Sharon knew one thing for certain.
She could never forgive Paul for this.
Never.
FIFTY-ONE
Paul Hood was running through the park when he heard the explosion and saw the flash behind the UN. Since he didn’t see or hear shards of glass, he assumed that it was Mike Rodgers blowing the window in. Hood ran ahead hard, watching as the police who had been guarding the lobby entrance hurried around back. By the time Hood arrived, children and delegates were already running out through the shattered window.
Hood was out of breath by the time he reached the courtyard. One of the police officers had run ahead toward First Avenue. He had obviously radioed EMT personnel and wanted to show them where to set their stations up — in the parking lot, away from the building. Meanwhile, the other officers were ushering the young women and delegates through the courtyard toward the lot. Everyone was walking under their own power. They appeared relatively unhurt.
Hood stopped and watched as they approached. He didn’t see Harleigh among them, but he recognized one of her friends, Laura Sabia. He went over to her.
“Laura!” he cried.
One of the police officers moved to intercept him. “Excuse me, sir, but you’ll have to wait for your daughter —”
“She isn’t my daughter, officer. I’m Paul Hood of Op-Center in Washington. We organized this rescue.”
“Congratulations,” said the officer, “but I still need you to get out of the area and let us—”
“Mr. Hood!” Laura said, stepping out of the line.
Hood slid around the police officer. He ran over and took the young girl’s hand. “Laura, thank God. Are you all right?”
“I’m okay,” she said.
“What about Harleigh?” he asked. “I don’t see her.”
“She’s — she’s still inside.”
Hood felt like he’d been punched hard in the gut. “In there?” he asked. “In the Security Council?”
Laura nodded.
Hood looked into the girl’s bloodshot eyes. He didn’t like what he saw. “Is she hurt?”
“No,” Laura said as she shook her head and started to cry. “But he has her.”
“Who does?”
“The man who shot Barbara.”
“One of the terrorists?” Hood asked.
Laura nodded.
Hood didn’t wait to hear any more. Releasing Laura’s hand and ignoring the officer’s shout to stop, he ran toward the terrace.
FIFTY-TWO
Harleigh’s head rose above the back of the seats and stopped. Downer was below the seats, still holding her hair tightly. The girl’s face was pale and upturned, her eyes straining from the sides. The tip of the gun barrel was pressed to the back of her head.
Mike Rodgers was at the foot of the gallery, in the center. Because of the steep slope of the rows and the intervening seats, the only target he had was the hostage-taker’s left hand. That was too close to Harleigh’s neck,
