It was both sad and ironic, Chatterjee thought, that so many political wives ended up with their husbands only after the men were dead. She wondered if she would be doing this if she were married.
Probably, she decided.
“Ma’am?” the Colonel said. “Please tell me you’ll reconsider.”
She couldn’t. She believed that she was right. And believing that, she could do nothing else. That was her dharma, the sacred duty that came with the life she had chosen.
“I appreciate your fears,” Secretary-General Chatterjee said, “but I believe that this is our best option.”
“It is not,” Mott said. “We should have video images of the Security Council in a few minutes. Give me a half hour to have a look at them, and then I’ll take my team in.”
“In the meantime,” the secretary-general pointed out, “Ambassador Contini will die.”
“The ambassador will die anyway,” Mott said.
“I don’t accept that,” Chatterjee said.
“That’s because you’re a diplomat and not a soldier,” Mott said. “The ambassador is what we call an operative loss. That’s a soldier or unit you can’t get to in time unless you risk the security of the rest of the company. So you don’t try. You can’t.”
“A company is not at risk, Colonel Mott,” Chatterjee said. “Only me. I’m going to the Security Council and going inside.”
Mott shook his head angrily. “I think you’re doing this to punish yourself, Madam Secretary-General, and you have no reason to. You did the right thing trying to radio the terrorists.”
“No,” Chatterjee said. “I did the shortsighted thing. I didn’t think to the next step.”
“That’s easy to say now,” Deputy Secretary-General Takahara suggested. “No one here had a better idea. And if we had thought of this option, I would have argued against it.”
Chatterjee looked at her watch. They only had nineteen minutes before the next deadline. “Gentlemen, I’m going ahead with this,” she said.
“They’ll cut you down,” Mott warned. “They’ve probably got someone stationed at the door to shoot anyone who tries to come in.”
“If they do, then perhaps my death will count as their murder of the hour,” Chatterjee said. “Maybe they’ll spare Ambassador Contini. Then you, Mr. Takahara, will have to decide what to do next.”
“What to do next,” Mott muttered. “What else is there to do but move in on these monsters? And there’s something else you haven’t considered. The terrorists told us that any attempt to liberate the hostages would result in the release of poison gas. We’re dealing with a hair-trigger situation. There’s a good chance they may interpret your attempt to enter the room as an attack by my security forces or perhaps as a diversion for an attack.”
“I’ll talk to them through the door,” Chatterjee said. “I’ll make it clear that I’m coming in unarmed.”
“Which is exactly what we’d say if we wanted to deceive them,” Mott told her.
“Colonel, in this instance I agree with the secretary-general,” Deputy Secretary-General Takahara said. “Remember, it’s not just Ambassador Contini’s life that’s in danger. If you enter the Security Council with an armed security force, there will absolutely be extensive casualties among the hostages and possibly your own personnel, not to mention the risk of the poison gas.”
Chatterjee looked at her watch again. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time to discuss this further.”
“Ma’am,” Mott said, “will you at least put on a bulletproof vest?”
“No,” Chatterjee replied. “I must go into that room with hope and also with trust.”
The secretary-general opened the door. She walked into the corridor followed closely by Colonel Mott.
Despite the hopes she’d expressed in the conference room, Chatterjee knew she might be walking to her death. The awareness that she might have just a few minutes left to live made her senses hyperalert and changed the otherwise familiar complexion of the corridor. The sights and smells, even the sound of the tile under her shoes, were vivid. And for the first time in her brief career here, she wasn’t distracted by talk or debate, by pressing issues of war, peace, sanctions, and resolutions. That made the experience even more surreal.
She and Mott entered the elevator. There were five minutes left before the deadline.
Only now did it occur to her how wickedly final that word sounded.
TWENTY-FOUR
Georgiev was standing near the opening of the circular table in the Security Council chamber. He had been keeping an eye on the delegates and also on his watch. The other men were still guarding the doors, except for Barone. The Uruguayan was kneeling in the center of the room, just before the gallery, looking down. When two minutes remained until the next deadline, the Bulgarian turned and nodded at Downer.
The Australian had been pacing slowly by the northern door of the upper gallery. He had been watching Georgiev. When he got the signal, he started down the stairs.
Several of the men and women sitting on the floor inside the table began to whimper. Georgiev hated weakness. So he raised his automatic and pointed it at one of the women. He used to do that with his girls in Cambodia. Whenever one or more of them came and threatened to expose him because she was being treated poorly or was being paid less than he’d promised, Georgiev wouldn’t say a word. He’d simply point a gun at her head. It never failed: Every opening in her face — her eyes, nose, and mouth — would gape and freeze there. Then Georgiev would speak: “If you complain to me again, I will kill you,” he’d say. “If you try to leave, I will kill you and your family.” They never complained after that. Out of the more than one hundred girls who had worked for him during the year his ring operated, he’d only had to shoot two of them.
Everyone on the floor stopped sobbing. Georgiev lowered the gun. There were still tears but no more sounds.
Downer was nearly at the bottom of the stairs when Georgiev saw the light on the TAC-SAT flash. He was surprised. He had spoken to Annabelle Hampton an hour ago, when she let him know that the secretary-general intended to try to negotiate. For a moment, Georgiev wondered if Downer’s fears were going to be realized and security forces would try to move in. But that wasn’t possible. The UN wouldn’t risk it. He walked to the phone.
Annabelle Hampton had been Georgiev’s riskiest but most important acquisition. From the time they had first met in Cambodia, Annabelle had impressed him as a determined and independent woman. She was in Phnom Penh recruiting HUMINT and personnel for the CIA. Georgiev provided her with intelligence his girls obtained from their customers. He also gave her intel he picked up from his own Khmer Rouge contacts. Though he was paying the rebels and getting paid to spy on them, he actually made a small personal profit on the arrangement.
When the UNTAC operation ended in 1993, Georgiev sought Annabelle out in order to sell her the names of the girls he’d been using. Learning she’d been transferred to Seoul, he contacted her there. Annabelle seemed more angry than ambitious by then. When he mentioned that he was leaving the army to go into business, she half-joked that he should keep her in mind if he heard of any interesting opportunities.