Alert and ready, Mott walked toward the door of the Security Council. He moaned, as though he’d been hit and was hurting.
He yanked open the door and stepped inside.
THIRTY-SIX
Telephones were put at the disposal of the parents when they arrived at the State Department lounge. Selecting an armchair in the corner of the brightly lighted lounge, Sharon’s first call had been to Alexander back at the hotel. She wanted to make sure he was all right. He was fine, though she suspected he’d stopped playing video games and had accessed the room’s SpectraVision channel. Alexander always sounded edgy when he was playing video games, as though the fate of the galaxy rested on his shoulders. When she called around eleven o’clock he sounded awestruck and humbled. Like Charlton Heston when he saw the burning bush in The Ten Commandments.
Sharon let him be. She didn’t even tell him what was going on. She had a feeling that Alexander would be sleeping very well tonight. Hopefully, it would all be over in the morning before he woke. Then she called her home answering machine. She wasn’t going to call her parents unless they’d seen the news report and left a message. They were not in the best of health, and they were worriers. She didn’t want to burden them.
But her mother had phoned. She had seen the news flash, so Sharon called her back. She told her mother what she’d been told, that officials were trying to negotiate a solution and that there was no other news.
“What does Paul think?” her mother asked.
“I don’t know, Mom,” Sharon replied.
“What do you mean?”
“He went off with one of the military people from the UN and hasn’t come back yet,” Sharon said.
“He’s probably trying to help,” her mother said.
Sharon wanted to say, He’s always trying to help — them. Instead, she said, “I’m sure that’s what he’s doing.”
Her mother asked how she was doing. Sharon said that she and the other parents were holding tight to hope, and that was all they could do. She promised to call if anything else happened.
Thinking of Paul and his devotion to them upset her. She wanted her daughter back and was willing to make any sacrifice to save her. But she knew that Paul would be doing this even if Harleigh weren’t inside. Sharon hadn’t cried very much since this began, but that pushed her over the rim.
She turned from the other parents and wiped tears away as they formed. She tried to convince herself that Paul was doing this for Harleigh. And even if he weren’t, whatever he did would help her.
But she felt so alone now. And not knowing what was happening, how her baby was, made her angry again. The least Paul could do was call her. Tell her what was happening.
Then she thought of something. Taking a tissue from her purse, Sharon blew her nose and picked up the phone. Paul still had his cell phone with him. She punched in his number, finding strength in anger that had not come in reflection.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Ty Sokha continued to squat beside the girl on the floor. There was nothing more she could do for her, but then she hadn’t come here to save lives. Taking care of the girl had done one thing and one thing only: It had enabled her to establish which of these men was Ivan Georgiev. Which of them owned the voice she had heard in the UN camp as it ushered customers in and out of tents. Which of them had ordered his aide to pursue and shoot Phum when she tried to escape. In case Ty and Hang could not get all the terrorists, they wanted to make sure they got him.
Ty had a compact 9mm Browning High Power handgun in her purse. Hang had one in a holster hooked to the back of his belt. The weapons had been smuggled past UN security in diplomatic pouches. Between the two of them, they’d get the bastard in a cross fire and then take down the rest of the terrorists. Not only would they have their revenge, not only would they be seen as heroes for rescuing the hostages, but their cause — a strong, right-wing Cambodia under Son Sann — would acquire worldwide attention. Injustice would end. The Khmer Rouge would finally be hunted down and destroyed. Cambodia would be free to become an Asian political and financial power.
But all of that depended on what happened next. Ty was sorry she’d let Georgiev go, but she hadn’t expected him to leave. And she didn’t want to fire on her own without identifying him to Hang, in case the other terrorists managed to bring her down.
Ty opened her purse and removed a silk handkerchief. She left her purse open on the floor as she dabbed the forehead of the wounded girl. The butt of the Browning was pointing toward her. When she replaced the handkerchief, she took the opportunity to unlock the safety. She was getting anxious. She hoped the miserable creature didn’t negotiate a deal with Secretary-General Chatterjee. Ty grew quietly furious with herself for not having taken him out when she had the chance. He had been standing right next to her. She might have died, but she would have died knowing how proud Hang and the spirits of his family were of her.
Suddenly, one of the double doors flew open at the top of the stairs on the opposite side of the chamber. The terrorist who had been standing behind it jumped to the side as Georgiev stormed back in. The Bulgarian was holding the lower part of his mask. He slammed the door shut, drew his pistol, and shook it angrily at the door. Then he turned and stalked past his associate. When the other man tried to follow, Georgiev motioned for him to remain where he was. Then he half-walked, half-stumbled down the stairs. He seemed a little groggy, as though he’d been struck. He did not look happy.
That was good. According to the doctrine of the elders in the Theravada Buddhist faith, a man who died unhappy remained so in the next life. Ty felt that Georgiev deserved no less.
The Bulgarian was holding his gun. He stopped midway down the stairs and rubbed his chin. He seemed to waver.
The man at the top of the steps came toward him. So did one of the men at the bottom of the steps.
Damn, Ty thought. It had to be now. Soon there would be three of them in one place; she might not have a clear shot.
She looked at Hang. He was obviously thinking the same thing. She reached into her purse as Hang rose. He drew his weapon from the holster and turned toward his target. Ty slipped her own handgun free and followed his lead. Hang fired first, putting three shots into Georgiev before the others arrived. One bullet missed, but two red blotches popped from his forehead, and the Bulgarian was flung back-first against the wall. He slid straight to the ground, dragging three long red smears down the green and gold wallpaper.
The couple began running foward, seeking cover on the stairwell. The two other men on the stairs stopped, ducked behind the chairs, and swung their guns toward the shootists. The two terrorists on the other side of the chamber also ducked and aimed at the attackers. As they did, the door that led to the Trusteeship Council chamber opened. Four members of the United Nations security force rushed in. There was a heart-stopping moment when the only sounds were the sobbing of children. The two Cambodians turned to see who was behind them, and the terrorists paused to aim at the nearest targets.
The distraction enabled the terrorists beside Georgiev along the south wall to fire at Ty and Hang. The Cambodians were crouched near the wall at the foot of the gallery and went down. Hang took a bullet in the shoulder, Ty in the thigh. Ty twisted and fell silently onto her back; Hang went to his hands and knees and screamed, though his cry was cut short by a head shot. The bullet came in at an angle from the front and dropped him flat on the floor.