It was a large, long room, lined with shops and opening into a ground-floor restaurant. After fleeing the disaster on New Phetchaburi Road over an hour earlier, Kriangsak's men had broken in and quickly secured the lobby and all of the ground-floor entrances.
Hotel guests in the foyer and the restaurant had been herded into the lobby. Most ― all of the Orientals except for the staff ― had been freed immediately. Under Kriangsak's orders, the hotel's employees had then begun moving through the hotel, ordering the guests to evacuate the hotel.
As the guests, many of them half-dressed or still wearing night clothes, had exited the elevators and stairwells, Kriangsak's men had sorted them.
Orientals had been allowed to leave by the front door, but Westerners had been roughly shoved into the growing crowd in front of the registration desk. One of Kriangsak's men had gone through the hotel's registration book, calling out names. One by one, the Americans in the group of hostages had been identified, the others released.
By now, all of the hotel's rooms had been emptied and checked by Kriangsak's men. Other rebel soldiers stood guard at each window and entrance. It wouldn't be very long before the authorities were forced to act.
"Colonel!" one of the soldiers yelled. He wore a bloodstained bandage around his head, covering a gash where he'd struck his head during the Americans' attack on the tank column. "They're coming, Colonel! Front door!"
Kriangsak walked to the wide windows at the front of the lobby. Outside, the city looked peaceful, not like a city under siege at all. The only signs that anything was wrong were the absence of the usual early morning traffic on the street, and a smudge of smoke hanging above the buildings in the distance.
He saw movement, troops in camo uniforms, moving cautiously among the trees which filled the International's park-like grounds. Soon a white flag appeared above a low mound of earth two hundred meters away.
"Attention!" an amplified voice blared in That. There was a squeal of feedback, quickly adjusted. The white flag continued to wave. "Attention in the hotel! We wish to talk with you!"
Kriangsak wiped his face with his hand. The issue, whatever the outcome, was about to be resolved. "Let them come, Dhani," he said to the soldier.
"They will have things they wish to discuss with us."
He waited as Dhani showed himself, holding his CAR-15 above his head.
The government's negotiators rose from hiding and approached, holding the white flag above their heads.
Kriangsak smiled. The Americans might have thwarted his attempt to seize the government, but in the end, they would still have to come to him, deal with him. They would have no choice.
Marine Captain Fraser approached the That army officer and saluted.
"Well, Colonel," he said. "What's it going to be?"
Colonel Vang Chitiburit looked past Fraser toward the low, ultra-modern sprawl of the That International. "Do you seriously believe you have a chance, Captain?"
"We have a chance. We sure as hell can't wait this bastard out." The That colonel considered that. "No," he said at last. "You are right."
The colonel had returned from his conversation with the rebel soldiers only minutes before. Their leader, Colonel Kriangsak of the Royal That military staff, no less, wanted ― demanded ― a helicopter to fly him, his men, and a number of American hostages out of the city. He'd not said what his destination was, but U Feng would be the obvious guess.
"Those are Americans that son of a bitch has in there," the Marine officer added quietly, without emotion. "The Marines are here to protect them."
"Your plan has risk."
"So does giving the bastard what he wants. And damn it, he claims he's going to start shooting people in thirty minutes! You want to see if he means it?" There was a long hesitation. Fraser wondered if the man was trying to decide whether or not to buck the problem up to a higher command. The problem was, the higher command was busy just now with a coup. At best, the confrontation at the That International was a minor distraction.
"Very well, Captain," Vang said stiffly. He sounded relieved, though, rather than reluctant. Probably, Fraser thought, he was happy to have the responsibility for success or disaster riding on someone else's shoulders. "I turn the situation over to you."
"Thank you, sir," he said, saluting.
Vang looked uncertain. "Will there be anything you or your men need, Captain?"
"Yes, Colonel Vang." He smiled. "A small diversion."
"A diversion?"
"When I give the word." And he began to explain what he had in mind.
Master Sergeant Phillip Loomis lay flat on the ground, watching the hotel. Captain Fraser had snagged him almost the moment he'd returned to the embassy earlier that morning, explaining that there were Americans being held hostage at the That International and ordering Loomis to round up fifty volunteers for a rescue.
The mission, Loomis thought to himself, would have been better suited to a Recon Marine force, but the only Recondos within a thousand miles were north at U Feng, spotting for the Navy A-6s and Hornets.
Very slowly, he raised his head, studying the hotel over the slight, grass-covered rise he and twelve other Marines were hiding behind. The nearest entrance was fifty yards away. He could see one rebel soldier standing guard by the door. There might be others, but if so they were staying out of sight.
Loomis checked his watch. Zero-seven thirty. Where were they? It was time to go…!
He heard the stuttering drone of an approaching helicopter.
He looked toward the east and saw it approaching low above the buildings in the direction of the embassy.
The captain had explained it to him before they deployed. One of the Marine Sea Stallions, deploying now off the Jefferson, was to be flown in and landed directly in front of the hotel's front door. While the rebels were watching the landing ― they'd be expecting a trick ― Loomis's Marines, Assault One, would storm the side entrance. Assault Two was waiting on the far side of the building, ready to do the same thing.
And there would be still more Marines, code-named Sunday Punch, waiting inside the helicopter as backups.
The Sea Stallion drifted toward the front of the hotel, its rotor wash lashing at the palm trees lining the parking lot. Loomis could hear a singsong barking over a megaphone ― Colonel Vang speaking to the rebels in That, explaining that their demands were being met and that the helo was coming to take them and their hostages away.
Loomis kept his eye on the sentry beside the side door. The man had a Colt CAR-15 in his hands, was holding it at the ready as he took a few steps in the direction of the helo, trying to see past the corner of the building.
A second guard stepped through the door at his back. Loomis waited for a count of ten. No more guards came through the door. He reached out and slapped the helmet of the Marine next to him.
Corporal Halcek was a Marine sniper. He was already taking careful aim with the bolt-action M40A1, a militarized version of the Remington 700 hunting rifle. Halcek took a second more to center the 10-power scope on the target, then squeezed the trigger.
The rifle cracked and one of the guards staggered a step to one side, colliding with the hotel wall. The second guard spun, assault rifle coming up, but Halcek had already worked the bolt, shifted aim, and was squeezing the trigger again. Two shots rang out this time, one from Halcek and the other from a Marine with an M-16, designated as backup.
"Assault One! We're moving!" he said, the words activating the hot mike to the PRC-9 radio strapped to his helmet. The tactical radio would keep Fraser and the others at the HQ designated as Outpost aware of what was going on, but leave his hands free. He scrambled to his feet, shouting to the other Marines, "Go! Go! Go!"