State of Siege

TWENTY-THREE

“I absolutely can’t allow you to do this!” Colonel Mott was practically shouting at Secretary-General Chatterjee. “It’s insanity. No, it’s worse than insanity. It’s suicide!”

The two were standing by the head of the table in the conference room. Deputy Secretary-General Takahara and Undersecretary-General Javier Olivo were standing several feet away beside the closed door. Chatterjee had just hung up with Gertrud Johanson, the wife of the Swedish delegate, who was at home in Stockholm. Her husband had attended the party with his young executive assistant, Liv, who was still in the Security Council chamber. Mrs. Johanson would be flying over as soon as possible.

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.