State of Siege

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.

He did.

Up until this afternoon, when Annabelle gave Georgiev the detailed timetable for tonight’s United Nations event, he wondered if she was going to back out. He was confident she wouldn’t betray him because he knew where her parents lived; he’d made a point of sending them flowers while Annabelle was visiting there for Christmas. Still, the final hours before any mission are what the great nineteenth-century Bulgarian General Grigor Halachev used to call “the times of gravest doubt.” That’s when the external plans are finally set, and soldiers had a chance to examine their internal condition.

Annabelle had not backed down. She had as much steel in her as any soldier in this room.

He picked up the phone. “Speak,” he said. That was the only word Annabelle had been told to respond to.

“The secretary-general is on her way again,” Ani informed him. “Only this time, she’s planning to come into the Security Council chamber. She hopes you’ll take her in.”

Georgiev smiled.

“Either that,” Ani said, “or she hopes you’ll target her instead of the Italian delegate.”

“Pacifists always hope you’ll target them until you really do,” Georgiev said. “Then they cry and beg. What are her advisers saying?”

“Colonel Mott and one of the undersecretary-generals are encouraging a strike as soon as they get video images of the chamber,” Ani said. “The other officials have been noncommittal.”

Georgiev glanced at Barone. The security unit wouldn’t be getting any images. When Annabelle had informed them of the plan, Georgiev had sent Barone to the spot where they were said to be drilling. As soon as the tiny camera came through, he would cover it.

“Was there any further discussion about paying the ransom?” Georgiev asked her.

“None,” Ani said.

“No matter,” Georgiev said. “No video images, more dead — they’ll turn to our needs soon.”

“There is one thing more,” Ani said. “I’ve just been informed by my superior that a SWAT team from the National Crisis Management Center is coming up from Washington.”

“The NCMC?” Georgiev said. “Sanctioned by whom?”

“No one,” Ani told him. “They’re going to use my office as their headquarters. If the UN gives them the go-ahead, they may come in.”

That was unexpected. Georgiev had heard that the NCMC staged a very creditable action in Russia during the coup attempt over a year before. Though he had poison gas and battle plans for the Security Council chamber, he didn’t want to have to use either. On the other hand, the UN would have to give the SWAT team permission to come in. And if he could get Chatterjee in here, she would give Georgiev the means of forestalling that.

Georgiev thanked Annabelle and hung up.

The secretary-general would be a welcome addition to the hostages. He had always counted on having her as an advocate for the children. Telling the nations of the world to cooperate for their release. Now she would also help him to keep the military out. And when it was time to go, she and the children would make ideal hostages.

Downer arrived. The only question was what to do about the Italian delegate. If they shot him, it would undermine the secretary-general’s credibility as a peacemaker. If they spared him, they’d seem weak.

Deciding that the secretary-general’s credibility was not his concern, Georgiev nodded to Downer. Then he watched as the Australian half-pushed, half-pulled the weeping delegate up the stairs.