State of Siege

FIFTY-THREE

Mala Chatterjee’s mind and soul were tortured as she entered the Security Council chamber.

The terrorist was lying on the floor. Chatterjee saw the head of his prisoner, and she saw the gun being held against it. She ached for the child and was revulsed by the act of terrorism. Chatterjee would do anything to save the girl.

But the secretary-general was troubled by the idea of allowing a murder to take place when there might be another way. If she became like these people, if she killed without conscience, without the law, what kind of meaning would her life have? She didn’t even know whether this man had actually killed anyone, whether he could kill anyone.

Chatterjee walked down the steps toward the row. “You asked to speak with me,” she said.

“No, I asked you to come in,” Downer said. “I don’t want to talk. I want out of here. I also want what I came for.”

“I want to help you,” Chatterjee said. She stopped at the foot of the aisle. “Let the girl go.”

“I said no more talk!” Downer screamed. Harleigh shrieked as the Australian tugged harder on her hair. “There’s poison gas leaking up front. I need you to arrange a place where the lady and I can wait while you get my money and transportation. I want the six million dollars.”

“All right,” she said.

Chatterjee saw something move on the northern staircase. There were eyes peering over the armrest of the last seat. The man who had been left inside raised himself up slightly. He put his index finger to his lips.

The secretary-general was torn. Was she about to be part of a rescue effort or an accomplice to a cold-blooded killing? This American soldier and his partner had rescued most of the hostages. Perhaps it had been necessary for them to kill, but that didn’t give them the right to continue killing. Chatterjee’s goal had always been to find a bloodless solution to conflict. She couldn’t give that up while there was still a chance. There was also the matter of trust. If she could convince the terrorist that she wanted to help him, perhaps she could convince him to surrender.

“Colonel August,” she said, “there has been enough killing today.”

August froze. For a moment, Chatterjee wondered if he were going to shoot her.

“Who are you talking to?” Downer demanded. “Who’s here?”

“Another soldier,” she told him.

“Then he wasn’t killed, the bastard!” Downer cried.

“Please put down your weapons and leave, Colonel,” Chatterjee said.

“I can’t,” August replied bitterly. “I’ve been shot.”

“You’ll be shot again if you don’t get the hell out of here!” Downer screamed.

The Australian swung Harleigh around roughly. He pulled her up by her hair, knelt behind her, and aimed his automatic at August. He fired a burst as the Striker leader dropped back onto the stairwell. Wood from the armrests flew in every direction. The bursts echoed for a moment after he stopped firing.

Snarling, Downer looked back at Chatterjee. He kept Harleigh between himself and August. At the bottom of the chamber, the secretary-general could see the poison gas beginning to creep around the edges of the drape.

“Get him out!” Downer cried.

“I’m trying to help you!” Chatterjee shouted at Downer. “Let me handle—”

“Shut up and do what I said!” Downer screamed. He turned to face her as he did. For a moment his chest was facing the front of the chamber.

A gunshot ripped through the chamber. The bullet punched a hole in the right side of Downer’s neck, away from Harleigh. He dropped the gun and released Harleigh as the impact sent his arms back.

Paul Hood rose from the bottom of the Security Council chamber. He was holding the Beretta Mike Rodgers had left behind.

“Get down, Harleigh!” he cried.

She covered her head and dropped straight down. A moment later, a second gunshot cracked from the northside staircase. Colonel August put a shot cleanly through the terrorist’s left cheek. A second bullet drilled through Downer’s temple as he fell.

Blood collected on the floor even before his body landed.

Chatterjee screamed.

Paul Hood dropped the gun and ran around to the north-side staircase. Waved on by August, Hood continued up to his daughter’s side.