The Eye of Shiva

CHAPTER 15

The Museum of the City of Manila was located to the Northeast of the American Embassy. Ahmed settled himself comfortably in a sitting position on the roof of the museum. He placed the barrel of his Russian SV-98 rifle on the rampart, adjusted the bipod and peered through the telescopic sight. From the top of the four-story building, Ahmed had an unobstructed shot to the sentry tower on the back wall of the embassy. His rifle was chambered for the .338 Lapua Magnum. The range was about 1200 meters, well within the round's 1750 meter accuracy.

Ahmed was the best marksman in Abu Sayyaf and proud to have this fine rifle. The SV-98 was an older design but it was still an effective sniper weapon, especially in the larger caliber. The rifle had a Russian PKS-07 scope with 7x magnification and a compact muzzle brake that acted to suppress the sound of the shot and reduce the powerful recoil. Even with a fiberglass stock, the SV-98 was heavy, weighing in at almost eight kilos.

Ahmed mentally calculated the breeze and the weight of the humid air and adjusted his sights accordingly. Shooting the way he did was an art, born of a natural gift and countless hours spent practicing. He made a slight adjustment to the scope and watched the uniformed sentry in the tower come into sharp, clear focus.

Bang. Ahmed pictured the man's head exploding. The heavy bullet would punch through the glass of the sentry tower as if it were paper.

Out on the bay, the boat with the assault team had turned toward the sea wall. Ahmed looked at his watch. Once the sentry was down, the others would scale the wall on the water side and move through the embassy complex toward the main building. There was a construction site near the wall that was usually busy with workers, but today it was abandoned. The Chancery was a large building situated directly behind the embassy. There might be trouble there but with the protest scheduled, most of the workers had stayed home. The chances of reaching the embassy unseen were good. Plenty would be going on in front to distract everyone.

Ahmed settled behind the scope. He took a breath and let part of it out, willing himself motionless, his mind focused on the head of the Marine in the sentry tower. He felt himself become one with the gun. His finger rested next to the hair trigger. The sentry was looking at the boat with Ahmed's comrades through a pair of binoculars.

Ahmed touched the trigger. The sound of the shot rolled across the bay, sending dozens of gulls screeching into the air. The rifle jumped with the recoil. Ahmed saw the Marine's head turn into a fog of red mist. The binoculars flew through the air. The man fell out of sight.

The boat moved in close, seconds after the shot. Grappling hooks and chain ladders locked onto the barrier wall. Men swarmed up the ladders and onto the grounds.

Inside the embassy, Master Gunnery Sergeant Crowder wasn't having any luck raising the tower on his radio. Crowder had been a Marine for twenty-four years. He'd developed a fine sense for trouble, honed in Iraq, Kuwait, and Afghanistan. No one lasted long in the kinds of places he'd been if they didn't develop that sense. Now it was telling him there was more than a communications glitch behind the radio silence.

"Shit," he said. "Parker, Martinez, lock and load. Get your ass to the back of the building."

The two Marines carried M4A1's they'd taken from the arms locker. Crowder heard the metallic clacking of the bolts as his men charged their weapons on the run. One of his men came up carrying a rifle and handed it to him.

"Thought you might like one of these, Gunny."

Crowder nodded his thanks. Better than the Beretta 9mm he carried. "Take Rodriguez and Jackson and get over by the front. Keep an eye on that crowd."

"Roger that."

The last stragglers were coming down from upstairs, headed for the ballroom. On a normal day there might be anywhere from fifty to eighty people inside the building. Today wasn't a normal day and the place was nearly empty. Most of the civilians and nonessential personnel had stayed home, anxious to avoid the demonstration. The Commerce Department attaché was there and his assistant, CIA's man in Manila. In addition to the ambassador, the only other Americans were Helen Martinson, Selena and a young woman who was the attache's secretary. Her name was Jean Wilson. Manila was her first overseas assignment.

Six American civilians, plus Sergeant Crowder and his Marines. A half dozen Filipinos rounded out the list, cleaning personnel and maintenance workers unwilling to be intimidated by the demonstration and lose a day's pay.

Selena was a step behind Margaret as they moved toward the ballroom. She heard sudden shouts from the rear of the building and the unmistakable sound of automatic weapons, followed by an explosion.

Grenade, she thought. Without thinking, her hand went for her gun. It wasn't there. Great. Locked away. She reached up to her ear and activated the comm link.

"Nick, do you read me?"

"Loud and clear. What's happening?"

"We're under attack. In the back."

Nick heard the background chatter of small arms fire over his earpiece. Out front, the only sound was the roar of the crowd. Ronnie and Lamont heard everything Selena was saying. Lamont's chronic tiredness seemed to have vanished. They stepped close to Nick and waited for his lead.

Nick cupped his ear. "Can you get to cover?" he said.

Selena was about to answer when men dressed in black shirts, white trousers and wearing black headbands spilled out of the ballroom into the central hall. They carried AK-47s. Sergeant Crowder shot the first man through the doorway before a burst from an AK cut him down.

The three Marines in front opened fire. The foyer echoed with gunfire and the eerie sound of high velocity rounds ripping through the air. Two more terrorists went down. Selena grabbed the ambassador from behind and pulled her down to the floor. The terrorists concentrated a stream of fire on the Marine guards. The open space echoed with shouts and the staccato blasts of the weapons and the ping of empty casings bouncing across the hard wooden floor.

Then it was silent except for the clacking, metallic sound of an empty magazine hitting the floor. The smell of spent rounds and fresh blood filled the air.

Selena looked at the carnage and whispered into her comm link. "Negative cover," she said. "Three terrorists dead. Six left that I can see. The guards are dead."

She stopped whispering as a pair of feet wearing Nike running shoes stopped nearby.

"All right," she heard Nick say. "Stay cool, don't do anything heroic. We'll get you out of there. Don't say anything unless you have to. I can hear everything going on around you."

"Get up." The voice was hard, almost bored. The Nike foot kicked her. "You are not hurt. Both of you, get up now." The speaker kicked her again for emphasis.

Selena got to her feet and leaned down to help Margaret stand.

"You are going to regret this," the ambassador said. "You, and all your cowardly comrades." She looked at the blood soaked body of Sergeant Crowder lying on the floor. Selena watched her get herself under control.

The terrorist leader was a small man with eyes that looked dead. Like the others, he wore a black headband, black trousers and a white shirt.

"I don't think so," he said. His English was good. "Unless you want to join your sergeant over there, you'll do as I say, Madame Ambassador." He turned his attention to Selena.

"Who are you?" he said. "You are not one of the people in our photographs."

Nick's voice sounded in her earpiece. "Tell him you're a journalist, visiting for a story. He'll like that."

"I'm a journalist," Selena said. "I work for the Times. I'm doing a feature piece on Manila and the American presence here in the Philippines."

"Ah, a journalist. Surely Allah has smiled upon me. You will tell our story to the world."

"Allah?" Selena said. "You are Muslim?"

Like a snake, the man's hand whipped through the air and slapped Selena across the face. The blow rocked her. Her cheek began to burn. At least he hadn't hit the side with the earpiece.

"You do not say the name of God," the man said. "In your infidel mouth it is an abomination. Look at you. Your hair uncovered, your legs and arms exposed for all to see. You are whores, both of you. But useful whores."

Selena wanted to rub her face where he'd hit her but wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it bothered her. She also wanted to kick him in the balls. Who is he? she thought. Get him to tell you so Nick can find out. She looked him in the eye and said, "If you want me to write about you, I need to know your name."

"Why not? You may call me Omar." Omar gestured to one of his men. "Take them into the big room with the others," he said.

The man pushed them toward the ballroom. He wasn't gentle about it. Selena heard Nick's voice in her right ear.

"Good work, Selena. I'll get Harker on it." He paused. "I'm right here, I'll get you out of there."

She almost answered and caught herself in time.

The ballroom faced out the back of the embassy onto the Chancery through a wall of tall windows. Many of the windows were broken, blown in by the attack. Glass and bits of stone and wood littered the room. Two Marines lay dead on the polished ballroom floor. The rest of the embassy staff clustered together against one of the walls, under a large painting of Admiral Dewey's flagship at anchor in Manila Bay. The Americans sat together. The Filipino staff formed their own group. Omar herded Selena and the ambassador over to the others.

Cathwaite's secretary got up and hugged the ambassador. "Margaret! Thank God you're all right."

"I'm fine, Helen. Is anyone else hurt except for our poor Marines?"

"Just cuts and scratches from the glass. Nothing serious. Carmichael doesn't look good. I'm worried about him."

Matthew Carmichael was the Commerce Department attaché. He was sitting to the side of the group, holding his hand against his chest and taking labored breaths. Sitting next to him was a blond haired man who appeared subdued. Selena figured him for the CIA spook. Carmichael's secretary sat huddled on the other side of her boss. The Filipinos looked frightened. They stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact with anyone. It wasn't the kind of group she would have picked to go up against a dozen terrorists.

Omar jabbed Helen in the ribs with the barrel of his AK-47. "You, slut, shut up. All of you, sit. Now, or I kill you."

Selena sat down next to Margaret.

For now, she was on her own.