State of Siege - Tom Clancy [27]
Because of Georgiev's familiarity with CIA tactics and his fluency in American English, the others had no trouble with him leading this half of the operation. Besides, as he'd proven when he organized the prostitution ring in Cambodia, he was a natural leader.
Georgiev drove slowly, carefully. He watched out for jaywalking pedestrians. He didn't tailgate. He didn't shout at taxi drivers who cut him off. He didn't do anything that would cause him to be stopped by the police. It was ironic. He was about to commit an act of destruction and murder that the world would not soon forget. Yet here he was, the model of tranquil, lawful motoring. There was a time, growing up, when Georgiev wanted to be a philosopher. Maybe when all of this was over, he would finally get to take that up. Contrasts fascinated him.
When he had driven this route the day before, he noticed a traffic camera on a streetlight at the southwest corner of Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue. The camera faced north. There was another on Forty-second Street and Third Avenue facing south. Vandal, who was sitting in the passenger's seat, and Georgiev both adjusted their sun visors to cover those windows. They'd be wearing ski masks when they went into the UN. The NYPD would probably review all the cameras in the area, and he didn't want anyone to have a photographic: record of who was in the van. The traffic cameras would tell them nothing. And while police might find a few tourists who had videotaped the van, Georgiev had intentionally approached the target from the setting sun. All any videotape would see was glare off the windshield. God bless the things he'd learned from the CIA.
They passed the New York Public Library, Grand Central Station, and the Chrysler Building They reached First Avenue without incident. Georgiev timed his approach so they'd stop at the light. He'd made sure he was in the right-hand lane. When they made the left turn, he would be on the same side of the street as the United Nations, on the right. He glanced toward the north. The target area was just two blocks away. Almost straight ahead was the Secretariat Building, set back behind a circular courtyard and a fountain. A seven-foot-high iron fence fronted the complex for its four-block length. There were three guard booths spaced along the gates, behind them. NYPD officers patrolled the street. Across First Avenue, on the corner of Forty-fifth Street, was an NYPD command booth.
He had reconnoitered all of this the day before. And he'd studied photographs and videotape he'd taken months before that. He knew this area completely, from the location of every streetlight to every fire hydrant.
Georgiev waited until the DON'T WALK sign began flashing to his left. That meant they had six seconds until the light changed. Georgiev's black ski mask was tucked between his legs. He pulled it out and slipped it on. The other men did likewise. They were already wearing thin white gloves so they wouldn't leave fingerprints but could still handle their weapons. The light turned. So did Georgiev.
* * *
EIGHT
New York, New York Saturday, 7:30 P.m.
Etienne Vandal pulled on his ski mask. Then he turned to receive his weapons from Sazanka, who was in the back of the van along with Barone and Downer. The seats had been removed and piled in a corner of the hotel garage. The windows had been painted over. The men were able to prepare in total secrecy. Barone holstered his own two automatics and picked up the Uzi. He would also be wearing the backpack containing tear gas and gas masks. If it became necessary to fight their way out, they'd have the gas as well as hostages. It was difficult to twist very far because of the bulletproof vest, but Vandal preferred discomfort to vulnerability. The Japanese officer handed him two automatics and an Uzi. Downer was kneeling beside the door on the driver's side of the van. He placed his own weapons on the floor. A Swiss-made