State of Siege - Tom Clancy [37]
"Hands on your head, and move," Downer growled. The Swede looked at Downer. "Why? You're going to shoot me in an hour whether I cooperate or not!" "Not if they deliver," Downer said.
"They can't!" he cried. "They won't simply turn over a quarter of a billion dollars!"
Downer raised the gun. "It would be a shame if they do, and I've already killed you," he said. "Or if I kill you and then have to shoot your companion ninety minutes from now."
His defiance faded quickly. Reluctantly, the Swede put his hands on top of his head. He started down the staircase, which ran along the southern side of the gallery.
Downer walked several paces behind the delegate. To the left were green-velvet seats grouped in two tiers of five rows each. Before the era of heightened security, these seats were used by the public to watch the activities of the Security Council. A waist-high wooden wall separated the bottom row of seats from the main floor. There was a single row of chairs in front of that wall. These seats were reserved for delegates who were not members of the Security Council. Beyond the viewing area was the main section of the Security Council chamber. This section was dominated by a large table shaped like a rounded horseshoe. Inside this table was a narrow, rectangular table facing east and west. When the Security Council was in session, the delegates sat at the outer table and the translators sat at the center table. Tonight, the children were sitting at the far side of the circular table and the guests of the delegates were seated at the circular table and at the rectangular one in the center. The delegates themselves were sitting on the floor inside the circular table. As the Swede rejoined the other delegates, his companion, a striking young woman, looked at him from where she was seated at the table. He nodded that he was all right.
Beyond the table, on either end of the chamber, two tall floor-to-ceiling windows allowed the members of the Security Council to look out on the East River. The glass was bulletproof, and the green drapes were drawn now. Between them was a large painting that depicted the phoenix soaring from the ashes, the world symbolically rising from the destruction of World War H. On either side of the room, one floor up, were the glass-enclosed media rooms, which had replaced the correspondents' room.
Barone and Vandal were standing in either corner of the chamber, by the windows. Sazanka was positioned by the north side door, and Georgiev was a floater, moving around and keeping an eye on the five additional doors on the main floor. Right now, he was standing in the opening of the horseshoe table. Like Downer, the men were all still wearing their ski masks.
As soon as the Swede was seated, Downer walked over to Georgiev. "Who was out there?" Georgiev asked.
"They had about a dozen ladies in the corridor," Downer said. The ladies were the general-purpose UN security guards, so-called because they usually stood around talking. The guards they had shot on the way in were all ladies.
"There were no special forces personnel," Downer said. "They can't even act decisively when their own bacon is burning."
"That is something they will learn to do this evening," Georgiev said.
Georgiev nodded toward the Swede. "He delivered the message exactly as I wrote it?"
Downer nodded.
The Bulgarian looked at his watch. "Then they have eighty-four minutes left before we start sending out bodies."
"You really think they'll comply?" Downer asked quietly. "Not at first," Georgiev said. "I've said that all along." He glanced over at the tables. His voice was matter-of-fact as he said, "But they will. When the bodies pile up and we come closer and closer to the children, they will."
New York, New York Saturday, 9:33 P.m.
Paul Hood did a quick, schizophrenic two-step. Hood hadn't breathed while he listened to the terrorists' demands. The crisis manager in him hadn't wanted to miss a word or inflection, anything that might tell him if they had any of that wiggle room Mike had spoken about. They did not. The demands