State of Siege - Tom Clancy [39]
The parents were taken to the public cafeteria, where they were seated at tables far from the lobby. They were offered sandwiches, bottled water, and coffee. One of the fathers lit a cigarette. He was not asked to put it out. Moments later, senior security personnel arrived to debrief the parents about things they might have seen or heard while they were in the press room. A psychologist and doctor also came down to help them get through the crisis.
Hood did not need their assistance.
Catching the eye of the security head, Hood said that he was going out to the rest room. Rising, he managed to smile for Sharon and then walked around the tables into the lobby. He went to the rest room, entered the rearmost stall, and got Mike Rodgers back on the phone. He stood there, leaning against the tile wall. His shirt was cold with perspiration.
"Mike?" he said. "Here."
"The UN people are moving in with AV gear," Hood said. "We've been relocated downstairs for debriefing and psych support."
"Classic response," Rodgers said. "They're setting up for a siege." "That isn't going to be an option," Hood said. "The terrorists don't want to negotiate, they don't want anyone freed from prison. They want money. Doesn't the UN have a special response unit?" "Yes," Rodgers said. "The UNSO-PS is a nine-person division of the security force. Established in 1977, trained by the NYPD in SWAT tactics and hostage situations, and never field-tested." "Jesus."
"Yeah," Rodgers said. "Why would anyone go after the United Nations? They're harmless. We've got Darrell on another line. He says that NYPD policy is to contain and negotiate, to keep things from exploding. And if things do blow, to keep them localized. It sounds like the security team's setting up to do that where you are.
Hood felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. This was his daughter's death they were talking about "localizing "I "Darrell's also in touch with a contact in the secretary-general's office," Rodgers went on. "Chatterjee is getting together with representatives of the affected nations."
"To do what?" Hood asked.
"At the moment, nothing. There doesn't appear to be any inclination to accommodate the terrorists's demands. They're still trying to figure out who these people are. They have the paper with the Swede's script, but it was obviously dictated and written by the delegate. No help in tracing the terrorists."
"So they just intend to sit this out."
"For now," Rodgers said. "That's what the UN does."
Hood's sadness shaded to anger. He felt like going into the Security Council chamber himself and shooting the terrorists one after another. Instead, he turned and punched the bottom of his fist into the wall.
"Paul," Rodgers said.
Hood had never felt so helpless in his life. "Paul, I have Striker on yellow alert."
Hood leaned the top of his head against the wall. "If you send them in here, the world-not just the federal government-the world is going to chew you up and crap you out."
"I have one word for you," Rodgers said. "Entebbe. Publicly, the world condemned Israeli commandos for going into Uganda and rescuing those Air France hostages from Palistinian terrorists. But privately, every rightthinking individual slept a little prouder that night. Paul, I don't give a damn what China or Albania or the secretary-general or even the president of the United States thinks of me. I want to get those kids out."
Hood didn't know what to say. The jump from yellow