State of Siege - Tom Clancy [57]
It was a long moment before Chatterjee remembered the radio in her hand. She quickly composed herself and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Why was that necessary?"
After a short silence, someone answered. "This is Sergio Continh" Contini was the Italian delegate. His normally powerful voice was weak and breathy.
Colonel Mott turned toward Chatterjee. His jaw was tight, and there was anger in his dark eyes. He obviously knew what was corning. "Go ahead, Signore Contini," Chatterjee said. Unlike Mott, she was holding on to hope.
"I have been asked to tell you that I will be the next victim," he said. The words came slowly, unsteadily. "I will be shot exactly one-" he stopped and cleared his throat "exactly one hour from now. There will be no further communication."
"Please tell your captors that I wish to come inside," Chatterjee said. "Tell them I want to-was
"They've stopped listening," Mott informed her. "Excuse me?" Chatterjee said.
The colonel pointed to the small red indicator light on top of the oblong unit. It was off.
Chatterjee lowered her arm slowly. The colonel was wrong. The terrorists never started listening. "How long until we have pictures from inside the chamber?" she asked. "I'll send someone downstairs to find out," Mott said. "We're maintaining radio silence in case they're listening."
"I understand," Chatterjce said. She returned his radio to him. Colonel Mott sent one of his security officers downstairs, then ordered two others to clean up the delegate's blood. If they had to move in, he didn't want anyone slipping on it. As Mott spoke with his troops, several of the representatives tried to come forward. Matt ordered his guards to keep them back. He said that he didn't want anyone blocking the path to the Security Council chambers. If any of the hostages managed to get out, he wanted to be able to protect them. While Mott kept the crowd orderly, Chatterjee turned her back on the group. She walked toward the picture window that overlooked the front courtyard. It was usually so active out there, even at night, with the fountain and the traffic, people jogging or walking their dogs, lights in the windows of the buildings across the street.
Even helicopter traffic was being routed away from midtown-not just in case there was an explosion on the ground but in the event that the terrorists had accomplices. She imagined that barge and pleasure boat traffic was also being stopped along the East River. The entire enclave was paralyzed. So was she. Chatterjee took a tremulous breath. She told herself there was nothing they could have done to prevent the delegate's murder. They couldn't have put together the ransom, even if the nations had agreed to try. They couldn't have attacked the Security Council chamber without causing more death. They couldn't negotiate, though they tried. And then suddenly it struck her: what she'd done wrong. One thing- one small but significant thing. Walking over to the representatives, Chatterjee informed them that she was returning to the conference room to notify the delegate's family of the assassination. Then, she said, she was coming back. "To do what?" demanded the delegate from the Republic of Fiji. "To do what 1 should have done the first time," she replied, and then headed toward the elevator.
New York, New York Saturday, 10:39 P.m.
Reynold Downer went over to Georgiev after killing the Swedish delegate. Except for a few of the children who were crying and the Italian delegate who was praying, everyone in the room was silent and still. The other masked members of the group remained where they were.
Downer stood close enough so that Georgiev could feel the warmth of his breath through the mask. There were tiny spots of blood on the fibers.
"We need to talk," Downer said.
"About what?" Georgiev whispered angrily. "About throwing more logs on the fire," Downer snarled.
"Go back to your post," Georgiev insisted.