State of Siege - Tom Clancy [77]
Rodgers let his mind run through possible scenarios, looking for possible connections. "She signed in downstairs about fifteen minutes before the attack began. She said she'd come here to catch up on some work."
"That could very well be true," August said. "It could," Rodgers agreed. "But she got here early and she has the ability to eavesdrop on the secretary-general. She also has a TACSAT in the office."
"Not standard CIA office issue," August said. "No," Rodgers agreed. "Sounds like a nice setup if you want to pass intel to people who are involved in this takeover."
"But which side of the takeover?" August asked. "I don't know," Rodgers said.
"Is the TACSAT turned on?" August asked. "Can't tell. It's in a sack."
August snickered. "You spend too much time behind a desk. Roll up your sleeves."
"What do you mean?" Rodgers asked.
"Get the back of your arm near the unit," August said. "I still don't follow."
"The hair. Static electricity," August told him. "Shit," Rodgers said. "You're right."
An insulated piece of equipment, when active, would generate an electric discharge-static electricity. That would cause the hairs on his arm to stand up when he got close.
Rodgers nodded, and they continued toward the office. Neither man was an alarmist. But from the start of their careers, with anywhere from one life to thousands of lives hanging on any decision they made, neither man had ever been complacent. And as Rodgers turned into the office, he reminded himself of something that the CIA had learned the hard way. That volatility didn't always come from the outside.
New York, New York Saturday, 11:43 p.m
For a moment, the silence in the corridor outside the Security Council was absolute. Then Secretary-General Chatterjee pushed herself off the wall where she'd been flung. She looked from the prone terrorist to Colonel Mott.
"You had no right to do that!" she whispered harshly. "You were attacked," he whispered back. "It's my job to protect you." "I grabbed him-was
"It doesn't matter," Mott said. He pointed to two of the men on the security line and motioned them forward. Then he turned back to Chatterjee. "We're in this now." "Against my wishes!" she shot back.
"Ma'am, we can discuss this later," Mott said. "We don't have much time."
"For what?" she demanded.
The two men arrived. "Strip him," Mott said quietly, pointing to the terrorist. "Fast."
They got to work.
"What are you doing?" Chatterjee said.
The colonel began unbuttoning his own shirt. "Going in there," he said. "As him."
Chatterjee seemed stunned. "No. Absolutely not."
"I can pull this off," he said. "We're about the same size." "Not without my authority," she said.
"I don't need your authority," he replied as he removed his shirt and took off his shoes. "Section 13Can, subsection 4, of the security regulations. In the event of a direct threat against the secretary-general, all appropriate precautions must be taken. He struck you. I saw it. Now the fiber-optic camera is not getting through for some reason. We're coming up on another hour, and a child may be hurt in there. Help me end this situation, ma'am. Did he have an accent?"
"They're going to find you out."
"Not soon enough," Mott said. He was aware of every second passing, wondering how long the terrorists inside were going to wait for their man to return. Fearing what they might do to get him back. "Now please," Mott pressed. "Did he have an accent?" "Eastern European, I believe," Chatterjee said. She seemed dazed. Mott looked down as one of his men removed Georgiev's mask. "Do you recognize him?"
Chatterjee looked at the beefy, unshaven face. There was blood on the thick bridge of the nose. "No," she said softly. "Do you?" Mott looked from the fallen man to the Security Council door. "No." Whether it was his own anxiety or the instincts of an old undercover cop, he felt tension from inside the chamber. He had