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By Root 336 0

every soldier, had a die with six pips. The pips were resolve, skill, ruthlessness, ingenuity, courage, and strength. Most of the time, you practice-rolled. You trained, you walked a beat, you patrolled the street, trying to get the wrist action right, the finesse, the feel. Because when it came time to roll for real, you had to come up with more of those qualities than the other guy, sometimes in an instant. Mott remembered that during his twenty years in Midtown South. He remembered it each time he went to an apartment with no idea what was on the other side of the door, or stopped a car without knowing what was hidden under the newspaper lying next to the driver. He remembered it now. He brought up every reflex that was stored in his memory, in his bones, in his soul. And for good measure, he threw in the words of one of the original Mercury astronauts, he forgot which one, who said, as he waited to be launched into space: "Dear God. Please don't let me screw this up. was Five seconds.

Alert and ready, Mott walked toward the door of the Security Council. He moaned, as though he'd been hit and was hurting. He yanked open the door and stepped inside.

New York, New York Saturday, 11:48 P.m.

Telephones were put at the disposal of the parents when they arrived at the State Department lounge. Selecting an armchair in the corner of the brightly lighted lounge, Sharon's first call had been to Alexander back at the hotel. She wanted to make sure he was all right. He was fine, though she suspected he'd stopped playing video games and had accessed the room's SpectraVision channel. Alexander always sounded edgy when he was playing video games, as though the fate of the galaxy rested on his shoulders. When she called around eleven o'clock he sounded awestruck and humbled. Like Charlton Heston when he saw the burning bush in The Ten Commandments.

Sharon let him be. She didn't even tell him what was going on. She had a feeling that Alexander would be sleeping very well tonight. Hopefully, it would all be over in the morning before he woke. Then she called her home answering machine. She wasn't going to call her parents unless they'd seen the news report and left a message. They were not in the best of health, and they were worriers. She didn't want to burden them.

But her mother had phoned. She had seen the news flash, so Sharon called her back. She told her mother what she'd been told, that officials were trying to negotiate a solution and that there was no other news. "What does Paul think?" her mother asked.

"I don't know, Mom," Sharon replied. "What do you mean?" "He went off with one of the military people from the UN and hasn't come back yet," Sharon said. "He's probably trying to help," her mother said. Sharon wanted to say, He's always trying to help-them. Instead, she said, "I'm sure that's what he's doing."

Her mother asked how she was doing. Sharon said that she and the other parents were holding tight to hope, and that was all they could do. She promised to call if anything else happened. Thinking of Paul and his devotion to them upset her. She wanted her daughter back and was willing to make any sacrifice to save her. But she knew that Paul would be doing this even if Harleigh weren't inside. Sharon hadn't cried very much since this began, but that pushed her over the rim.

She turned from the other parents and wiped tears away as they formed. She tried to convince herself that Paul was doing this for Harleigh. And even if he weren't, whatever he did would help her. But she felt so alone now. And not knowing what was happening, how her baby was, made her angry again. The least Paul could do was call her. Tell her what was happening.

Then she thought of something. Taking a tissue from her purse, Sharon blew her nose and picked up the phone. Paul still had his cell phone with him. She punched in his number, finding strength in anger that had not come in reflection.

New York, New York Saturday, 11:49 P.m.

Ty Sokha continued to squat beside the girl on the floor. There was nothing more she could do for her,