Tom Clancy's op-center_ acts of war - Tom Clancy [152]
"'Watch out!" a voice cried in Syrian.
The voice was drowned out as Mahmoud opened fire on the two men near the planters. He put two rounds into the leg of the man nearest him. Then he shot at the second man, who fell, a bullet in his thigh. But as Mahmoud turned to fire at the men on the other side of the room, a dark form descended on him. A strong hand pinned Mahmoud's gun hand to the floor while a fist struck his jaw.
"Get back!" a different voice yelled.
The dark form jumped away. Mahmoud saw two rifles swing toward him. A moment later a shower of 9mm shells ripped into his body. His eyes closed reflexively as bullets punched his right shoulder, his back, his neck, his jaw, and his side. But there was no pain. When the shooting ended there was no sensation of any kind. Mahmoud was unable to move or breathe or even open his eyes.
Allah, I've failed, he thought as he was overcome by sadness. But then consciousness gave way to oblivion and failure, like success, no longer mattered.
* * *
FIFTY-FOUR
Tuesday, 3:51 p.m.,
Damascus, Syria
Warner Bicking rose. He held up his hands, one of which was bloodied from the punch he'd delivered to the Kurd's prominent jaw.
"I'm on your side," Bicking said in Syrian. "Do you understand?"
A short man with a high, scarred forehead hoisted his rifle into his armpit. As he walked toward Bicking, he motioned for his companion, a giant of a man, to go to the others. Bicking stole a glance to the right as the big man effortlessly picked up one of the men who'd been shot in the leg. He tossed the man over his shoulder, then lifted up the second.
"I'm an American," Bicking went on, "and these men are my colleagues." He cocked his head toward the planter, where Haveles and Nasr had also sought refuge. They rose.
The man standing watch at the door turned suddenly. "People are coming!"
The short man looked at his big companion. "Can you manage?"
The giant nodded as he shifted the weight of the man on his right shoulder. Then he held his rifle so it was pointing straight ahead, between the man's legs.
The short man turned to Bicking. "Come with us."
"Who are you people?" Haveles asked. The ambassador stepped forward unsteadily. He reminded Bicking of a car-crash victim who was in glassy-eyed shock but still insisted that he was okay.
"We were sent to collect you," the short man said. "You must come now or remain here."
"The representatives of Japan and Russia are in the room as well," Haveles said. "They're in the alcove over--"
"Only you," the short man said. He turned toward the door and motioned to the man standing who was there. The man nodded and headed left down the corridor. The short man turned back. "Now!"
Bicking took the ambassador by the arm. "Let's go. The palace guard will have to handle the rest of this."
"No," said Haveles. "I'll stay with the others."
"Mr. Ambassador, there's still fighting--"
"I'll stay," he insisted.
Bicking saw that there was no point arguing. "All right," he said. "We'll see you later at the embassy."
Haveles turned and took stiff, mechanical steps toward the dark alcove which doubled as a bar area. He joined the other men who had sought safety in the shadows.
The big man headed to the door, followed by the smaller man.
"Our train is pulling out," Nasr said as he walked past Bicking.
Bicking nodded and joined him.
The man who'd gone down the hall returned with Paul Hood. Hood handed the videotapes to the short man, and the group started down the hall. Two of the masked men were in front and the giant was in the rear.
"Where are the ambassadors?" Hood asked. "Is everyone all right?"
Bicking nodded. He glanced at his red knuckles. He hadn't punched anyone in six years. "Almost everyone," he said, thinking about the Kurd.
"What do you mean?"
"The Kurds are all dead and Ambassador Haveles is slightly shaken up," Bicking said. "But he decided to stay. Our escorts here were pretty specific about who they were willing to take."
"Only our group," Hood said.
"Right."
"And it probably cost Bob Herbert a lot