Tom Clancy's Op-center Balance of Power - Tom Clancy [92]
Of course, she thought. They were at the magnificent Hall of the Halberdiers. The axlike weapons had been removed from the walls and racks, and the room had been turned into a detention center. A dozen or so guards stood along the far wall and at least three hundred people sat on the parquet floor. María noticed several women and children among them. Beyond this chamber was the heart of the Royal Palace: the throne room. There were two additional guards, one on either side of the grand doorway. María did not doubt for a moment that behind the closed door was where General Amadori had established his headquarters. María was also convinced that more than vanity had brought him to this spot. No outside force could attack the general without coming through the prisoners. The detainees formed a thick and very effective human shield.
A sergeant stepped from the room. He shouted for the new group to enter. The line began to move. When María reached the door, she stopped and turned to the sergeant.
"I must see the general at once," she said. "I have important information for him."
"You'll get your turn to tell us what you know," the gaunt soldier said. He grinned lasciviously. "And maybe we'll get a turn to thank you."
He grabbed her left arm just above the elbow and pushed her. María took a step forward to regain her balance. At the same time she turned slightly and slapped her right hand hard on the backs of the fingers that were holding her. The shock of the slap caused the sergeant's grip to loosen momentarily. That was all the time María needed. Grabbing the fingers in her fist, she spun around so that she was facing the soldier. At the same time she turned his hand palm up, bent the fingertips back toward his elbow, and snapped all four fingers at the knuckles. As he shrieked with pain, María's left hand snaked down. She snatched the 9mm pistol from his holster. Then she released his broken fingers, grabbed his hair, and yanked him toward her. She put the barrel of the pistol under his right ear. His forehead was against her chin and his legs were shaking visibly.
The entire maneuver had taken less than three seconds. A pair of soldiers who were standing just inside the hall started toward her. But she backed against the doorjamb, her body shielded by the sergeant. There was no way to get at her without killing the sergeant.
"Stop!" she snapped at the soldiers.
They did.
The prisoners who had been shuffling along behind María froze. Juan was among them. Several prisoners cheered. Juan appeared confused.
"Now," María said to the sergeant, "you can listen carefully or I'll clean your ears for you."
"I-I'll listen," he replied.
"Good," María said. "I want to see someone on the general's staff." She didn't really. She wanted to see the general. But if she demanded that right away she'd never get it. She had to give someone more information than they could handle so that she was moved along the chain of command.
A door opened a short way down the wide corridor. A young captain with curly brown hair stepped from a room on the other side of the detention area. As he emerged, his expression quickly shaded from puzzlement to annoyance to anger. He began walking toward her. He wore a.38 on his hip.
María looked at him. His green eyes held hers. She decided not to say anything to him; not yet. Hostage negotiations were the opposite of chess: whoever made the first move was always at a disadvantage. They gave up information, even if it was just their tone of voice telling an opponent their level of confidence in a situation. Quite often that information was enough to let you know whether they were ready to kill you, ready to negotiate, or hoping to delay things until they could decide their next step.
The officer's tan uniform was extremely neat and clean. His black boots shone and the fresh soles clicked sharply on the the floor. His hair was perfectly combed and his square jaw was closely shaved. He was definitely a desk officer. If he had any field experience, even