Everyone began firing at once.
One of the hostages screamed. The air filled with death, dozens of rounds whining through the air. Selena was yelling, her AK bucking in her hands. Ronnie pivoted toward the ballroom and a burst of automatic fire struck him. He cried out. Blood sprayed into the air. He fell back onto the floor. The rifle flew from his hand.
"Ronnie!" Nick yelled.
He ran forward, firing at the man who'd shot Ronnie as he went. The rifle recoiled twice in his hand, then the bolt locked back. Empty. The man with the pistol ran for the detonator next to the wall. Nick saw him reach down.
There was time for Nick to think I should have shot him first before the world disappeared in a violent burst of sound and light. The shock wave lifted him up and tossed him through the air. He hit the floor, hard. Light and sound faded.
Selena's voice sounded from far away, as if she were at the end of a long tunnel.
"Nick. Nick. Come on, look at me."
He opened his eyes. Dull pain radiated through his body. The air was filled with clouds of smoke and dust. Selena knelt at his side. A Marine medic leaned over him.
"Take it easy," the medic said. "You got hit with debris and you've got a concussion. You're going to be banged up and sore but you'll be okay. Lie there and I'll be back."
He got up and walked away.
"Stay awake," Selena said.
He had a terrible headache. He tried to remember what had happened. Then he had it.
"Ronnie. He got hit."
"He's still alive but it's bad," she said. "The ambassador and most of the hostages are dead. Lamont is okay. So am I."
"What about the terrorists?"
"All dead."
"I screwed up," Nick said. "I should've figured out another way to go after them."
"There wasn't any other way. There was no way to stop them from killing more people without exposing ourselves. It's not your fault."
Nick could feel himself drifting away. He gripped her hand.
"I screwed up," he said again. Then he slipped into black, churning nothingness.
CHAPTER 26
Nick lay between crisp, white sheets in a hospital bed on Clark Air Force Base. His body was covered with bruises. He had a relentless headache that sent spots dancing before his eyes. His old wounds ached with dull, throbbing pain that clawed deep into his body.
Pointless. The word echoed in his mind.
The embassy was in ruins. Most of the hostages were dead. The American ambassador was dead. All of the terrorists were dead. Ronnie was fighting for his life. And for what? What had any of it accomplished?
He'd gone over what had happened again and again. Each time he came to the same conclusion, but it didn't help. There was nothing else he could have done. There wasn't any other way to get to that ballroom. There wasn't any way to rescue the hostages without getting in a firefight. It felt as though a relentless, dark force had wrapped itself around him like a cloud.
You should have shot the man with the pistol first. It's your fault.
He told himself the feeling would pass, that in a day or two things would seem almost normal.
It wasn't the first time he'd told himself that. It was a familiar, inner lie.
Pointless.
He'd spent his adult life telling himself that what he did had a purpose. That it made a difference. He'd taken an oath to defend his country. He'd honored that oath, even when there were times it seemed to him his country was wrong. It was a matter of integrity, of honor. Now it had all brought him here, to a hospital bed far from home.
He'd been lying in a hospital bed when Harker offered him a job with the Project. He'd thought it would be different. A new start. A better way to serve his country. But it was the same old story. It was like the game where you hit a target with a hammer and a new one popped up on another part of the board. There was always another target to hit. No matter what he did, no matter where he went, there was always another enemy ready to take the place of the last one. There would always be another enemy. It was a war he could never win.
Selena came into the room.
"Hey." She pulled up a chair next to his bed.
"Hey. How are you doing?"
"I'm the one that's supposed to ask that," she said. "So, how are you doing?"
"I've got a hell of a headache. I get dizzy if I stand up too fast." He looked away for a moment then turned back. "I keep thinking about Ronnie."
"I know. I do, too."
"I don't know if I can keep doing this," Nick said. "I used to think I was fighting for something that had meaning. I don't think like that now."
"Because of Ronnie?"
"It's more than that. What we do seems meaningless. I don't know what I'm fighting for anymore."
Selena heard a note in his voice she'd never heard before. It made her uneasy. Nick was one of the most confident men she had ever known, but he didn't sound that way now. She chose her words with care.
"I've thought about this a lot," she said. "What we're fighting for. I think it's what Lincoln called increased devotion."
"What do you mean, increased devotion?"
"It's what Lincoln said at Gettysburg. I don't remember the exact words, but he was talking about the men who'd died on the battlefield and about taking increased devotion to the cause they died for. He said that they didn't die for the North or the South but for the idea of freedom. So the nation wouldn't perish."
Nick was silent. Then he said, "I'm not so sure what happened in the embassy was about freedom."
"What else would you call it? Abu Sayyaf and the other extremist groups hate the whole idea of freedom. They're the enemy of freedom. I'd say stopping them and everyone just like them is a job with plenty of meaning."
"Christ, Selena. Next thing you're going to tell me is that somebody has to do it."
Suddenly she was angry. She stood up. "That's right, somebody has to do it. You're angry about Ronnie, I get that, but don't you dare tell me that what we do has no meaning."
She stalked from the room.
CHAPTER 27
The private terminal at Geneva International Airport was reserved for the kinds of people who could afford private jets and who demanded discretion and privacy. Switzerland had a high regard for those who required such services. Entry into the country was made as painless as possible for men like Krivi. Formalities like passport control were cursory and courteous. A customs officer met Krivi at the foot of the steps as he descended from his Gulfstream. He saluted and stamped Krivi's passport. The blacktop pavement under the plane glistened from an afternoon shower that had left shallow puddles of water reflecting the pure blue of the Swiss sky.
A liveried chauffeur and a black Mercedes limousine waited nearby. The chauffeur took Krivi's bag and held the door open. Johannes Gutenberg greeted Krivi from the back seat.
"My friend, welcome."
"Hello, Johannes."
The limo pulled away. Gutenberg pressed a button and a smoked partition of thick glass slid up behind the driver. The interior of the car smelled of leather and a hint of Gutenberg's expensive cologne. Krivi settled back in the comfortable seat. He was tired after the flight. As much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to feel his age.
Gutenberg said, "Things seem to be going well."
"In general, yes. The Americans are incensed. It won't be long before they find convincing evidence that Pakistan was behind the attack. Rao has done a good job of misdirection. There is an unexpected complication, however."