The Enemy Within

Avery hesitated briefly, apparently reluctant to theorise without more hard evidence, but then he plunged on. “Very bad. And deteriorating. This was not a planned confrontation. Instead, it’s clear that these terrorists only intended to blow up the synagogue itself right before a major Jewish holiday. They stumbled on to the children’s decorating party by accident. Right now they’re pretty well locked into a classic paranoid state compounded by isolation, sleep deprivation, growing hunger, and alcohol abuse.”

He saw their appalled glances and amplified that last comment. “We’ve heard fairly clear signs that at least one of them is already very drunk and may still be drinking.”

“Damn it.” Tanner spoke for them all. Alcohol would slow the hostage-takers’ reflexes and reaction time, but it would also impair their judgment, perhaps making them more likely to start killing their captives.

McDowell took center stage again. “Right. You’ve heard the bad news. As I see it, the situation we face is inherently unstable. These creeps won’t communicate with us. And now they’re starting to lose it. So we’re getting nowhere fast out here and the media vultures are out in full force, circling thicker and thicker.” He paused. “I’ve been in constant touch with the Director. He’s personally stressed that the Bureau cannot afford another Waco. We can’t let this thing drag on indefinitely, and we can’t have this siege end in another pile of dead women and kids.”

Great, Helen thought to herself, talk about mixed messages. Risk an attack to end the standoff, but don’t take any risks with the lives of the hostages. And that was impossible.

“I’m soliciting opinions here, folks,” McDowell said. “Do we wait longer? Or do we strike now?” He turned to Lang. “John?” “I say we go,” the HRT commander said flatly. “Time is dearly not on our side.”

“Avery?”

The negotiator took a deep breath and then sighed. “I concur. We should go.”

McDowell stood silently for a few minutes, pondering his options and not liking any of them. Finally, he looked up. “Okay, I’ll phone the Director and pass on our recommendation.” He turned to Helen. “If he approves direct action, when can you and your section be ready to move?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Early tomorrow morning. When it’s dark.” She glanced at Lang for confirmation. “We can move sooner if they start to unravel faster, but it would be a lot more dangerous.”

He nodded his agreement.

McDowell frowned. “All right, Agent Gray. Assemble your section, make your plans, and then brief us.”

“Of course.”

But then he stopped her on her way out the door. “Don’t screw this up, Helen. We’ve all got a lot riding on this one.”

She smiled sweetly at him and pulled his hand away from her arm. “Not as much as those poor kids inside Temple Emet, Larry. Maybe you forgot about them.”

She didn’t wait to see what effect her parting shot had on him. She had work to do.

SEPTEMBER 29

The moon was down.

Helen Gray checked the fastenings on her Kevlar armor and assault vest one last time and then slung her submachine gun from her shoulder. She glanced at Rabbi David Kornbluth, Temple Emet’s spiritual leader. “You understand about the stained glass, Rabbi? If there were any other way…” She left the rest carefully unsaid.

The rabbi, an elderly man, turned his shrewd gaze on her and shrugged.

“I would prefer that these barbarians had never invaded my synagogue, Miss Gray. But they have. And now you must root them out.” He gently took her hand. “May God go with you.”

Helen ducked her head, already knowing how much depended on her. “Thank you. I will.” She strode away quickly, desperately hoping she could fulfill the promise she had just made.

Oh, her plan was sound. Very sound. But she knew only too well how swiftly the most carefully crafted plans could disintegrate in practice.

She trotted down the steps of the high school and out toward the pair of parked school buses that sheltered her assault force from both media scrutiny and detection by those inside the temple. Her four snipers were already in position on the eastern edge of the synagogue roof.

Paul Frazer was there waiting for her. He stepped out of the shadows.

“What’s the word, boss?”

“We go in.” Helen felt again the thrill that rippled through her at those three simple words. Her emotions were racing in full gear crashing back and forth between anxiety and exultation. “The Director confirmed the assault orders to McDowell five minutes ago.”

“Outstanding.” Frazer clapped his hands together, put two fingers to his lips, and whistled softly. The rest of her section materialised seemingly out of nowhere and crowded around her.