Fatal Conceit by Robert K. Tanenbaum Page B

Suddenly, shooting erupted in the hallway. The screams of the wounded and angry shouts in Arabic told her that the radio operator had ambushed the leading attackers. But the reprieve didn’t last long. There was an explosion outside the door, a torrent of shots, and then the sound of a half-dozen voices outside the door speaking in Arabic.
    The attackers began pounding on the door. “Do you have a way of calling the U.S. embassy in Grozny?” she demanded of Huff.
    â€œMy cell phone,” he cried. “But it’s not a secure line.”
    â€œWho the hell cares now,” Lucy shouted. “Call and give it to me.”
    As though moving in a dream, Huff pulled out his phone, punched in a number, and handed it to Lucy. “No one will answer at this hour,” he said.
    Lucy whirled away from the diplomat and stood facing the door as it shivered with repeated blows. “This is codename Wallflower,” she said, speaking into the phone. “We are at the compound in Zandaq. We’ve been attacked and overrun. They’re trying to getin. I don’t think it will be much longer. They are not Chechen; they’re speaking Arabic, several native Saudi speakers, a Yemeni, not sure of the others, but I repeat, they are not Chechen . . .”
    The pounding on the door grew louder. A crack appeared in the wood at the hinges. “I’m with David Huff.” The door burst inward. “They’re here,” she said as a hooded man with a rifle leaped into the room. He saw her and struck her in the stomach with the butt of his gun, doubling her over and sending the phone flying to the ground where it came apart in pieces.
    Other men raced into the room and soon Huff and Lucy were being herded from the room, stepping over the body of the radio operator, and out of the building where they were joined by Jason, who was now bleeding from several wounds, including a gash on his head. As they got to the front of the compound, Jason turned on their captors, striking one in the throat as he grabbed for the man’s gun. But he was quickly clubbed to the ground before he could shoot and dragged along with the others.
    As they stood in the half-light of several fires and what remained of the compound’s electric lights around the walls, a man stepped in front of the captives. “Welcome to the future Islamic Republic of Chechnya,” he announced. He stopped talking and appeared to be listening.
    Far above their heads, Lucy heard a loud humming as if a horde of angry bees was circling. While she had never seen or heard one before, she knew it was the sound of a drone. Good, she thought, I hope they send a missile to take all of these assholes to hell.
    However, the hooded man just laughed and looked in the direction of the sound. He raised his hand and pointed. “Ah, we are being watched,” he said as his finger continued to trace the flight of the drone. “I hope they’ve enjoyed the show so far, though apparently whoever is watching either can’t, or won’t, help you. But no matter.” He walked over in front of Huff and pointed a handgun at his head.
    â€œPlease,” Huff screamed, “I’m here on a—”
    â€œYes, yes, a ‘peaceful trade mission,’ is that not what you told the Russians?” the hooded man said in perfect boarding-school English. “But I know what you are doing here. Tsk tsk . . . always conniving and plotting for others to do your dirty work, you Americans. But I cannot allow you to arm my enemies in Chechnya, those ignorant peasants who claim to be followers of the one true faith but in fact by their actions are apostate. Unfortunately, Daudov was not here to share your fates, but at least this infidel plan has been . . . how do you say . . . nipped in the bud.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do with me?” Huff asked, his voice trembling.
    â€œDo?” the