"Dimitri got shot up. He's in pretty bad shape. We're in the emergency room now, just keeping him alive. We've got to evacuate him out of here and soon."
"I hear you," Vance replied back. "But the only way I know of right now is with one of the helos, either the Agusta or their Sikorsky. How long can he hold on? We still need to take out Ramirez. I haven't given up."
"Michael, the airspace is closed around the island. Totally shut down. I guarantee it. There's no way he could get a chopper out. He's trapped, going nowhere. We're staying with Dimitri till we're sure he's stabilized, and then we'll come down there and handle that son of a bitch. All in time."
"All right," Vance said. "Take care of Dimitri. In the meantime, let me see what I can do at this end. And while you're there, you might want to sweep that place for explosives. I think they were planning to get everybody inside and blow it. I found some C-4 on a timer down on the second level. By the elevator. There may also be some more of them hanging around there, so be careful."
"Only way we know."
Major General Eric Nichols was in the Kennedy's Mission Control room, fit to be tied. Now he was beginning to understand how the attempted rescue of the American embassy hostages in Tehran could have turned into such a disaster.
He lit a cigar and tried to relax. The op would be back on track in—he checked his watch—another five and a half hours. Unless, of course, the orders got changed again.
Then the blue phone on his desk rang. . . .