10:10 A.M.
FLOOR 18
UNITED NATIONS SECRETARIAT BUILDING
FIRST AVENUE AND FORTY-SECOND STREET
NEW YORK CITY
Slowly, Dewey put the submachine gun down on the floor.
“Now the pistol,” said Mansour. “Slowly.”
Dewey began to lift the .45 from beneath his armpit as Mansour took a step back, creating an impossible angle for Dewey. Mansour kept his finger hard on the trigger of the SMG. Slowly, Dewey placed the Colt M1911A1 on the ground.
“Hands over your head,” said Mansour. “Lock fingers.”
Dewey did as he was told.
“Now start walking,” said Mansour, nodding down the hall.
With Mansour a few feet behind him, Dewey went down the hallway, took a left down another hallway, and entered a quiet suite of offices. In one of the offices, someone was holding a phone and taking video. For the first time, Dewey saw Dellenbaugh, tied up to a chair, blood trickling from his nose and mouth, his eyes closed and his head tilting listlessly to the side.
“Wake him up,” said Mansour to the other Iranian.
He slapped Dellenbaugh across the face. Dellenbaugh’s head shot sideways, like a broken toy. The man slapped him again, harder this time, hard enough to draw blood from Dellenbaugh’s lip.
Dellenbaugh looked up, semi-lucid.
“Dewey.”
The president was barely conscious. His stomach was bleeding badly. He coughed, and watched Dewey with blank eyes.
“Go,” said Mansour, aiming the gun at Dewey. “Sit down on the ground next to him.”