Being accustomed to seeing occasional army patrols in the posh El Salvador neighborhood, I wasn't concerned to see figures advancing in the dark along the sidewalk on the other side of the hotel's low wall. After all, hadn't the hotel manager assured everyone that the hotel was secure?
That the figures were crouching as they ran didn't concern me, either, given the firepower that was being generated locally. However, it was when the figures — three armed individuals — slipped over the wall and snaked through the dimly-lighted VIP Tower parking lot toward the VIP Tower itself, that my state of awareness shot up to condition red. These were not government army soldiers, I knew, dark as it was outside. My reaction was confirmed absolutely when seven shots rang out below, out of my sight, with the accompanying loud crashing of glass (the building's entry doors).
The time now was 4:55 a.m. I grabbed my U.S. Embassy-assigned two-way radio to call the Marine post at the embassy. I couldn't raise anyone on the embassy radio frequency, after many attempts, so I switched to the USAID radio frequency. An individual who advised me that I was on the wrong frequency for reaching the embassy answered my call. I told him I couldn't raise the embassy and that FMLN troops were invading the VIP Tower. I asked the USAID respondent to relay the message and he said he would comply.
I immediately shut off my radio when I heard the sound of running feet in the corridor. I feared that the invaders would hear the squelches and beeps emitted by the radio. Maintaining absolute silence, I strained to listen. I heard muffled yells and more sounds of running in the corridor. There was a knock on my door. I froze and held my breath, lest I make even the slightest sound that might betray my presence in the room.
I heard in Spanish, "This is the FMLN — please open your door." He went away. A minute passed. Continuing to strain to listen, I heard loud pounding from elsewhere in the building. I couldn't identify the pounding until suddenly there was heavy banging on my door. It was clear now that they were breaking into rooms on the floor, one by one. My system was in overdrive; fortunately, so were my wits. Recognizing that appeasement was in order, I yelled: "Please wait. I'll open the door for you."
The pounding stopped. Assuring myself that the threat of being shot through the door wasn't imminent, I unchained the night security lock and turned the doorknob. It was smashed and wouldn't operate. I yelled, "Hey, it's broken — I can't open the door." The voice on the other side of the door said, "I'll do it, then." With two more blows of the butt of his AK-47 rifle the guerrilla opened the door and stepped into the room, rifle pointed at my belly.