Siege: A Thriller

by Simon Kernick

  He turned back to Abby. She was sitting up on the bed, her leg still propped up on the pillow, as it had been all evening, but she looked awful. Her face was thin and drawn, her complexion fish-gray, and he could see that her hands were shaking.

  He asked her if she was all right.

  “I’m going to need my next dose and some food soon. I’m feeling pretty weak.”

  “Tell me honestly,” said Scope, checking that Ethan was still asleep. “What happens if you don’t get it?”

  “At some point, my blood sugar will get so high that I’ll start fitting. If it’s still untreated, then eventually I could die.” She smiled tightly, wiping sweat from her brow. “But that’s a ways off yet, I promise. Do you think they’re going to have insulin here on the premises?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure of it. It’s a big hotel.”

  “If you can’t get through to the man you need to talk to, and something happens to me, please will you promise me that you’ll get Ethan out of here safely?”

  Scope stopped in front of the bed, looking down at her, touched by her vulnerability. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, I promise. If I have to, I’ll go out there and find the insulin myself.”

  “No,” she said emphatically. “I want you to look after Ethan.”

  Scope wondered how much time she had left until she started to deteriorate seriously. She looked bad already. He could also see that she was beginning to panic, although she was trying hard to hide it, and for the first time it struck him that he might not be able to save her. It angered him that the authorities hadn’t made any attempt to save the hostages. He was as aware as anyone of the logistical difficulties involved, but it was also abundantly clear to him that the terrorists were going to have to be confronted at some point. Delaying the inevitable only risked more lives.

  “You know,” continued Abby, “we know almost nothing about you, but I can tell by your eyes that things have happened to you. Bad things.”

  “Bad things happen to everyone,” said Scope, not liking her gaze, or the questions it seemed to want to pose. Questions to which he didn’t dare give an answer.

  “I don’t feel so great.” She slurred the words, and as Scope hurried over to her, she closed her eyes and fell sideways onto the bed.

  Cursing silently, he leaned over and checked her breathing. Shallow, but enough.

  “Abby?” he said quietly, giving her cheek a gentle tap. “Abby?”

  There was no response, so he laid her gently on her side. He stood back up and immediately dialed Steve’s number again, willing it to ring.

  It did.

  And kept ringing.

  “Answer, you bastard,” he hissed, through gritted teeth. “Answer.”

  “Steve Grantham.”

  Thank God.

  “Steve, I’ve been trying to reach you. Have you found out where the insulin is in here?”

  “Yes. There’s a medical station behind the reception area, but it’s kept locked. The keys are in a strongbox, also behind reception, but only the duty manager has the key to it.”

  It wasn’t what Scope had wanted to hear, but it was no less than he’d expected. “But they have insulin, right?”

  “Yes, they do. In standard pen form.”

  “Thanks, Steve. I appreciate your help.”

  “Listen, it sounds extremely risky going down there. It might be best to stay where you are. I’m sure this situation will be resolved soon.”

  “Are you? I’m not.”

  Steve sighed. “You’re not going to be any help to anyone if you’re hurt.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” said Scope, and hung up.

  Ethan lay fast asleep beside his mother. He looked so peaceful that Scope wondered whether he should wake him or not. But if Ethan woke up and saw Scope gone, that would panic him even more.

  He checked Abby’s breathing and pulse, wondering if she’d gone into some kind of coma, then put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder and roused him.

  Ethan looked up at Scope groggily, and smiled. “I was asleep.”

  Scope smiled back, suddenly seeing an image of Mary Ann as a young girl, with her button nose and curly blond hair. Remembering those days when she was little and he’d put her to bed with a story. “I’m going downstairs to get the insulin. I know where it is now.”

  “Is Mom OK? It’s getting late, isn’t it?” He sat up and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “She’s asleep, and she needs it soon. That’s why I’m going to get it.”

  “What if something happens to you?”

  “It won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m a soldier. And I’ve been a soldier a long time. I’m good at what I do. Nothing will happen to me.”

  Ethan looked relieved. “Good.”

  “When I come back, it’ll be like the last time I left the room. I’ll knock on the door five times: bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. Nice and slow. That’ll tell you it’s me. Then I’m going to let myself in, and I’ll put my arm around the door first, very slowly, so again you know who it is. In the meantime, you do like I told you. Anyone knocks on the door who doesn’t use the code, ignore them and don’t say a word, even if they beg to come in. Do you understand?”

  He nodded. “What if they force their way in, like before?”

  “I’m pretty sure they won’t, but if anyone does, hide behind the bed. But I won’t be long. I promise.”

  Ethan looked scared but determined. “Do you promise you’ll be back?”

  “Yeah,” said Scope, meaning it. “I promise.”

  66

  The shuffling sound was coming from beyond one of the doors.

  Cat stopped and listened.

  The sound came again, followed by a low moan. Someone was still alive.

  She smiled and moved through the gloom of the hotel’s main ground floor kitchen, keeping her gun hidden under her jacket, and out of sight, just in case it was a trap. The smell of spent explosives and smoke was strong in her nostrils. Combined with the stench of corpses, it reminded her all too vividly of times gone by.

  Stepping over the body of a young man with curly hair and a beard, she looked through the window to the rear courtyard, being careful to stay well back, but couldn’t see anyone. However, whether they were planning an imminent assault or not, there would be Special Forces spotters around here somewhere, and she hoped it was one of them who’d blown himself up, although somehow she doubted it. If he had, he wouldn’t still be here.

  The moaning grew louder as she opened the door, and stepped into a narrow corridor that led through to the delivery entrance.

  A badly burned man was lying on his back on the floor, his clothes in shreds and his face blackened. Beyond him was what was left of the fire door, little more than a shredded piece of wood hanging off one of its hinges. It was obvious that he’d been trying to leave the hotel and been caught in one of Fox’s booby-traps. A cold wind blew through the gap in the door, and Cat scanned the courtyard through it. It still looked empty, but she felt exposed and uneasy standing so close to the outside world.

  The man had heard her approach, and with a huge effort he managed to lift one of his arms a few inches. “Help me,” he whispered, his voice a hoarse rattle.

  Removing the gun from where she’d hidden it, Cat stopped next to him and pointed it at his head.

  The stench of burnt flesh coming off him was intense, and there was a huge hole in his stomach that was exposing intestines. But his eyes were bright and alert, and they moved around wildly as he saw the gun. “Don’t shoot me,” he whispered weakly. “I’ve got children.”

  Cat stared down at him dispassionately. Then, without a word, or even a change in expression, she pulled the trigger, the bullet passing directly through one eye.

  Having found no one else in the kitchen, Cat crept back, listening out just in case there was anyone else for her to deal with. But the silence was perfect and total.

  And then, as she opened
the door leading back into the main part of the hotel, she saw the man on the other side of the lobby, beyond the central staircase, heading toward the reception counter. Even though he had his back to her, and the lighting was fairly dim, she could see that he was holding a gun. She could also see that he was dressed in a suit, which meant he wasn’t one of their group.

  Which could only mean one thing: this was the man who’d murdered her brother.

  A burst of intense rage shot through her veins and she raised her gun once again, aiming down the sights toward the back of his head, following him as he walked, and wondering why he wasn’t trying to break out of the main doors. Then she lowered it. He was at least thirty yards away—too far to guarantee a direct hit. And anyway, a bullet in the back was far too easy a death for a man like him.

  No, this one was going to die slowly, and at her pleasure.

  67

  Scope was ten feet from the reception area when he heard a door close behind him.

  He swung around fast, conscious of the fact that he was away from immediate cover, automatically crouching down and holding the pistol two-handed in a classic shooting position, and saw a young woman standing at the other end of the lobby. Her hands were thrust high in the air and she looked scared stiff.

  “Please,” she said in a loud whisper. “You’re not one of the gunmen, are you?”

  Scope let her come toward him. She was young. Late twenties, thirty at most, very attractive, and would have looked faintly vampish in her black dress and stockings if it wasn’t for the bomber jacket she was wearing over the top.

  “Stop right there,” he said when she was ten feet away. “Where have you come from?”

  “I was hiding in the kitchen,” she answered, still keeping her hands firmly in the air. “I heard a noise in the lobby, looked around from behind the door, and saw you. Are you a police officer?”

  Scope shook his head, beginning to relax, although he still pointed the gun at her. “I’m not, but my advice is get out now.” He motioned toward the hotel’s front doors. “Quickly.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “The doors are locked, and I think they may have booby-trapped them. Look.”

  He looked back quickly and, in the reflected light of the emergency vehicles beyond the entrance, saw a duffel bag tucked away next to the leftmost door. It had two command wires attached that ran across the floor and up the main staircase. “Then you need to get back to your hiding place. It’ll be safer there.”

  “I can’t stay in the kitchen. There are bodies everywhere. Can’t I come with you?”

  Having someone else to look after was the last thing Scope needed, but it seemed he had little choice. “OK.” He sighed. “Follow me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ve got someone upstairs who needs insulin urgently. I’m looking for the room where they’re storing it.” He went over and opened the door next to the reception area. “Are you coming?”

  She nodded, dropped her arms by her side, and followed him inside as he walked through a corridor that ran past the reception bay and into a small foyer with doors going off on three sides. The nearest one had a sign on it identifying it as the medical room. There was no key in the door, but luckily it was unlocked. He stepped inside, flicking on the lights and glancing back briefly to check that the girl was still following him. She gave him a small smile and, in spite of himself, his eyes drifted down toward her ring finger. There was nothing there, and for an indulgent moment he imagined what she’d be like as a girlfriend, then banished the thought. The last thing he should be contemplating when stuck in the middle of a situation like this was a young woman’s marital status. Clearly, he needed to get out more.

  The medical room was small and cramped, with a treatment area consisting of a bed and chair, which took up most of the floor space, and a set of locked glass cupboards filled with various substances lining the upper walls.

  Scope smiled when he saw the set of keys sitting on the room’s only counter next to a couple of boxes of pills. This was going to be easier than he’d thought.

  He slipped the gun into the waistband of his suit, but as he went to pick up the keys, a worrying thought struck him. For someone as scared as the woman behind him should be, she’d seemed extraordinarily calm and together.

  Which was the moment when he saw her reflection in one of the glass cabinets. She was standing in the doorway, pulling a pistol with suppressor attached from beneath her jacket, her teeth bared in a snarl.

  Scope dived to the floor in one rapid movement, just at the moment the girl fired, her bullet shattering the glass on one of the cabinets and immediately setting off a piercing alarm. Twisting his body around as he fell and ignoring the pain as his head struck a cupboard door, he yanked out his own gun and let off a single round in her general direction in a desperate effort to prevent her getting an accurate shot at him.

  But she was quick too and she’d already jumped out of sight behind the door, firing off two more rounds that ricocheted off a cupboard door, narrowly missing his head.

  He leaped to his feet, charged forward, and came out of the room in a roll, keeping the gun out in front of him, just in time to see the girl vault over the reception counter. Tightening his finger on the trigger, he took aim from the hip. But he was too late. She was gone.

  For a few seconds he didn’t move, waiting to see if she’d reappear. But he also knew that the shots would have alerted the other terrorists so he couldn’t afford to hang around. He got slowly to his feet, assessing the situation. He’d come close to making a fatal mistake by being way too careless, which wasn’t like him. If he’d given her a cursory search, he would have found the gun. But he genuinely hadn’t expected a pretty girl in Western clothes to be part of a group of extremists. It was bizarre. But then everything about this whole day had been bizarre, including the fact that he’d already killed five men—two more than he’d planned to.

  His problem now was that not only was he trapped, he’d also given away his position. He went back into the medical room and took a quick look around, scanning the glass cabinets for insulin pens, but there was too much stuff in them. It was going to take a good five minutes to find what he was looking for, and right now he simply didn’t have the time.

  Putting the keys from the counter in his back pocket, Scope crept toward the reception counter, keeping low, knowing that the woman would be waiting for him to reappear. He had two shots left. He was going to have to make them count.

  The reception counter was maybe fifteen feet long, and the door they’d come in another five feet farther on. This meant that she had quite a large area to watch, and she was likely to be using one of the lobby sofas as cover, so she was going to be a good few yards away, which would make it difficult to get an accurate shot in.

  He jumped up fast from behind the counter and saw her straight away behind a leather tub chair, resting her pistol against the arm. Swinging his gun arm around, he fired a single shot at her position, keeping his gun arm steady and making no attempt to duck back down, even though all his instincts were telling him to get out of the way of her aim.

  The girl fired back, but she was already ducking down behind the chair to give herself better cover, and Scope took the tiny respite this offered to jump over the counter, taking off at a run down the lobby toward the back of the hotel, still keeping his gun pointing in the girl’s general direction.

  She was up fast, cracking off three quick shots that were pretty damn close to him given the fact that he was a fast-moving target and she wasn’t getting a lot of time to aim, and he fired his last bullet back, aiming from the hip, not expecting to hit anything but hoping just to buy himself a little time.

  It worked. She ducked again, and by the time she was back up he was almost level with the central staircase, running in a zigzag and keeping low, putting some much-needed distance between them.

  Which was the moment when he glanced up and saw the masked gunman at the top of th
e staircase, aiming his AK-47 down at him.

  The wall just above Scope’s head erupted as the bullets stitched across it, sending clouds of dust and pieces of plaster flying in all directions, and from somewhere behind him he heard more shooting as the girl tried to take him out. Adrenaline surged through him and he put his head down and kept running, knowing that the gunman’s angle was extremely tight.

  More shots ricocheted off the carpet just beside him but he ignored them, kept going, and a second later he was past the staircase and out of range and sight of the gunman on the stairs.

  He managed the briefest of glances over his shoulder, saw that the girl had broken out of her hiding place and was now standing twenty yards back, behind one of the sofas, legs apart and slightly bent, both hands on the gun. He dived to the floor and rolled as she fired, then scrambled to his feet, turned a hard left, and ran across the lobby floor, aiming for the cover provided by the back of the staircase.

  She tried to bring him down with more shots, but he was moving too fast, and two seconds later he was out of sight and charging down the hallway in the direction of the restaurants and the emergency staircase, knowing that he had only just escaped death and that he’d failed Ethan and Abby.

  He might have been unarmed and running for his life, but he couldn’t go back yet.

  Not until he’d got the drugs.

  68

  21:39

  From his vantage point at the top of the main staircase, Fox saw Cat race after the fugitive, her face a mask of fury.

  He yelled at her to come back but she’d already disappeared from view. Knowing she’d almost certainly get herself killed, he ran down the stairs, taking them three at a time, annoyed with himself for missing the guy when he’d opened up on him with the AK-47.

  He raced around the corner, reloading the rifle as he went, catching up with Cat in the main restaurant. She was standing near the bar, gun outstretched, looking around for her quarry. It was clear she’d lost him.