Siege: A Thriller

by Simon Kernick

  “We need to get back upstairs quickly,” he told her, conscious of the fact that all the gunfire would have spooked the hostages in the ballroom.

  “But he’s here somewhere,” she hissed. “He must be. I’m going to find him.”

  “He could have made for the emergency stairs or one of the ground floor rooms.”

  “Why didn’t you hit him when you had the chance?” she snapped.

  “For the same reason you didn’t,” he snapped back, pulling off his balaclava and wiping his brow. “Because he was too fast. And if he has gone somewhere through that door, you could be walking straight into a trap.”

  She turned on him, her dark eyes radiating fury. “He murdered my brother. I owe him. But someone like you . . . a mercenary”—she spat out the word—“wouldn’t understand that, would you?”

  “What I understand is that all this gunfire’s going to bring the SAS down on us fast. We need to defend our positions, which means sticking together, not chasing guests around the hotel, whatever they’ve done. Was he the one who caused the explosion in the kitchen?”

  “No. That was someone else trying to escape.”

  “So what was this guy doing in reception?”

  “He was trying to find some medicine for another guest.”

  “Insulin?”

  She frowned. “How do you know?”

  “I found some in the room where your brother and Leopard were killed. I took it with me. It means he’ll have to break cover again soon. Come on.”

  Fox gestured for Cat to follow him, and reluctantly she did so, but they’d only gone a matter of yards when he heard a burst of automatic gunfire from the mezzanine floor, followed by shouts.

  “Jesus,” he grunted. “This is all we need.”

  Knowing it was essential he stay calm, Fox pulled on his balaclava and took off up the stairs at a run, charging into the ballroom and what appeared to be a full-scale rebellion in progress. At least a dozen of the hostages were on their feet shouting, while Bear retreated slowly in front of them. From the way brick dust was floating down from the ceiling it was clear he’d fired into it as a warning, and it hadn’t worked. Far more worrying was the sight of Wolf struggling on the floor with a male hostage in a suit who was trying to wrestle the AK-47 out of his hands, and looking like he was getting the better of him.

  As Fox strode across the floor, all the hostages looked at him and the fight went out of most of them. But not all. Bear also turned his way, and the hostage closest to him—a middle-aged member of the kitchen staff—seeing that he was momentarily distracted, went for him.

  It was a brave move. But stupid, too. He had a distance of twenty feet to cover and he’d covered less than half of it when Fox put the rifle to his shoulder and put a burst of gunfire into the man’s upper body, sending him sprawling backward until he fell over one of the seated hostages.

  “Sit down now,” Fox yelled, “or you die!”

  Everyone hit the floor, except the man fighting Wolf, who’d now yanked the weapon from Wolf and was in the process of getting to his feet, while Wolf held on to one of his legs like an annoying dog, all the trappings of leadership gone from him now.

  The hostage pulled away from his grip, turning the weapon around in his hands.

  Behind him, Fox could hear Cat firing at him with her pistol and missing. He and Bear then turned their weapons on him and opened up at the same time.

  The hostage’s head snapped back as he was hit, and he dropped the AK, doing a kind of manic dance as the bullets tore him apart. Then, finally, he fell heavily to the floor, and all was silent in the room, except for the sound of the ringing telephone coming from the satellite kitchen next door.

  Fox stood in front of the hostages, noticing with interest that nobody had attempted to move the rucksack bomb. “Anyone else try anything like that again, and ten of you will die as punishment,” he shouted above the ringing in his ears. “Do you understand?”

  No one spoke. The hostages sat hunched and motionless, their heads down, subservient once again.

  Angry, and still short of breath, Fox looked across at Bear. This was why he’d been anxious about using him for the operation. He was a good, solid soldier, but he simply didn’t have the necessary ruthless streak to kill without question, and it had almost cost him, and them all, everything. “You messed up,” Fox told him, loud enough so that everyone else in the room could hear. “The next time someone gets to their feet, kill them. OK?”

  Bear answered with a respectful “Yes, sir” and settled back to watching the hostages, while Fox went over to Wolf and pulled him to his feet.

  Wolf looked furious, but there was shame in his eyes too, as there should have been. He’d been made to look a fool, and Fox could see that he knew it.

  “You need to check the laptop for any messages,” Fox told him, “then answer the phone. You’ll need to calm the negotiator and get things back on track.”

  Wolf nodded, and a silent message passed between them. Whatever the situation had been a few minutes earlier, Fox was now the leader.

  69

  21:45

  Arley Dale stood in the middle of the cramped incident room desperately waiting for proof that her son and daughter were still alive, while all around her was chaos. The phones inside the room were ringing off the hook with reports from senior officers stationed at various points inside the inner cordon about the sudden and prolonged eruption of gunfire coming from various points inside the hotel. On the screens in front of them, the TV cameras were panning around the front of the building, searching for any sign of activity behind the curtains and blinds. And all the time, its sound like a death knell, the incessant ringing of the terrorist’s phone over the loudspeaker, as Riz Mohammed waited for Wolf to give them some kind of explanation of exactly what was going on in there. Something that might just delay an assault and give Arley breathing space.

  She was already late in calling back Major Standard to give him an update on their failed attempts to speak to Michael Prior, and she was dreading making the call now. With the deadline looming, and still no sign of Prior, Arley was sure that Standard would decide enough was enough, and begin the assault.

  She looked across at Riz.

  Just pick up the phone and let us speak to Prior, she thought. That’s all I need.

  The ringing stopped and Wolf’s voice filled the room. He sounded agitated. “Everything is fine in here,” he said, before Riz had a chance to speak. “We had some problems with a couple of the hostages, but all is back under control.”

  “Has anyone been hurt?”

  “No. They were warning shots only. Everything is fine.” As he spoke, he began to sound calmer.

  “You promised me we could speak to Michael Prior. Is he there?”

  Wolf hesitated. “Not at the moment.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we haven’t had time to get him. You can talk to him soon.”

  “You said that over half an hour ago. We need to speak to him now.”

  “And I need you to meet our demands. How is that going, uh?”

  “All your demands are currently under discussion. I believe we have until midnight to meet them.”

  Wolf hesitated again, clearly thinking. As he did so, Arley felt the mobile in her pocket vibrate with the arrival of a text. She desperately wanted to look at it, but knew that to do so at this juncture would raise all kinds of suspicions among the other people in the room, especially Cheney, whom she’d caught looking at her strangely several times since they’d talked outside.

  “I will let you speak to Prior in the next half an hour,” said Wolf finally. “You have my word on it.”

  The line went dead.

  Commander Phillips, sitting back at his desk on one of the screens and patched into the incident room, took a very deep and very loud breath. “Mr. Mohammed, you’re an experienced negotiator. Tell me frankly, do you think this man Wolf is going to let us speak to Prior?”

 
Riz sat back in his seat, making it creak under his bulk, and ran a hand through his thick head of hair. “No, I don’t. For some reason, he seems to be stalling.”

  “Why might that be?”

  “I honestly don’t know, but the only reason I can think of is that Prior’s been incapacitated.”

  “You mean he’s dead?”

  “It’s certainly possible.”

  “We don’t think he’s been compromised, sir,” said John Cheney. “GCHQ hasn’t picked up any coded messages being sent out of the Stanhope containing classified information.”

  “That’s one thing, I suppose,” said Phillips grudgingly. “But the fact remains that because we can’t get hold of him, we can’t get a location for him inside the building, which was the reason for holding up the assault. I’m also keenly aware that the terrorists’ deadline is only just over two hours away. Therefore, we need to get on to the military and tell them that there’s no longer any point waiting to go in.”

  Arley felt her heart sink, but she stood up straight. “I’ll call Major Standard and inform him, sir. Janine, can you get him for me?” she added, before Phillips had a chance to interrupt. If anyone was going to speak to Standard, it was her.

  She was aware of the mobile ringing in her pocket, but flicked it to silent.

  “You’re through to Major Standard on line four, ma’am,” said Janine.

  Arley picked up the receiver, conscious that all eyes on the room were on her. Briefly she explained the situation, and the fact that they’d all but discounted making contact with Prior.

  “Thank you for keeping me informed, Arley,” said Major Standard, with a warmth that pained her. He was a good man, and she was going to betray his trust and help send his men to their deaths. She knew this was her last chance to say something. To take this terrible burden and its consequences away.

  But they have your children.

  “Are you sticking to your original plan of attack?” she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, knowing he was under no obligation to tell her.

  “Yes, we are. We haven’t had enough time or information to formulate anything substantial, so we’ll be going in around the back, out of the glare of the cameras, and making a silent entry. It’s now exactly 21:49, according to my watch. At 22:05, I want your negotiator to call the lead hostage-taker, Wolf, and tell him that the British government will be making an announcement to the world’s media at 23:00 hours tonight, and that it’s a potential breakthrough. Are you clear on that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And make sure he keeps Wolf talking, without it looking suspicious. After that, I’ll contact you the moment we need your police, and the emergency medical back-up.”

  “Of course. I’ll have everyone on full standby.”

  She put down the phone and looked around the room. On the screen, Commissioner Phillips was no longer patched into the incident room, and instead was talking silently on his phone.

  Sixteen minutes. She had sixteen minutes.

  “Well,” she said evenly. “It’s out of our hands now. I need another cigarette.”

  Trying to be as casual as possible, Arley went outside, lighting a cigarette with fumbling hands as she checked her mobile.

  She’d received a text from Howard’s phone containing a video attachment, plus two missed calls.

  She took a deep breath and opened the attachment. It lasted barely ten seconds but it was enough to make her stomach churn. Oliver and India were sitting on the floor side by side, their hands bound behind their backs. Oliver’s mouth and eyes were bound with gray duct tape, while India’s eyes were covered, but a piece of duct tape hung down from her cheek where it had been torn away from her mouth, leaving behind a strip of red skin. It was obvious by the slight shaking of the camera and the picture quality that it was being taken on a mobile phone.

  “Go on,” prompted an unseen, muffled voice.

  “My primary school was St. Mary’s,” said India, looking around uncertainly as she uttered the response Arley had insisted upon. “And I really want to come home, Mum. So does Olly.”

  Oliver made a noise behind his gag but then the film ended, leaving Arley staring at the screen, trying to control her breathing, wanting to throw up from the terrible stress of seeing her two children being treated like this.

  But there is hope. Jesus, there is hope. They are still alive.

  The screen lit up with Howard’s face and Arley pressed the answer button before it even started to ring.

  “Your turn,” said her tormentor. “Tell me the assault plan.”

  The time for doubts about her course of action was gone. Now all that mattered was keeping her children alive until Tina could locate them. Speaking as quietly as she could, she began to give him the details of Major Standard’s plan.

  “When are they going in?” he demanded.

  She kept walking farther from the incident room, ignoring the icy rain that had started to fall. “Our negotiator’s going to make a call to Wolf at 22:05. This’ll be a decoy, so I believe the attack will be starting then.”

  “Thank you. We will talk again soon.”

  “Hold on, I haven’t finished yet—” But she was talking to a dead phone. “Shit,” she cursed, taking a hard drag on her cigarette, suddenly feeling the terrible vulnerability that comes when you’ve played all your cards. She’d betrayed her colleagues and her country, and at that moment she had nothing to show for it.

  And only one hope. That Tina’s hunch was right and the man who’d filmed her children had sent the footage directly to Howard’s phone, because if he had, then she could get a location for him.

  The only person who could trace the calls was Phil Rochelle, the police coordinator at Hendon whose job it was to speak to the mobile phone companies on behalf of the Met. Arley had already spoken to him earlier that evening and got him to run a continuous trace on Howard’s number. She dialed his number, praying that he had something useful for her.

  He answered on the second ring, with his nasal, slightly pompous greeting, and Arley started speaking immediately, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “Hello, Phil. Have you had any phone traffic to the mobile you’re tracking for us?”

  “Your husband’s. Yes, I have. Two calls were made on it to your phone in the last few minutes. And a call was received on it a few minutes before that from another mobile phone.”

  Arley felt her heart lurch into her throat. “Do you have the number of that other mobile phone?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Good,” she said, trying to stay calm. “We need a current location on it.”

  “I’m going to need to know what this is about, DAC Dale. We’re talking about your husband’s mobile here, and there is the very real matter of protocol.”

  “I’m afraid the matter is top secret, but I can tell you it’s to do with the current situation at the Stanhope Hotel and the earlier bomb attacks.”

  “With all due respect, I’m still not sure what this has to do with your husband’s mobile phone.”

  “And I can’t give you the answers right now because we’re in the middle of an ongoing and fluid situation.”

  “Then I’m going to need authorization from the Home Secretary, or the chief commissioner at the very least.”

  This was what Arley had most feared. Being found out by pushing too hard. It was always going to be a huge gamble trying to convince someone like Rochelle, a by-the-book man if ever there was one, that her husband’s mobile records were essential to the Stanhope siege. But it was also too late to stop now. “Neither the Home Secretary nor Chief Commissioner Phillips is available right now, Phil. Believe it or not, they’re bunkered up in the Cabinet briefing room with the Prime Minister and the heads of the security services trying to deal with this crisis. And with all due respect, as Bronze Commander I am the person in charge of the situation on the ground, and I am requesting immediate assistance from you. If you refuse to give it, you may well find yourself
having to explain why to the inevitable public inquiry into the events of today. So, are you going to risk lives, or are you going to help us save them?”

  She could hear her heart thumping in her chest as she waited for his response. If he didn’t go with it, she was finished.

  You’re finished anyway.

  He sighed. “I’ll have the latest location of the phone in the next few minutes.”

  “Thank you. Please make it top priority.”

  Arley ended the call and took a deep breath, fighting down a wave of nausea. It occurred to her for the thousandth time that she should talk to her bosses and tell them what was going on. With Phil Rochelle’s information, they could use armed police to free the twins rather than having to rely on an alcoholic female ex-cop. They could even probably delay any assault on the hotel while they secured the area where the twins were being held and took down the bastard holding them.

  But once again she stopped herself. Because, in the end, there was every chance that they wouldn’t delay the assault. Or that they’d try to negotiate with the kidnapper rather than make an immediate arrest. Whichever way Arley cared to look at it, her children were expendable to the authorities, and she couldn’t allow that.

  She had to do this her way, whatever the consequences might be.

  70

  21:56

  “We’ve got less than ten minutes,” said Fox, standing alongside Wolf and staring down at the laptop screen.

  “And you think this is the true plan?”

  Fox looked at him. “We’ve got this woman’s kids at gunpoint. It’ll be the true plan.”

  “I want you and Bear to organize the first line of defense against our attackers,” said Wolf. “You both have the most recent military experience. Cat and I will remain here guarding the hostages. What about your two operatives in the restaurant upstairs? Do they need informing of what’s going on?”

  “No. They’ll have seen the message so they’ll know what’s happening. And they’ll hold their positions.”