“Yes. Every man’s been accounted for. We had to return fire to cover the retreat, but I don’t know if we hit any of the terrorists or not. I need to speak to your source urgently. I want to know how he knew about our movements, and what he can tell us about the terrorists inside the building. Do you have a name and number for him?”
“No,” lied Arley, improvising as she went along. “He called from a pay phone.”
“Then who is he? And why did he call you?”
“He’s an informant through an MI5 source. He was put on to me because I’m the police commander on the scene. I’ll try to get through to him right now.”
“Do that. It’s urgent I speak to him. We can’t make another move on the building until we’ve got some idea what we’re up against.”
“I’ve still got our negotiator trying to get hold of Wolf,” said Arley. “He hasn’t been answering. What do you want our man to say if he does?”
“Get him to tell Wolf it was a mistake and there was no attack. And get me that contact now, Arley. That’s an order.”
“Yes sir,” she said, hanging up and repeating Standard’s instruction to Riz Mohammed.
It was just in time, because barely twenty seconds later the phone in the hotel’s satellite kitchen, which had been ringing off the hook for close to ten minutes, was finally picked up, and Wolf was on the line. “Stop the attack now!” he was shouting, his voice filled with a volatile mix of fear and anger as it reverberated around the room. “If you don’t, we will detonate the bomb in the ballroom and kill all the hostages. You have one minute to comply. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do,” answered Riz, who seemed as shocked as anybody that Wolf had actually answered his call. “But there’s been some mistake because there hasn’t been an attack.”
“What are you talking about? What were the explosions and all the shooting, then?”
Riz raised his eyebrows at Arley. Whatever was happening in there, it was clear Wolf wasn’t at the cutting edge of it. “I don’t know, but my understanding is that two members of the SAS were watching the rear of the hotel when some of your operatives opened fire on them. They then immediately retreated.”
“Bullshit. That can’t be right. They were attacking us.” But there was the first hint of doubt in his voice.
“It wasn’t an attack, Wolf,” said Riz, the calmness in his own voice a clear contrast to the terrorist’s. “I can promise you that. We genuinely want to negotiate.”
“Your men shouldn’t have been around the back of here anyway. What were they doing there?”
“They were simply keeping an eye on things.”
“Tell them to stay away. Do you understand that? If we see any more of them again, we kill ten hostages.”
The line went dead, and Riz Mohammed took a deep breath. “Bloody hell, that was close. He’s not happy.”
“It could have been one hell of a lot worse,” murmured Arley.
“So, who’s this contact of yours?” asked John Cheney, frowning as he posed the question everyone in the room wanted an answer to.
They all looked at her.
“I can’t talk about it right now,” she said dismissively. “It’s classified.”
“That’s ridiculous,” complained Cheney.
Arley gave him a look that cut him dead. “That’s the way it is. No more discussion.”
But even as she spoke the words, she knew she was on the verge of being found out.
81
“What’s happening?” asked Ethan, his face etched with fear, as he sat on the bed next to his mother.
“It’s all right,” Scope told him, putting a protective arm around his shoulder as the last of the explosions and gunfire from down below faded away. “We’re safe here.”
“What about Mom?”
“Your mum’s going to be all right too.”
But as they looked down at her, Scope wasn’t at all sure he was right. It had been five minutes since he’d roused her and injected the insulin. He’d managed to get her to take a few sips from a Lucozade bottle he’d found in the mini-bar, but she’d almost immediately thrown it up, and she was barely conscious. She needed proper medical treatment urgently, and as long as they were trapped in here, she wasn’t going to get it.
He looked over at the TV, wondering what on earth all the fighting had signified. If it was an assault by the SAS, there was no sign of them yet. If they were coming, they were taking their time.
The TV was showing the front of the hotel, as it had done through most of the evening, and the rolling headline at the bottom of the screen said that explosions and gunfire had been heard inside.
Tell me something I don’t know, he thought.
Another rolling headline appeared: “Unofficial Source Says SAS Staging a Hostage Rescue and Meeting Stiff Resistance.”
“Are the cops coming now?” asked Ethan, pushing up closer to Scope for protection. “Is that them doing all that shooting downstairs?”
“It looks like it.”
“So will they be here soon to help Mom?”
“Shit,” Scope said aloud before he could stop himself. A third headline was now rolling along the bottom of the screen: “Unofficial Source Says No Assault Taking Place, Negotiations Continuing.”
This was bad. More than that, it was almost unheard of. There’d definitely been some kind of attack, but it seemed it had been abandoned, which put him, Ethan, and especially Abby in a dangerous position.
“Why are you saying bad words?” asked Ethan. “What’s going on?”
Scope did something that had always served him well in his military career. He made a big decision under adverse circumstances.
“We’re getting out of here,” he said. “Right now.”
82
“What the hell happened?” demanded Fox as he and Bear came together at the top of the central staircase, a few yards from the ballroom door. “We didn’t get any of them.”
“I saw them come in,” said Bear breathlessly. “There were loads of them. I kept my head down and counted to twenty, then blew the thing. Just like you said.”
“Well, it didn’t work.”
“They must have been pulled back. If they’d been within twenty yards of that bomb, they’d have been blown to pieces. Are you sure none of them were killed?”
“Well, there aren’t any bodies out there,” snapped Fox. “Come on, we’d better give Wolf the good news.”
As they went through the doors, Fox could see that the hostages were looking extremely agitated, the noise of the attempted ambush having clearly spooked them, while both Wolf and Cat kept watch on them, weapons at the ready.
Hearing their return, Wolf stepped back, still keeping his gun trained on the hostages, until he was level with Fox and Bear. He looked furious. “I called the negotiator. He says there was no attack.”
“There was. At least one person fired at me. And they threw a stun grenade.”
“Someone fired at me as well,” added Bear.
“Did you get any of them?”
Fox shook his head. “No. They were definitely ordered back.”
“So someone told them about our ambush. Your plan failed, Fox. You’ve made us look like fools.”
“No, I haven’t. They came in. We fired at them. They left. Which meant it was a victory to us.”
“But you didn’t kill any of them.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Fox, who was beginning to get heartily sick of Wolf. “The point is, we’re still in control, and holding the military at bay. All we have to do is keep this up for another three-quarters of an hour and then the hotel goes up in flames and we make our escape. Just as we’ve always planned. We can still say we repulsed their attack. It’s still a victory.”
“Except we didn’t humiliate them. That’s what we always wanted. To make the great SAS look like amateurs.”
Fox noticed Bear bristling as Wolf said this. For all his anger with the government and the establishment, B
ear was still a patriot at heart, a man who’d been disfigured for life fighting on behalf of his country, and he didn’t like the British Army being disrespected. Fox didn’t either, but he was sensible enough not to react and he needed to make sure that his old army buddy kept his cool as well. “I think they’ve been pretty badly humiliated already,” he said, meeting Wolf’s hard stare with a far harder one of his own. “And right now, it’s the best you’re going to get.”
Wolf grunted. “All right. You and Bear watch the hostages. I need to speak to the negotiator again.” He turned away, motioning for Cat to follow, while Fox and Bear took up positions standing twenty feet apart.
“Can you tell us what’s going on?” one of the younger female hostages asked Fox. “Please.” She fixed him with a vulnerable, doe-eyed gaze.
“No,” said Fox, loudly enough for the whole group to hear. He pointed his AK-47 at the girl, and made a play of putting his finger on the trigger. She immediately looked away while Fox scanned the rest of the hostages, knowing that it was essential they were kept under control. Their plans had been thrown off course, but if he kept calm, soon most of these people would be dead, and he’d be on his way to a new life.
83
Tina had wrapped the children in blankets she’d found in one of the cupboards and they were now sitting at the kitchen table taking turns speaking to their mother on her mobile. They were both in tears, and by the sounds of things, Arley was too. Tina couldn’t blame any of them.
She left them in there, putting up a finger to say she’d be back in one minute, then returned to the bedroom where the kidnapper lay facedown on the carpet. Crouching down, she felt for a pulse, but there was nothing. He was dead.
Jesus, thought Tina, standing back up, I’ve killed again. She might have taken a pretty bad beating herself, but she was still standing, whereas the last blow she’d laid on the kidnapper had been to the side of his head with a piece of lead piping. But as far as she was concerned, he’d deserved what he got. There were some people out there whose crimes were so terrible they didn’t deserve life and, in her opinion, this man was one of them. What did bother her, though, was being on the receiving end of a manslaughter charge; she still had enough enemies in the Met to make this a definite possibility. Either way, she was in a lot of trouble.
She went back downstairs and made her way into the living room, where the kidnapper had been sitting when she arrived. A rucksack was on the sofa and she went over to it, wondering if there’d be a clue to his identity in there. The news had been saying for most of the day that the prime suspects in the bombings and the subsequent siege were Islamic fundamentalists, but the man she’d killed was white, and the single curse word he’d uttered when they were fighting sounded like it belonged to someone with a local accent.
She pulled open the rucksack and stopped dead when she saw the battery pack and wires, realizing she was staring at a bomb.
Slowly, very carefully, she stepped away from the device, knowing she had to get the kids out of there. As she turned toward the door, she glanced briefly at the TV, which was showing live footage from the Stanhope, and saw the rolling headlines saying that explosions and gunfire were audible from the back of the hotel and that unofficial sources suggested a rescue attempt by Special Forces was being repelled.
The nausea Tina was already experiencing suddenly grew a whole lot worse. So there had been an assault on the building by the SAS, and it seemed that things had gone badly wrong, which meant only one thing: Arley must have told the terrorists of their plans, despite Tina’s warning to her about having blood on their hands as a result.
Oliver was speaking on the phone when Tina came back into the kitchen. “I need to speak to your mum urgently,” she said, taking the phone from him. “And we need to get out of here right now.”
“What’s going on, Tina?” asked Arley.
“Give me a minute,” she answered, pushing the kids out of the front door and onto the driveway, ignoring their questions. It occurred to her that there might be further devices in the house, and that the van might contain some kind of bomb too. “I’ve just seen the news on the TV. So the SAS went in. You all but promised me you wouldn’t let that happen.”
“They did go in, but I managed to get a message to them to abort the attack. They pulled back just in time, and although there was some shooting and a couple of explosions, none of them were hurt.”
“Are you sure? Because there’s no point lying to me now, Arley.”
“I swear it, Tina. There were no casualties.”
“Surely they must want to know how you came by the information.”
“They do. It’s one more thing I’m going to have to deal with when this is over.”
“Where are you now? It sounds like you’re in a cupboard.”
“I’m in the mobile toilet. Listen, Tina, I won’t implicate you, I promise.”
“It’s too late. You already have. And I’ve killed a man here. I can hardly try to hide it. That just implicates me more.”
“God, I don’t know what to say, I really don’t.”
Nor did Tina. She could hardly scream and yell at a woman who in the last few hours had lost her husband, her career, and so nearly her children.
There was a long silence while both women processed the events of the night and their inevitable repercussions.
“It’s all over for me, Tina,” said Arley quietly.
“I know it is.”
“And I know how this must sound, but can I ask you one final favor?”
Tina almost laughed. “Jesus, Arley. You’ve got chutzpah, I’ll give you that.”
“I need to see my children while I’m still free. I need to tell them about their father. And I want to do it face to face.”
“I don’t see how that’s going to be possible,” said Tina as she ushered Oliver and India down the muddy track outside the cottage.
“My mother lives in Pinner. If I text you the address, please can you take them there? I know I’ve asked a lot of you.”
“You’ve asked everything of me.”
“I know. And I’m begging you . . . please.”
“I need to phone the police. There are bombs in the house where I found your kids, as well as a body, and we need to get the area sealed off.” Tina sighed, looking at Arley’s children, shivering under their blankets. “Then I’ll take them to your mother.”
84
Martin Dalston was feeling nauseous and tense, although he wasn’t sure how much of this was due to his illness and how much to the atmosphere inside the Park View Restaurant, which had deteriorated steadily ever since the execution of the hostage more than an hour earlier.
And then ten or so minutes ago they’d heard explosions and shooting coming from somewhere far below in the building. The taller of the two terrorists, the one Martin had overheard being referred to as Dragon, had told them in advance to expect some gunfire, but that the situation was under control.
But it seemed it wasn’t fully, because both terrorists were now on their feet, their body language riddled with tension as they kept their assault rifles trained on the hostages, screaming threats the moment someone so much as changed position on the floor. Dragon had his foot on the detonator pedal, and he kept exchanging nervous glances with the other guard, the one with the Scandinavian accent and the limp. Both were checking their watches every few seconds, as if they were waiting for something.
Their erratic behavior and the uncertainty of the situation were also affecting the hostages, whose expressions were becoming more and more panic-stricken. One person in particular, a white-haired businessman in his sixties, only a few feet away from Martin, had started to breathe very heavily in the last few minutes, and it looked like he might be having a panic attack. People were ignoring him, and several had turned away, as if, like prey animals in the wild, they’d sensed his weakness and were abandoning him to the predators. Martin gave him a reassuring look, but the man either didn’t see him or cho
se not to meet his gaze.
Strangely, Martin himself was feeling less scared than he had all night. Or maybe it wasn’t strange. Maybe it was because, having been so close to death earlier on, and realizing that at the last second he’d actually been ready for it, he felt there was little else they could threaten him with. There was also something comforting in being back among the group rather than being singled out and alone. He wondered what the bombs and shooting had been about. At first he’d thought it was an Iranian Embassy–style attack on the building by the SAS, but that didn’t make sense, because the two terrorists guarding them had known what was going to happen beforehand.
Martin caught Elena’s eye and they gave each other the kind of supportive look they’d been exchanging all night. Something had changed between them, though. Elena looked more self-conscious under his gaze, embarrassed even, and he guessed it was because she hadn’t intervened earlier, when he was about to be shot. Not that he blamed her. Ultimately, there was nothing she could have done. He wanted to explain this to her but he wasn’t sure how he could do so without it sounding like he did actually blame her; and anyway, since the killing of the hostage, everyone had been taking seriously the warnings not to speak to each other. Nobody wanted to be the next to die.
A few feet away, the businessman’s breathing was getting louder and more labored, and he was now bent forward, one hand on his chest, the other holding a handkerchief to his forehead. Martin could see he was in a bad way, and he wanted to do something to help. Too many people had died needlessly already that day.
Elena was looking over at him now, a concerned yet helpless expression on her face. She wanted to help too. Martin could see that. But she wasn’t going to. None of them was, including Martin himself.
He suddenly felt a terrible anger, not just toward the terrorists, but toward himself, for not doing something. He might be unarmed, physically weak, and desperately thirsty, but he had one huge advantage over all the hostages: he had nothing left to live for. He was already a dead man. It was just that his body hadn’t yet realized it.
Siege: A Thriller Page 26
