The businessman suddenly cried out in pain and fell over, clutching at his chest with both hands as he began to hyperventilate.
Several people gasped, but no one moved.
Martin knew that for once in his life he had to stand up and be counted. “This man needs help urgently,” he shouted at the two terrorists, who were both looking over but making no move to do anything. “Please. You’ve got to help him.”
Other hostages murmured in agreement, their confidence boosted by Martin’s actions.
“Leave him, he’ll be all right,” said Dragon dismissively.
“He won’t be all right unless he gets some kind of medical attention.”
Martin crawled over to the man on his hands and knees, feeling liberated now that he was actually doing something, and put a steadying hand on his arm. The man stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes, but he was still conscious, and Martin had no idea whether he was experiencing a panic attack or something more serious.
He looked around at the other hostages. “Does anyone have any first aid experience?”
“Get back!” yelled the Scandinavian, the crueler of the two terrorists. “You were told to leave him alone. Get back now.”
But Martin was defiant, the fact that he was finally doing something worthwhile empowering him. “He needs some water. Come on. Please. Have some kind of humanity.”
The man’s gasps were coming thick and fast now, and Martin feared some kind of heart attack.
“I’m a retired doctor,” someone called out from behind him, but before Martin could turn around to see who it was, the Scandinavian marched over.
“You want to see my humanity?” He sneered. “Yeah? I’ll show you my fucking humanity.”
He grabbed Martin by the shirt and yanked him out of the way. Then, with barely a moment’s hesitation, he took a step back, pointed his assault rifle down at the businessman’s chest, and pulled the trigger, shooting him three times in rapid succession.
The man’s desperate, rasping breathing suddenly stopped, just like that, and he lay still.
The Scandinavian turned to Martin, his bright blue eyes alive with excitement. “There. That’s my humanity. Anyone else move, and they get the same. And that includes you, big man.” He aimed the rifle at Martin’s head. “Get it?”
Martin looked down. Said nothing.
“Good. Now shut up. All of you.”
The gunman turned away, walking back toward his colleague.
Which was when Martin Dalston leaped to his feet, fury sweeping through him in a physical wave that gave him a strength he’d never experienced before. He charged at the Scandinavian, grabbing him in a bear hug and biting him as hard as he could in the exposed flesh of his neck, almost immediately tasting blood.
The Scandinavian let out a startled yelp and tried to throw him off, but the adrenaline was pumping through Martin and he held on tight. He knew that the moment he fell off, he was dead.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blond. Elena was on her feet and leaping toward him too, her momentum knocking all three of them to the floor.
A burst of gunfire filled the room as the assault rifle discharged, but Martin had no time to see who, if anyone, had been hit. The Scandinavian had rolled onto him as he struggled to break free from his two attackers, and Martin was no longer biting him. Instead, he was gouging at his eyes and face, while Elena fought with him from the front, the weight of their two bodies crushing down on him.
Another burst of gunfire filled the room, as Dragon fired into the air. He was shouting for people to sit down. “Get back, or I’ll blow the bomb!” he screamed.
It was difficult to see from Martin’s position on the floor, but it looked like more people had got to their feet to join in the resistance, but even as he watched, he could see Dragon looking more confident, as if he could see that his orders were being obeyed.
Above him, the Scandinavian threw off Elena, and tried once again to wrench himself away from Martin’s grip, but still Martin held on like grim death, even though he could feel his strength fading.
And now Dragon was coming over, his rifle pointed at Elena, who was on her hands and knees looking terrified.
Which was the moment when a figure appeared out of the corner door behind Dragon and charged him.
85
Scope had never intended to be a hero.
His plan had been to try to get onto the hotel roof from where he hoped to be able to summon some kind of help, but as he, Abby, and Ethan had reached the ninth floor on the emergency staircase, with its sign for the Park View Restaurant, he’d heard the sound of shouting and gunfire, and reassessed. He could have kept going but he remembered from the news that the terrorists had been holding hostages in the restaurant, and that the restaurant itself led out onto a flat roof terrace, which probably represented a better escape route.
Having set Abby down and instructed Ethan to look after her, he’d made his way along the corridor toward the restaurant, and through the glass in the door had witnessed a scene of chaos. One gunman was struggling on the floor with several hostages, while another had his back to Scope and was shouting at the remainder of the group—twenty-five or so people of varying ages, some of whom were on their feet. This gunman had his foot resting on a pedal detonator and was threatening to use it.
As Scope watched, the gunman on the floor threw off one of the people he was struggling with, a blond-haired woman in a business suit, while the second one took his foot off the detonator and started walking into the crowd.
Immediately, Scope saw his chance. Pulling out his knife, he threw open the door and ran into the room.
At the last second, the second gunman—a big guy with broad, muscular shoulders, and a good four inches taller than Scope—heard him and swung around fast, finger tensing on the trigger.
But he was too late. Still sprinting, Scope dived at him, using one hand to knock the rifle to one side, and the other to ram the knife into his neck.
Momentum sent them both hurtling through the crowd, the blood spurting from the gunman’s severed jugular vein, the life literally emptying out of him. But even as he died, his finger pressed down hard on the trigger, sending more shots into the ceiling, and scattering hostages in every direction.
They hit the floor hard, with Scope on top, and as the gunman made a final grunt as the last of the air escaped his lungs, Scope turned around, just in time to see the other one hauling himself heavily to his feet, kicking off a smaller man who was trying to drag him back down.
The blond woman jumped up and made a lunge at the gunman, grabbing for his weapon, but this one’s reactions were quick and he slammed the barrel into her face, knocking her backward to the floor, before swinging the rifle around toward Scope.
Scope yanked the AK-47 from the dead man’s hands and rolled around to face him, but even as he did so he knew he was too late. The gunman had already steadied his aim and was ready to fire. For a split second, their eyes met, and Scope could see him grinning beneath the balaclava as his finger tensed on the trigger.
But the smaller guy grabbed him around the legs again, knocking him slightly off balance, just as he fired a burst of shots. Scope felt them pass close to the left side of his face, but he didn’t even have time to think about how close he’d come to being hit, because he was already firing himself. The AK was set to single shot, and he put two into the gunman’s torso, knocking him backward at just the moment he let loose another burst of gunfire. Then, remembering that one of the terrorists he’d taken out earlier had been wearing a bulletproof vest, Scope adjusted his aim and shot at the gunman’s head. One round missed and a second hit him in the shoulder, spinning him around, before the third took him through the cheekbone.
Unable to stagger because the smaller guy was still holding on to his legs as if his life depended on it, the gunman began to sway like a tree in the wind, a thin line of blood running down his face, before toppling to the carpet with a loud th
ud.
Scope could hear his own breathing, even though he’d been partially deafened by the gunshots. His back felt wet, and he realized he was lying in a pool of the other gunman’s blood. He clambered to his feet, knowing that they all had to get out of there before the other terrorists arrived. The hostages were scattered all over the place and they were all looking at him, including the blond girl who’d helped save his life, and who was now holding her nose as blood poured out of it. Some looked elated; some looked awed; a few just looked plain shocked. Scope looked at the smaller guy—the other person who’d helped save his life. He was panting hard and his face was pale. Scope nodded at him, and mouthed the word “thanks.”
“All right, we’ve got to leave now,” he shouted.
“What about that rucksack?” one of the hostages shouted back. “It’s got a bomb in it.”
“I’ll deal with it,” said Scope. “The rest of you, get the hell out.”
The blond woman got to her feet. “Follow me,” she said through her fingers. “We can go onto the roof terrace outside. The doors should be unlocked.”
No one needed asking twice. As they scattered the tables and chairs piled up against the windows and pulled up the blinds, Scope picked up the rucksack, knowing there was no time for caution, and placed it around on the other side of the restaurant, out of sight of the windows. Then, slinging the AK-47 over his shoulder, he ran back toward the staircase.
It was time to get Abby and Ethan.
86
Cat heard the shots as she was drinking the contents of a bottle of water in the satellite kitchen next to the ballroom. Beside her, Wolf was on the phone talking loudly to the negotiator. “We have waited hours for the British government to come back to us on our demands, and all you have done is send SAS men sneaking around the rear of the building, shooting at us, rather than trying to negotiate in good faith.”
There was a second burst of gunfire from high up in the hotel, faint but definitely distinguishable in the silence, and Wolf stopped talking and cocked his head.
“I thought you said there was no attack!” he shouted over the phone. “What is all that shooting?” Then his face broke into a frown. “What do you mean it’s not you?”
The noise of more shooting tore down the staircase, and Cat glanced over at the TV on the counter. It was showing live news footage of the Park View Restaurant on the ninth floor. A number of the blinds had been pulled up and people were pouring through the open French windows that led out onto the roof terrace. The two men supposed to be guarding them, Dragon and Tiger, were nowhere to be seen.
When Wolf saw what was happening on the TV, his face darkened. “Keep your people back!” he shouted at the negotiator. “Do you understand?” Then he slammed down the phone and turned to Cat. “What’s going on up there?”
“I don’t know,” she said coldly. “But we have to stop them. It’ll be the work of the bastard who killed my brother.” Even as she spoke the words, she felt a rush of frustration and anger that made her face flush, and her grip on the pistol tightened. She had to find him.
Wolf shook his head angrily. “It doesn’t matter now. They’ll be sending the SAS in again. We need to get out of here.”
“How? We’re half an hour early. The bombs won’t blow, and we’ll be caught. This wasn’t part of the plan.”
“We have to try.”
Cat was annoyed by his weakness. “Be a man, Wolf. It’s time for us to make a last stand. Let’s go up there and fight.”
“I am a man,” he said indignantly. “But the plan was to escape.”
“Mine wasn’t. I never expected to leave alive, and I’m surprised you did. We must kill as many of the enemy as possible. For our country. For our leader. For our religion.” She lifted her pistol in a defiant gesture, and patted the pockets of her jacket. “We have the weapons. Let us make them pay.”
87
Fox was in the ballroom when he heard the gunfire.
“What the hell’s going on up there?” hissed Bear.
Whatever it was, it had to be serious. Their hostages had heard it too, and their tension levels were rising once again. The problem was they numbered close to eighty, and with only him and Bear guarding them, all it took was a concerted effort and they’d be overrun in seconds.
“Do you think the SAS are attacking again?”
Fox shook his head. “I don’t think so. Let’s just stay calm. I don’t want this lot to know you’re worried.”
The shooting stopped, but it didn’t make Fox feel any better. It had almost certainly come from the Park View Restaurant. Either Dragon and Tiger had sorted whatever it was and had the situation back under control, or they were dead.
At that moment, the door to the satellite kitchen opened and Cat marched out, with Wolf following. But they didn’t come over. Instead, they made straight for the ballroom door.
“Shit,” cursed Bear. “Now what are they doing?”
“Watch the hostages,” snapped Fox as he caught Wolf’s eye.
Wolf put up two fingers to suggest he and Cat would be back in a couple of minutes, and then they were out the door.
Fox knew instantly they weren’t coming back. There was something too purposeful in their manner. Which meant it was time to make a quick decision. If they stayed put, they risked being trapped there. If they abandoned their stations, they ran the risk of not being paid the balance of the money for the job. But with the information he had, Fox didn’t actually need that money. Also, he knew that the only way Wolf could stop either him or Bear from being paid was by sending a message to the clients claiming they hadn’t done their job properly, but it didn’t look like that was top of his priorities right then.
Bear was standing a few feet away, looking at Fox expectantly.
Fox made his decision. “All right. Let’s go.”
Before anyone could react, he fired a burst of shots over the top of the hostages, and as they cried out and covered their heads, he and Bear turned and ran for the door.
It took a few seconds for the hostages to realize what was happening, but when they did, some jumped to their feet. Someone shouted that they were going to detonate the rucksack bomb that was still right in the middle of them, causing a panicked rush after Fox and Bear.
As Fox reached the door, he turned around and unleashed another burst of fire, scattering the hostages as he tried to buy himself and Bear a few extra seconds, not really worried who or what the bullets hit. Then they were through the door and out into the corridor.
Fox couldn’t hear any movement coming from the ground floor but it wouldn’t be long before the SAS came blasting through the doors. Yanking a grenade from his belt, he pulled the pin and rolled it down the central staircase, keen to cause as much mayhem and noise as possible, then he and Bear sprinted through the double doors in the direction of the emergency staircase.
Ahead of them, the corridor was empty, but behind he could hear the panicked shouts of the hostages as they fought their way through the door, followed by the loud blast of the grenade. In a few minutes, this whole place was going to be a screaming mass of people trying to get out, and SAS men trying to get in, which was exactly what Fox had planned. It would have been helpful if the bombs they’d set on timer had accompanied their escape, but in the end it probably wouldn’t matter.
There was just one more thing to do.
As they ran up the emergency staircase to the second floor, where they’d stashed their civilian clothes and fake IDs in separate rooms, Fox pulled out his pistol, and in one swift movement shot Bear twice in the face, not even stopping to watch as the other man grunted and fell back down the steps. He didn’t feel bad about killing the man who’d saved his life in Iraq all those years before, and who’d got his face ripped to pieces in the process. For Fox, it was all business. The fewer people who knew about him the better. Especially ones with big mouths like Bear.
Fox had already stopped thinking about him as he used his master key card to
open room 202, from where he would shortly emerge as Robert Durran, freelance architect and guest in the hotel, and join all the other fleeing guests unlucky enough to have been caught up in the terrible events of that day.
88
As Scope gently laid Abby down on the roof terrace, helped by Ethan, she was beginning to come around again and blinking against the search beam of the police helicopter circling overhead.
“You’re still at the hotel, but you’re going to be OK,” Scope told her, putting the bottle of Lucozade to her lips. “There are people coming to help you.”
So far, though, with the exception of the helicopter, the cavalry hadn’t actually arrived. The twenty-five or so hostages mingled uncertainly on the terrace, some of them standing at the far end, signaling to the people below to send assistance, nobody really sure what was going on. Scope wasn’t too worried. This was just the chaos of battle—all delays and confusion. The rescuers would be there soon enough, and now that Abby was awake, there was less urgency. It was cold and wet out there on the terrace, but he’d wrapped her in the duvet from the room, so she was protected from the worst of it.
He grinned at Ethan. “See? Your mum’s going to be all right.”
But as Ethan grinned back, a long burst of gunfire came from somewhere in the building, followed by a loud explosion, and a few seconds later a couple carrying two young children, who must have come from one of the guest rooms, hurried through the double doors on to the terrace.
“There are terrorists coming!” said the woman breathlessly.
“They’ve got guns and grenades,” added her husband. “They’re shooting at everyone and everything.”
Scope stood up. “How many of them are there?”
“I don’t know, but they’re not far away.”
A worried murmur went up among the crowd, and they immediately moved farther away from the double doors. Scope picked up Abby and took her over to the far end of the terrace, where she’d be seen and dealt with by the rescuers when they finally arrived.
Siege: A Thriller Page 27
