Siege: A Thriller

by Simon Kernick

  With his vision blurred from the attempt to gouge out his eyes, he heard rather than saw someone pick up his mobile from the ground, and shout something about the text he’d just sent.

  It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore.

  He was caught.

  92

  The moment Arley walked back in the room, everyone turned her way.

  “Ma’am, where the hell have you been?” John Cheney asked incredulously. He was down to his shirtsleeves and looked more stressed than she’d seen him all night. “The SAS have gone in and we’ve got hostages coming out.”

  “Silver Commander’s on the line from 1600, ma’am,” said Janine.

  Riz Mohammed had the phone to his ear, but he was shaking his head. “I’m getting no answer at all. Right now, I have no idea what’s going on in the hotel.”

  Arley looked around. She felt numb. She had her children back, and for that she was truly thankful in a way she couldn’t describe, but now that they were safe the enormity of her losses bore down on her like a lead weight.

  She turned to Janine. “Can you tell Silver that I wish to be relieved of my post. I’d recommend that Chris Matthews take over for the duration. Thanks to each and every one of you for all your efforts tonight.”

  There was a stunned silence lasting a good three seconds, before Cheney finally broke it. “Arley? Ma’am? You can’t just leave in the middle of a crisis like this. It’s bloody madness.”

  Arley fixed him with a hard stare. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can do.”

  Cheney started to say something else, but she’d already turned her back and was walking out the door, knowing it was only a matter of time before her colleagues realized what she’d done, but knowing too that she had to see Oliver and India before she was arrested. Only then would she be able to prepare herself to face the consequences of her actions.

  But she’d barely gone ten yards across the grass in the direction of the outer cordon when she heard footsteps behind her.

  It was Cheney.

  She stopped, facing him. “Leave me alone, John.”

  “At least tell me what’s going on, Arley. You’ve been behaving strangely all night. And who exactly was your mysterious source who knew that the SAS were walking into an ambush?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  He took a step forward. “Come on. We go back a long way. I may be able to help.”

  She didn’t know if he could or not, but before she had time to think about it, she was talking. “My children were kidnapped by the terrorists who organized this siege. They used me to tell them the plans for an assault on the building. I almost sent those SAS men to their deaths.”

  “Jesus. What stopped you?”

  “The kids escaped,” lied Arley, knowing she had to be careful to protect Tina’s role.

  “So, there was no informant?”

  “No, there wasn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do.”

  “You can cover my tracks, and give me some time. I need to go and see my children. I need to tell them about Howard.”

  Cheney nodded. “I understand. And I’ll do what I can.”

  Arley managed a tight smile. “Thanks, John.”

  “Good luck, Arley.”

  They looked at each other for a long moment, and she wondered if he still felt something for her after all these years. If he did, it was way too late.

  She turned away and started walking. Then stopped, feeling a growing sense of dread. She turned around and watched John Cheney walk back toward the incident room.

  When she’d told him just now that she had to tell the children about Howard, he hadn’t asked what had happened to him, he’d just replied “I understand.” Which as far as Arley was concerned could only mean one thing.

  He already knew.

  93

  “How the hell did you know about Howard?”

  They were just a few yards from the mobile office, the area around them almost deserted now that all the available officers had gone forward to deal with the hostages as they came out of the hotel. Fires burned in some of the Stanhope’s upstairs windows, lighting up the night sky, but Arley hardly noticed them. She was too busy confronting the man she was now convinced had something to do with the kidnapping of her children.

  When he turned around, Cheney looked so shocked and confused that a part of her doubted the accusation she was throwing at him. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “I told you that I had to tell my children what happened to him, and you said you understood. You didn’t ask what happened to him. That means you must have known he was dead.”

  “Arley, I think all this stress is getting to you.”

  “It’s not. You know something.”

  But did he? Or was she imagining it?

  No, she couldn’t be. All night she’d wondered how the terrorists had known so much about the police operation. It stood to reason that they had an inside man. Cheney wouldn’t have been able to get hold of the SAS plans himself. Nor would he have wanted to when he could use Arley to do it for him, and therefore keep suspicion firmly away from himself.

  Her mind was a maelstrom as she stood glaring at the man who’d once, many years ago, been her lover. Now she was accusing him of complicity in mass murder, including that of her husband. It all seemed so surreal.

  “I ought to have you arrested right now,” said Cheney angrily. “And if there was anyone around here, I would. But right now, someone’s got to take responsibility for the operation now that it’s been compromised. Just go and see your children while you still can.”

  He turned away from her.

  “You’ll get found out,” she called after him. “When they arrest me, I’ll tell them to investigate you. And they will. They’ll want to know how the terrorists knew I was going to be a commander today.”

  “Anyone could have guessed it if they’d known you were on duty. It’s not rocket science.”

  “You won’t have been that good at covering your tracks, John,” she continued, ignoring his protests.

  “Come on, Arley.” Cheney sighed, turning back around and walking up to her. “This is ridiculous.”

  At the last second, she saw him glance out of the corner of his eye to check that there was still no one around, and knew immediately what was going to happen next.

  His hands shot up and he grabbed her roughly by the throat, squeezing as hard as he could as he tried to drag her behind one of the empty squad cars. But Arley reacted fast, grabbing his crotch and twisting with all the strength she had. His grip loosened and they both fell over, Cheney on top. They struggled violently on the ground, Arley driven on by anger as she scratched and kicked him, but Cheney was a big man and his hands were still around her throat, applying more and more pressure, and Arley began to feel herself passing out.

  “What’s going on?”

  It was Janine Sabbagh, standing over them.

  Cheney immediately released his grip and Arley gasped for air.

  “It’s not what it looks like, Janine,” said Cheney, rolling off her. “DAC Dale was resisting arrest.”

  “It seemed like you were trying to strangle her,” said Janine, looking totally shocked.

  “He was trying to kill me,” Arley gasped, getting shakily to her feet.

  “Don’t be stupid,” snapped Cheney. “Get back inside, Janine. I’ll handle this.”

  “No, stay here, please.”

  “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here,” Janine said uncertainly.

  There was a shout from behind her and Chief Inspector Chris Matthews came running into view, accompanied by three CO19 officers. “I need to see both your phones,” he said, addressing Arley and Cheney. “In fact I need to see the phones of everyone here. We’ve just traced a mobile phone contacted a few minutes ago by one of the terrorists to this exact area.”

  “It’ll belong to him,” said Arley, rec
overing herself now.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” spat Cheney, but there was the first sign of doubt in his voice.

  Matthews put out a hand, and one of the CO19s raised his MP5. “I need to see the phones now.”

  Arley saw Cheney tense just before he made a run for it. As he took off into the darkness away from Matthews and the others, she leaped forward and tackled him, sending him to the ground with a hugely satisfying thud.

  Matthews was on him like a whippet, followed by the CO19 officers, and Cheney’s struggles ceased as his hands were cuffed behind his back.

  “Do me a favor, ma’am,” said Matthews, turning to Arley, “and tell me what’s going on here.”

  “This man’s working with the terrorists,” she answered, standing up and brushing herself down. “I discovered his identity and he tried to kill me. Get him into the incident room and we’ll organize a vehicle to take him down to Paddington Green for questioning.”

  Matthews and the others hauled Cheney to his feet, and Cheney pointedly ignored Arley’s gaze as he was led back to the incident room. Only Janine lingered. She looked at Arley strangely, as if there were still a lot of unanswered questions, which there were. Then she too turned away.

  Arley pulled out her phone, putting it to her ear as if about to make a call, then she started walking briskly across Hyde Park toward the outer cordon, before finally breaking into a run.

  It was time to see her children.

  94

  23:17

  Tina stood on the doorstep of Arley Dale’s mother’s attractive modern townhouse, looking out onto the empty wet street. Lights were on in all the houses, and Tina was pretty sure that behind every curtain people were watching the events continue to unfold at the Stanhope.

  On the way over in the car, she’d heard the news that all the gunmen were supposedly now dead and Special Forces were in the building, clearing it room by room, floor by floor, while bomb disposal teams had dealt with a number of suspect devices. Tina knew that her actions had almost certainly saved the lives of SAS operatives, but it had been a close thing, and, given everything else she’d done, including killing a man, it might not be enough to save her from prison.

  For the past few months, at the back of her mind she’d toyed with the idea of appealing against her dismissal from the Met and trying to resurrect her career as a police officer. But this had ruined any such ambitions completely. There was no way on earth they could let her back in now.

  But Tina didn’t regret what she’d done. A man had once told her that you should judge your actions by how much good they do; if the good outweighed the bad, then those actions were worth it. The man who’d said it might have been a killer many times over, but even so Tina felt he had a valid point. And tonight, the good she’d done far outweighed the bad.

  She stubbed her cigarette out on a waist-high stone flowerpot, and rubbed her hands against the cold. She could do with warming up but she had no desire to go back inside, where Arley’s mum would only keep bombarding her with questions. And to be fair, who could blame her? But right now she wasn’t interested in answering them.

  A black cab turned into the street, stopping directly outside. It was Arley, still in her DAC finery, although it was looking somewhat disheveled. Tina had always thought there was something pompous about the uniform of the senior officers in the Met, and she wondered what the taxi driver must have thought when Arley had hailed him.

  After paying him, Arley walked up the steps to where Tina was standing, stopping in front of her. She took a deep breath, and threw her arms around Tina. “Thank you so much for what you’ve done. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

  Tina pulled away gently. “Save the hugs for the children, Arley. You haven’t got much time.”

  Arley took a step back. “Have you called the police?”

  “I have, but I haven’t told them where to find us. I’m going to need to call them again now and tell them to come here.”

  “Can’t you leave it for a little while?”

  Tina shook her head. “I left a crime scene containing the body of the man I killed. I can’t afford to avoid them. Neither can you right now.”

  Arley gave an understanding nod. “Then I guess I’d better hurry up.”

  Tina stepped aside to let her past. She didn’t envy Arley, having to tell her children that they’d lost their father. It was going to be a hard conversation, especially after all they’d been through. But they were good, brave kids and they would have family around them. And at least, unlike many of the victims of that day, they still had their lives in front of them.

  Lighting another cigarette, she put up her collar against the cold and walked slowly up the street, waiting until she finished it before making the call.

  Then she walked back to the house and sat down on the bottom of the steps to wait.

  SIXTEEN DAYS LATER

  * * *

  95

  It was a mild afternoon for December, but raining steadily, as it had been for days, and already very dark, as the mourners filed slowly out of the ancient church. Beyond the wall stood a very wet-looking camera crew—the only sign that the funeral of Martin Geoffrey Dalston was any more than just a run-of-the-mill event. Dalston was by no means the first victim of the terrorist attack on the Stanhope to be buried, but there was a rumor that he was in line for a posthumous bravery award, which probably explained the presence of the camera crew.

  Scope had stood at the back of the church, keeping well out of sight, and consequently he was one of the first people out. He wore a hat with a scarf pulled up over half his face, so that no one would recognize him, but unfortunately the walking stick he was having to use, courtesy of the bullet in his arse, was a bit of a giveaway. During the week he’d spent in the hospital the police and the staff had kept the media at bay, but since then everyone had been trying to get some sort of comment from him. Scope knew he was a big story—the guy who’d taken on the terrorists and saved the lives of dozens of hostages. They’d dug up and picked over his past. His eighteen-year military service, including two tours each in Iraq and Afghanistan; marriage to his childhood sweetheart, and fatherhood at nineteen; the affairs; the messy divorce; and, most poignant of all, the tragedy of his daughter.

  That was the part Scope hated about it the most. Dredging up what had happened to Mary Ann for the entertainment of the masses. He didn’t want anyone knowing about her. It was none of their business, and never would be. He was surprised, though, that the media hadn’t delved further into what had happened after her death. If they had, they’d have discovered an explosive story that would have satisfied even the most jaded reader. Maybe one day they would, and he’d be found out. But there was no point in him worrying about that now. He’d done what he had to do.

  It was a two-hundred-yard walk back to where he’d parked his car, and since he was still out of practice at walking with pins in his leg, his progress was slow. He kept his head down as other mourners overtook him, and was relieved that he wasn’t seen by the camera crew. He’d looked for Abby and Ethan in the church but didn’t think they’d been there, which was probably for the best, although he’d have liked to see Ethan again one more time. He’d received a card from them when he was in the hospital, thanking him for all he’d done. It had a Florida postmark, and Ethan had enclosed a picture he’d drawn of Scope as an action man with immense biceps, an ill-fitting suit, and a very big gun. Scope had put it on the table by his hospital bed, and he had it now, packed up among his belongings.

  As he reached the car and felt in his pocket for the keys, someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and saw that it was the blond manager from the hotel whose name, he’d found out afterward, was Elena Serenko. She was wearing a black dress underneath a long dark raincoat and black head scarf, and she reminded Scope of a young Bette Davis.

  “Hello,” she said, with a shy smile. “I thought I saw you inside the church.”

 
“I was trying to keep a low profile. I guess it didn’t work.”

  “The cane doesn’t help. How are your injuries?”

  “I’m on the mend. I was very lucky. I got hit twice and no major internal damage, but I’m going to be walking with this for a while yet.”

  “I wanted to say thank you again for what you did for us in the hotel.”

  “Thank you too. You helped save my life.”

  There was an awkward silence, and Scope had the idea that she wanted to say something else.

  “Are you going back to the wake?” she asked.

  Scope shook his head. “No. I only came to pay my respects. He was a good man.”

  “Do you know, I only knew him for a few hours but I feel like I found out so much about him. Does that make sense?”

  “You can find out a lot about someone in that time. Especially in difficult circumstances.”

  “Martin told me he had a girlfriend once. Someone he’d stayed with in the hotel many years ago, who was the love of his life, and who he hadn’t seen in more than twenty years. It’s mad, I know, but I kept looking for her today. I wanted to talk to her.” Elena suddenly looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m standing here in the pouring rain telling you all this.”

  “It’s OK.”

  There was another awkward silence, this one longer. Scope was about to say something when Elena started speaking again. “We had a guest in one of the suites at the Stanhope called Mr. Miller. He’d been there for a while, and I have to admit, I didn’t like him very much. On the day of the terrorist attack, he was killed, along with his two bodyguards. But the thing is, the terrorists didn’t kill them. I know that because I heard them talking about it.” She frowned. “I don’t know how to say this,” she continued, looking embarrassed again, “but did you know anything about him?”