Siege (36 page)

Fox wasn’t unduly nervous as he joined one of the queues that led down to four desks at the far end where officers with laptops were processing individuals, even though armed CO19 cops and at least one team of black-clad SAS men were positioned around the interior to make sure no one tried to make a break for it. He was dressed in a crumpled suit, with smoke marks on his face, and he looked just like any other civilian.

There were only a couple of people in front of him, and as he waited, he checked his new civilian phone, which had been registered in the name Robert Durran two weeks earlier. There was reception, and he felt confident enough to send a text to a number he’d memorized earlier. The content was innocent enough: HAVE MADE IT OUT! TOMORROW AT 10. I HAVE GREAT NEWS. RD XXX. Fox didn’t think anyone would bother checking his phone, but if they did he would tell them that, having made it out of the hotel in one piece, he now wanted to propose to his fiancée.

In reality, TOMORROW AT 10 represented his payday, the time when he would hand over to his contact the information given to him under torture by Michael Prior, in exchange for five million dollars. The information was simply a name, nothing more. But it happened to be the name of a very senior member of the Chinese government who was providing high-level intelligence to MI6, and very likely the CIA. This man’s identity was so secret that, including Fox himself, probably no more than half a dozen people knew it, which made the information very valuable indeed. Fox suspected his contact, the same right-wing extremist who’d put him in touch with Wolf all those months ago, was selling it on for far more money, but that wasn’t his concern. He’d be rich enough after this to retire to the home he was having built for himself in the tropics, and never be seen or heard from again, which was just the way he liked it.

It was his turn at the desk. Two officious-looking uniformed cops sat there, while a CO19 with an MP5 stood behind them.

‘Name please, sir,’ said the first one.

‘Robert Durran.’

‘Were you a guest in the Stanhope?’

‘Yes. Room 202.’

The second one typed something on the laptop, and nodded to the first, who asked Fox if he had any ID.

‘Yes, I do.’

But as he reached into his pocket for the wallet, he heard a commotion behind him.

‘I know him,’ said an older-looking black man in dungaree overalls who was standing a couple of people back in the next line. ‘He’s one of them,’ he continued, pointing at Fox. ‘He’s one of the terrorists. I was hiding in the crawlspace in the ballroom kitchen. I heard him speaking in there loads of times. It’s him. I’m sure of it.’

Everyone was looking at Fox now. He could have tried to brazen things out, but it wouldn’t take the authorities long to work out the truth if they delved any deeper into his background. Which left him with only one option.

In one movement he turned and bolted for the exit, knowing he was never going to make it. He was trapped and unarmed, but he knew he couldn’t surrender and face the rest of his days behind bars. That would be too much.

He heard the angry shouts of armed officers screaming at everyone to get down, saw people hitting the deck like a falling line of dominoes, saw the guns pointing at him from every direction.

And then someone in one of the lines threw out a leg and Fox pitched forward over it, his mobile clattering across the tarmac.

In the next second, he felt someone jump on his back, knees first, screaming and shouting. Fox gasped in pain as the wind was taken out of him. It was one of the hostages. As Fox tried to struggle free from his grip, a great shout rose up from the other hostages, and they fell upon him, tearing at his hair and face and screaming abuse as they dragged him to his feet.

He felt a surge of panic as he was kicked and punched and scratched. These people were going to tear him apart limb from limb – he could hear the bloodlust in their voices. They weren’t going to stop. Someone spat in his face; someone else was trying to ram fingers into his eyes; another tugged savagely at his hair.

But then the people moved away, and once again he was being slammed back to the ground, except this time he felt the cold metal of gun barrels being pushed against his head, and gloved hands roughly searching him. Unable to stop himself, he threw up, just as someone took a photo of him lying with his face in the dirt, completing his humiliation.

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 any more.

He was caught.

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, her pace quickening on the wet grass.

And then, just as suddenly, she stopped, feeling a growing sense of dread.

She turned round and watched John Cheney walk back towards the incident room.

Which as far as Arley was concerned could only mean one thing.

He already knew.

‘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 round, 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 had 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 round 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 round 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 round 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, recovering 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 rugby-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 favour, 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 towards the outer cordon, before finally breaking into a run.

It was time to see her children.

23.17

TINA STOOD ON
the doorstep of Arley Dale’s mother’s attractive modern townhouse, looking out on to 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 here 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-run thing, and, given everything else she’d done, including killing a man, it might not be enough to save her from prison.