Siege (8 page)

Fox swung the van round in a wide semi-circle and backed it up to where Panther stood in the open doorway, looking over to where Kwame’s body lay unmoving on the ground. Anyone passing along the street outside would see it, but it no longer mattered.

They’d arrived, and soon the whole world would know about what they were doing.

He cut the engine, removed the cap and glasses disguise he’d been wearing, and pulled on a balaclava. Then, grabbing his AK-47 and backpack from behind the seat, he leapt out of the van along with the others, feeling a tremendous exhilaration.

It was time for war.

THE STANHOPE’S MAIN
kitchen was situated on the ground floor, directly below the main ballroom on the mezzanine floor, yet well out of sight of the lobby. It was reached through a soundproofed door marked
STAFF ONLY
, and as soon as Elena was through it she was assailed by the smell and noise of preparations for the evening food service.

Her mood hadn’t improved much. Having mollified the guests who’d originally complained about the late arrival of their room service orders with complimentary champagne, she’d just been informed by reception that there were two more similar complaints, including one from a VIP guest who’d been waiting almost an hour for a steak burger and fries. There were always occasional delays in delivering orders in a hotel the size of the Stanhope, but they tended to be rare. A cluster of five was almost unheard of and Elena had decided to get it sorted out once and for all with the catering manager. If it turned out that Armin was the one responsible, she’d march him off the premises herself then and there.

She spotted a familiar face – Faisal, the Jordanian line cook, who was stirring a giant steaming pot – and he gave her a big grin and an exaggerated tip of his chef’s hat. ‘Miss Serenko. Looking beautiful as always. How are you?’

‘Why thank you, Faisal,’ replied Elena, feeling better immediately. ‘I’m fine, thanks. Have you seen Rav? I need a word with him.’

‘I think he’s out the back telling off one of the employees.’ He arched a thick grey eyebrow and was about to say something else when there was a loud commotion and a series of barked shouts coming from behind the door that led to the kitchen’s main storage and delivery area.

As everyone turned towards it, another sound rang out. One that was unmistakeable.

A gunshot.

No one moved. It was just too unexpected for anyone to react.

And then the door opened and Elena let out a shocked gasp as Rav stumbled through it. Dressed smartly, as always, in a navy suit, he was clutching his stomach, where a dark red stain was visibly spreading across the white of his shirt. His face registered complete surprise – a surprise that was reflected in every other face in the kitchen.

Two more shots rang out in quick succession and Rav’s face appeared to explode, showering one of the stainless steel work surfaces with blood. As he collapsed, another figure filled the doorway. It was Armin, the room service waiter Elena had had the confrontation with barely half an hour earlier, and he was holding a smoking handgun out in front of him.

A young pot washer Elena vaguely recognized was standing a few feet away from Armin, and he leapt at him, going for his gun. But Armin was quicker. He swung round and opened fire, his bullets sending the pot washer crashing backwards.

More men strode into the room, one after another, dressed identically in balaclavas and dark clothing. All were carrying assault rifles.

‘Everyone down on the floor now!’ screamed the first of the men, pointing his rifle straight at Elena’s chest.

For an interminably long, slow moment, she was completely mesmerized by the scene in front of her; then Faisal grabbed her by the collar of her jacket and pulled her to the floor.

A second later the noise of automatic rifle fire from more than one weapon erupted around the kitchen, and as Elena hit the floor, shoulder blades first, she heard Faisal cry out and saw him stumble past her before collapsing to his knees. He swayed unsteadily in that position as more bullets tore up his back like angry geysers, and then he pitched over sideways, landing on Elena’s feet, already dead.

The whole thing had lasted barely ten seconds, and it had taken Elena a good portion of that time to come to terms with what was going on; but now that she had, she experienced an icy, stomach-wrenching terror followed immediately by a desperate desire to survive. Knowing she had to get out of the line of fire, she kicked Faisal’s body off her and scrambled on her hands and knees behind one of the kitchen units as another burst of rifle fire reverberated around the room, the bullets ricocheting like pinballs off the stainless steel work surfaces.

Leaning back against the unit, the fear coming at her in ferocious waves, she realized she was trapped. It was a good ten feet to the door that led back into the lobby, most of it over exposed ground. She’d never make it. She was going to die, helpless and without the people she loved – Rod, her mother, her sister – by her side.

In a hotel kitchen that smelled of fat, for God’s sake.

Elena caught the eye of another member of staff, a young Irishman called Aidan she’d seen working in the kitchens a few times before. She remembered him because he looked more like an artist or a singer than a cook. He had raffish curly hair and a cool beard, and sad but very beautiful blue eyes. Even though she loved Rod, she’d always found Aidan attractive in an exotic way, as if he was a box full of secrets. He was squatting down on his haunches next to a unit a few feet away, looking scared but calm. He tried to give her a reassuring look.

But there was nothing to be reassured about. They could either run and be cut down by the guns or wait here and die.

The shooting had stopped. Somehow, Elena found the silence even more terrifying than the noise because she had no idea what was going to happen next.

She heard more shouting coming from the gunmen, telling people to get down and stay down, followed by footsteps coming closer.

She held her breath and pushed back against the metal, hoping it would somehow open up to conceal her, praying for God’s help.

The footsteps stopped. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a pair of scuffed black shoes, only feet away. On her side of the unit.

Slowly, experiencing a cold dread that seemed to turn her whole body to jelly, she looked up.

Armin stared back at her coldly, no feeling at all in his dark eyes, the barrel of the gun close enough to her face that she could feel its heat.

Then he looked beyond her towards Aidan.

Aidan looked at Armin calmly and there was defiance in his deep blue eyes. ‘There’s no need,’ he said, his voice steady.

The gun kicked violently as Armin pulled the trigger, hitting Aidan in the head. He gasped once and toppled silently to the floor, his blood splattering the tiles. Then he lay still in a foetal position as his face was slowly overrun by a curtain of red.

Seeing him go like that – his life, his dreams, his secrets, snuffed out in an instant – was such a huge shock that Elena hardly noticed Armin turn his gaze back to her.

He looked down at her, and he was smiling as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Surprisingly, like Aidan, she felt perfectly calm. If this was her time, so be it. She thought of Rod. Of the life they could have had together … the sun, the sea, children, because she’d always wanted children. A boy and a girl.

And then one of the balaclava-clad gunmen appeared. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded in a Middle Eastern accent.

‘That one tried to run away,’ Armin lied, motioning dismissively towards Aidan’s body. ‘And this one’s the manager.’

The masked gunman looked down at Elena. ‘All right, on your feet. You’re coming with us.’ He leaned down and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her roughly to her feet, which was when she saw that there were five other gunmen dotted around the room.

God, Elena thought, beginning to panic again. What the hell is going on?

‘Grab anyone that’s still alive and bring them through,’ the man holding her shouted. ‘Fox – you, Panther and Leopard are the vanguard. Now, let’s take the rest of this place. And remember, hold your fire and only shoot when you have to. We want to keep as many people alive as possible.’

With that he shoved the rifle in Elena’s side and dragged her towards the door that led through to the rest of the hotel.

THE PLAN CALLED
for the utmost speed when taking control of the building.

Already things had got out of hand with the assault on the kitchen. Fox had told the men to fire some warning shots to encourage the staff to comply, but the inside man, Panther, had gone crazy, shooting dead at least three people and panicking the others, several of whom had tried to escape. The result had been more people shot down by other members of the team. The Dane, Tiger, had been pretty liberal with the bullets as well, the sadistic bastard. Fox knew it was time to restore discipline, otherwise they’d provoke an early assault from the security forces, which would mess up everything.

As Wolf took hold of the hotel manager, an attractive blonde in a smart trouser suit, and began barking out orders, Fox grabbed Panther by the collar of his waiter’s uniform. He thrust his face in close to the other man. ‘No more unauthorized shooting, or you die too. Understand?’

Panther’s eyes blazed with anger, but Fox was undaunted. The little shit could glare all he wanted. He might be Wolf’s fellow countryman, but he still had to know who was boss.

‘Understand?’

Panther nodded, and Fox motioned for him and the ex-marine Leopard to follow as he ran through the door that led into the lobby, holding his AK-47 out in front of him. He’d set his stopwatch the second the first shot had been fired, and as he came out into the hotel’s immense lobby it read sixty-two seconds.

The kitchen was supposedly soundproofed, but as Fox moved into the lobby the first guests were already hurrying towards the main doors, while the door staff, decked out in their ridiculous tasselled uniforms and peaked caps, had come inside to see what the commotion was. As soon as they saw Fox in his balaclava with the AK and the other two coming in behind him they started bolting for the exits.

‘Everyone on the floor!’ Fox yelled. ‘Now!’

Almost all of them obeyed, but one guy, a businessman in a suit, who’d almost made it to the doors, clearly decided to take the risk and keep going. There was no way Fox could let him go. It would be a show of weakness, and he was too pumped up for that anyway. He’d always found something exhilarating about shooting people – it was the hunter in him – and it was the reason he’d joined the army. He was no indiscriminate killer, he always needed a reason; but give him one and he never hesitated. Flipping the AK to his shoulder, he took aim and, as the man’s hand reached out to push open the glass door, he fired a single burst of automatic weapon fire into his back. The force drove the target into the door with an angry thud. There was the sound of breaking glass, and a second later he collapsed.

Fox looked round the room. ‘Anyone else try anything, they die too.’

No one did. They lay still, faces squashed into the expensive-looking burgundy carpet. There’d be no further resistance here.

Fox motioned for Panther to stand guard over their new hostages, hoping he wouldn’t decide to start shooting them, and took Leopard through the adjacent corridor and into the main bar and restaurant area, where there was now outright panic. People were running around looking desperately for a way out. Unfortunately for them, although there was a bank of windows looking on to Park Lane and Hyde Park beyond, their only obvious means of exit was through the main lobby of the hotel. It was one of the reasons they’d picked the Stanhope as a target. It was easy to corral their prey.

At this time of the afternoon there were also exactly the right numbers. Fox estimated that there were about fifty people in all in the restaurant and bar, a manageable mix of afternoon teas, business drinks and the first of the after-work crowd. An hour later and there’d have been too many; an hour earlier, too few. Like everything else about the op, they’d planned the timing of the assault carefully. Publicity-wise, five p.m. GMT was perfect. Their audience would be eating breakfast in LA, getting ready for lunch in New York, heading home from work in Europe, and sitting down to dinner all across the Arab world. Even in Pakistan, India and beyond people would be up and tuning in to what was happening on a billion television sets.

Soon the whole world would know about them. It was an intoxicating thought.

Once again, Fox yelled at everyone to get down on the floor, putting a burst of fire into the ceiling to encourage them.

There were a few screams, and everyone hit the deck. They really had little choice.

When they were done, Fox walked into the room and began his prepared speech, delivered in a non-specific eastern European accent he’d been working on for the past few months. He spoke loudly, but with a deliberate calmness. ‘Please do not be alarmed. You’ve been taken hostage by the Pan-Arab Army of God. As long as you cooperate, no harm will come to you, and you will be released when our demands are met.’

‘What are your demands?’ came a male voice from somewhere in the middle of the restaurant.

‘Who said that?’ demanded Fox, taking a couple of steps forward.

A balding businessman reluctantly put up an arm.

‘Get up.’

Slowly the businessman got to his feet, palms outstretched in the universal gesture of non-confrontation. He was overweight with a florid expression and an air of self-importance. ‘It’s just I may be able to help. I’m a—’

Fox shot him in the chest with a three-round burst. He knew that the cardinal rule of hostage-taking was to establish total control over your hostages, and that meant eliminating any challenges to your authority quickly and ruthlessly.

Screams and terrified gasps immediately filled the room but Fox ignored them and kept on talking. ‘As I was saying, you will all be released when our demands to the British government are met. In the meantime, you are to do exactly what you are told. Any failure to comply, or any attempt to escape, will result in the same punishment I’ve just meted out to Mr Loudmouth here. Do you all understand?’