Siege

Eighteen

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.