Siege

Twenty-four

FOX STOOD OVER the body of the kitchen worker, his AK-47 still smoking, and shook his head angrily. He hadn’t wanted to kill him but the guy had been on the phone to the emergency services, doubtless giving them important information as to the number of gunmen, as well as letting them know there were multiple casualties.

Beside him, Dragon, the man who’d left the bomb at the Westfield, sighed. A former sapper, he was the explosives expert, and Fox had brought him with him to help secure the rear of the hotel, having taken the pretty hotel manager back to the ballroom and the other hostages.

‘What did that prick think he was doing going on a shooting fest like that?’ said Dragon in his deep Welsh accent. He was referring to the actions of Panther, the inside man at the hotel, and his words matched Fox’s own thoughts. ‘It’s stuff like that that brings on an early assault.’

‘I’ll speak to Wolf. Get him to keep an eye on him.’

‘He needs more than that. He’s dangerous. Fucking Arabs. You can’t trust them.’

‘It’s fucking Arabs who are paying our wages,’ Fox reminded him. ‘Come on. We need to get this area locked down. If Special Forces do launch an assault on us, it’ll be through here.’

He went over to the main kitchen window and looked out. They’d killed the lights so that no one from outside could see what they were doing, but it didn’t look like there was anyone watching them. The building at the other end of the courtyard, a vacant office block with no windows looking back towards the hotel, blocked the view from the road. The only way of seeing or getting in was through the archway beneath the office block where the body of the security guard Fox had shot earlier still lay. The street beyond it looked empty. Fox assumed that the police would still be evacuating the area around the Stanhope so for the moment it was safe to work.

The rear of the hotel was their most vulnerable point. If there was an attack, Special Forces would come in through the kitchen and fan out into the building. He and Wolf didn’t have the manpower to put guards down here so it was essential to make entry as difficult for them as possible.

Dragon had brought one of the rucksack bombs with him, and while he prepared it in one of the wheelie bins in the delivery area, Fox locked all the external doors using the manager’s keys and booby-trapped each of them with a grenade – a simple enough procedure that involved taping down the grenade’s lever before loosely attaching it to the doorframe and removing the pin.

They worked quickly and in silence, having practised these manoeuvres time and again in training, and though Fox tried to empty his mind of all thought so that he could focus on the job at hand, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of satisfaction at the way this op had been planned. Even with the complications caused by the earlier uncontrolled shooting in the kitchen, they were still very much on top of things.

Six minutes later, having wheeled the bin out into the courtyard and placed it against the wall among half a dozen others, they were done. It was 17.22, and still the street beyond the archway was empty.

‘Jesus, I don’t know how I got involved in something as risky as this,’ said Dragon, picking up one of the backpacks they’d brought inside the building when they’d first arrived.

Fox grinned at him. He liked Dragon. The guy was no-nonsense. ‘Because you’re on the run and wanted for murder. You don’t have a lot of options.’

‘But I’ve just basically helped seal myself in a building with half the Met outside. I didn’t even walk into a trap. I made it for myself.’

‘It’s all part of the plan,’ said Fox, picking up the other rucksack and hauling it over his shoulder. ‘Cause maximum chaos, maximum embarrassment to the government and the establishment, and then, pfff! We disappear into the ether, two million dollars richer.’

Dragon grunted. ‘That’s the theory, anyway.’

He pulled off his balaclava and dabbed his brow with a tissue. Like the rest of them he was wearing black camouflage paint on his face, and with his dark contact lenses and longer hair he looked far removed from the handsome, raffish surfer-boy who’d appeared in the police mugshots when he broke out of prison, leaving an injured prison guard and a dead kid behind.

‘If it wasn’t risky, you wouldn’t be getting paid two million,’ Fox told him, stepping over one of the bodies and heading for the door, keen to get on.

They walked back through the darkness of the lobby, keeping close to the wall so they couldn’t be seen by anyone outside, then went round the back of reception.

Ultimately, the most important part of the plan was not just getting into the hotel, it was getting out afterwards without getting caught, and they had a plan for that as well.

Using the password he’d been given by the hotel manager, Fox logged into the guest reservation database on one of the tabletop PCs. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket containing a list of fake IDs and which operatives they applied to, and while Dragon watched he matched their names to empty rooms, making a note of the number of each one as he did so.

‘How the hell did you manage to get into the system so easily?’ Dragon asked him when he’d finished.

‘The manager told me. It’s amazing what people will tell you when you’ve got a gun to their head.’

‘That’s the blonde girl in the suit, right? The good-looking one.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Ah man, that’s a pity. I’m assuming we’re going to have to make sure she doesn’t tell the authorities that she gave you the password to their computer system.’

Fox nodded, thinking about what she’d told him earlier, about getting engaged. She seemed a nice girl. ‘You’re right,’ he said, logging out and standing up. ‘She’s going to have to die.’