Siege

Sixty-two

21.20

GRAHAM JONES SHOULD HAVE been home for dinner at eight at the absolute latest. He’d told his wife that morning before he left for work that he had a business meeting in Birmingham which was why he’d be home at eight rather than the usual time of six.

In truth, since 1.30 that afternoon Graham Jones had been in the Stanhope Hotel, ensconced in a room on the fifth floor with his lover of more than two years. Like Graham, Victor Grayson was married with children and couldn’t afford for his secret to come out – at least not until his children had grown up and left home. Perhaps then the two of them could live together in peace and quiet. But until that time they had to make do with clandestine meetings at anonymous London hotels where no one would give them a second glance. And today they’d chosen the worst venue possible.

For the last four hours they’d been trapped in their room as the dramatic events of a full-blown siege played out around them. Victor had stayed remarkably calm, saying that they should stay in the room and wait for help to arrive, which it surely had to do eventually. But then Victor had the advantage of not being expected home until much later. His wife seemed to be a lot more laid back than Graham’s wife Carol, who these days acted as if she was permanently suspicious of him, even though he was sure she had no idea about Victor. Carol would have a heart attack if she knew he had a male lover, and who could blame her? It was bad enough losing your husband of more than fifteen years to a woman, but for a conservative, middle-class woman like Carol, who liked to keep up appearances, losing him to a man would be too much to bear. Graham kidded himself that this was the reason he didn’t want her to find out, but deep down he knew it was far more than that. He didn’t want the embarrassment of being outed as a gay man in front of his parents and brother, and he didn’t want a messy divorce while the kids were still young.

But as time kept ticking by, so the chances of his secret being exposed to the world grew greater. Surprisingly, it was this, rather than being caught by the terrorists who’d taken over the hotel, that scared him the most. He was sure Victor was right when he said that they should stay put, but he also knew how long sieges could last. Days in some cases. He’d read once about one in Hackney that had lasted three bloody weeks. He couldn’t have that. He had to get out. Make a break for it somehow.

Victor had told him not to be so stupid. That he’d be risking his neck for no good reason. ‘Text her,’ he’d suggested. ‘Say you’re stuck on the train.’

But when he’d tried to text, the message had bounced back. He’d tried again every fifteen minutes until eventually he’d realized that the signal had been cut deliberately, leaving him with no means of communication with the outside world, other than the hotel phone, and if he used that he’d have to whisper and the stress he was suffering from would be obvious. Also, Carol was technically minded and suspicious enough that she’d be able to trace where the call had come from.

Which was how Graham now found himself alone in the hotel lobby, having walked all the way down the emergency staircase from the fifth floor. It had been the most terrifying journey of his life, and Victor had begged him not to make it. At one point he’d even tried to physically prevent Graham from leaving the room, grabbing him in a bear hug. ‘I can’t lose you,’ he’d whispered, tears in his eyes.

But Graham had made his mind up. ‘I’ll be all right,’ he’d answered. ‘I promise.’ And with that he’d broken free and gone, with barely a goodbye, still hoping that he could come up with a reason Carol would believe as to why he was so late.

Keeping close to the side of the main staircase for cover, he looked over towards the hotel’s front doors, wondering if there was someone guarding them. He couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t necessarily mean no one was there. One of the glass panes was cracked and it looked as if someone had fired shots through it.

Thirty yards separated him from freedom, and the heavy silence gave him confidence that no one would try to stop him if he made a dash for it.

But there was another problem. He was pretty sure Carol would be watching events on the TV. Since she’d got made redundant earlier in the year, she’d become something of a newshound with an addiction to Al-Jazeera, of all channels. If he went out the front of the hotel, she might see him on TV, and even if she didn’t, someone would, and his secret would be out. It seemed so stupid under the circumstances to worry about something like this, but he couldn’t help it. So much of his life was based on this one major lie that if it were to be discovered, everything else would come crashing down around him. Right then, he’d rather die than face that happening.

He’d go out the back. That would be easier. He knew that the Stanhope backed on to narrow streets where TV cameras would almost certainly be prohibited. He could get out without being seen, at least in public. Then one quick call to Carol, apologizing and bemoaning the state of the British railway system – a perfectly plausible explanation given how appalling it usually was – and everything would be fine. The strange and terrible events of this night would be his and Victor’s secret for ever.

From somewhere up the top of the stairs he thought he heard a moan. It was followed immediately by a barked, unintelligible order. Turning away quickly, Graham made his way across the floor and through a door marked STAFF ONLY.

Straight away his nostrils were assailed by an appalling stench. Holding his breath, he made his way down a narrow, dark corridor, then through another door, and into the hotel kitchens. The smell was far worse in there and it took him only seconds to realize why, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. There were bodies, three of them as far as he could see, dressed in chef’s whites and lying on the floor in pools of blood. A wave of nausea overcame him and he had to put his hand on one of the worktops to steady himself. Graham Jones had never seen a dead body before, and to see three in such appalling circumstances was a nightmare come true.

Plucking up the necessary courage, he skirted around them and tried the windows that led out on to an empty courtyard behind the building, only to find them all locked. He needed to get away from the stench of death and breathe some fresh air. After hours trapped in the hotel room, freedom was finally so close.

Making a conscious effort not to look down, Graham stepped over a body and went through another door. He almost tripped over another corpse blocking the way, but managed to stop himself. To his right was a fire door with a push-lever handle. It had to lead outside, and it wouldn’t be locked. It might be alarmed, but right then that was the least of Graham’s worries. He hurried over to it, forcing down the lever and pushing it open in one movement, immediately feeling a welcome slap of frigid air against his face, hardly hearing the clunk as the fully primed grenade dropped to the floor.