Siege

Sixty-six

THE SHUFFLING SOUND was coming from beyond one of the doors.

Cat stopped and listened.

The sound came again, followed by a low moan. Someone was still alive.

She smiled and moved through the gloom of the hotel’s main ground floor kitchen, keeping her gun hidden under her jacket, and out of sight, just in case it was a trap. The smell of spent explosives and smoke was strong in her nostrils. Combined with the stench of corpses, it reminded her all too vividly of times gone by.

Stepping over the body of a young man with curly hair and a beard, she looked through the window to the rear courtyard, being careful to stay well back, but couldn’t see anyone. However, whether they were planning an imminent assault or not, there would be Special Forces spotters round here somewhere, and she hoped it was one of them who’d blown himself up, although somehow she doubted it. If he had, he wouldn’t still be here.

The moaning grew louder as she opened the door, and stepped into a narrow corridor that led through to the delivery entrance.

A badly burned man was lying on his back on the floor, his clothes in shreds and his face blackened. Beyond him was what was left of the fire door, little more than a shredded piece of wood hanging off one of its hinges. It was obvious that he’d been trying to leave the hotel and been caught in one of Fox’s booby-traps. A cold wind blew through the gap in the door, and Cat scanned the courtyard through it. It still looked empty, but she felt exposed and uneasy standing so close to the outside world.

The man had heard her approach, and with a huge effort he managed to lift one of his arms a few inches. ‘Help me,’ he whispered, his voice a hoarse rattle.

Removing the gun from where she’d hidden it, Cat stopped next to him and pointed it at his head.

The stench of burnt flesh coming off him was intense, and there was a huge hole in his stomach that was exposing intestines. But his eyes were bright and alert, and they moved round wildly as he saw the gun. ‘Don’t shoot me,’ he whispered weakly. ‘I’ve got children.’

Cat stared down at him dispassionately. Then, without a word, or even a change in expression, she pulled the trigger, the bullet passing directly through one eye.

Having found no one else in the kitchen, Cat crept back, listening out just in case there was anyone else for her to deal with. But the silence was perfect and total.

And then, as she opened the door leading back into the main part of the hotel, she saw the man on the other side of the lobby, beyond the central staircase, heading towards the reception counter. Even though he had his back to her, and the lighting was fairly dim, she could see that he was holding a gun. She could also see that he was dressed in a suit, which meant he wasn’t one of their group.

Which could only mean one thing: this was the man who’d murdered her brother.

A burst of intense rage shot through her veins and she raised her gun once again, aiming down the sights towards the back of his head, following him as he walked, and wondering why he wasn’t trying to break out of the main doors. Then she lowered it. He was at least thirty yards away – too far to guarantee a direct hit. And anyway, a bullet in the back was far too easy a death for a man like him.

No, this one was going to die slowly, and at her pleasure.