hand touched the door handle. Tentatively he turned it. The handle turned, but the door was double-bolted from the inside. Stan wasn’t stupid! He wished he’d worked out the problem of how to get inside before he took this mad plunge. A fine bloody fool he’d look if, without even getting over the first hurdle, he now had to worm his way back and face Allen’s wrath.
The next thing to try was the kitchen window. Pressing tight against the wall, he eased himself up and edged toward it. It was an old-fashioned sash type, and by pressing his face against the pane he could see the catch was fastened inside. To unfasten it he would have to break the glass, but could he break it without attracting the attention of Stan and his shotgun? He looked around him for something to use. In the flower bed at his feet was half a brick. He pulled it out and slipped off his mac, which he wrapped around it.
Allen, squinting through night-glasses, couldn’t make out what Frost was up to. It was Ingram, radioing through, who gave him the answer. “He’s going to break the window, sir.”
The bloody idiot! As soon as Eustace heard the glass break, he could take it out on the hostages. He might even lean from the window and shoot Frost… The temptation to let this happen was quickly dismissed, and Allen felt ashamed for even considering it. They would have to provide a distraction and quickly. He radioed through to all surrounding units. When he gave the signal they were to sound their horns and their sirens and keep them going until ordered to stop. This, he hoped, would drown the sound of breaking glass, or at least divert Eustace long enough for Frost to get inside.
The field glasses to his eyes, Allen watched. Frost had the wrapped brick balanced in his hand. “Allen to all units… Stand by.”
Frost shut his eyes, turned his head, and swung back the brick..
“Now!” screamed Allen. The cacophony shredded the night air into a thousand pieces.
“Stop that bloody noise!” screamed Eustace, dragging the woman again to the window.
“Off,” said Allen. Abruptly the noise stopped.
The contrasting silence was so tangible it could almost be touched.
Gritting his teeth, Frost slipped his hand through the broken windowpane and reached for the catch. A needle of broken glass slashed his wrist. Damn. He felt warm blood trickling down. He flicked the catch back, then scrabbled for the bottom of the window, which creaked peevishly as he raised it. Up with his knee to the sill, the jab of more broken glass, then he was over and inside the dark kitchen.
“He’s inside,” cried Allen. They now had no contact with him. All they could do was wait and see.
“Well done, Mr. Allen,” said the Chief Constable.
“Yes… well done,” added Mullett hastily.
From his vantage point across the road, Ingram again called Allen on the radio. “Sir. I have a clear, uninterrupted view of Eustace by the window. Permission to fire?”
“No, damn you,” snapped Allen. “Only at my specific command.” He turned to the Chief Constable. “I’m trying to bring this to a successful conclusion without a single shot being fired by the police, sir.”
“I quite agree,” said the Chief Constable, nodding.
“All the way,” echoed Mullett, feeling rather left out of things.
Frost crouched in the darkened room and wished the gash on his wrist would stop its sticky trickle. It felt as if gallons of blood were pumping out and it reminded him of the way ancient Romans committed suicide. His knee felt wet, sticky, and gritty from embedded chunks of glass. All in all he had made rather a mess of his spectacular entrance.
A door faced him. He limped over to it and cautiously pushed it open.
He could make out carpeted stairs leading to the upper rooms. Good. The carpet should deaden the sound of his approach. His impromptu plan was to creep into the room, get behind Stan, and throw him to the ground so he couldn’t use the shotgun. He fought several different versions of this encounter in his mind, but somehow they all seemed to end up with Stan on top of him and the shotgun barrel rammed halfway up his nose. But this was no time for pessimism.
He padded to the foot of the stairs and listened. All seemed quiet above. He tried the first stair, carefully placing his foot well to one side to avoid any creaking. Then the other foot. A splash of blood plopped to the stair carpet, marking his progress. He paused and listened. Nothing!
The next stair, then the next. His approach was absolutely soundless.
The SAS couldn’t have done it any better.
He raised his head for the final stair and his heart suddenly stopped. The terrified face of a woman was staring at him. An arm encircled her neck. Jammed under her chin, the barrel of a shotgun. Behind her, a twitching Stanley Eustace, his finger quivering on the trigger.
“Shit!” said Frost. “I didn’t think you could hear me.”
“One move out of turn, Mr. Frost,” said Stan, ‘and I’m pulling this trigger.” And he pushed the barrel even more tightly under the woman’s chin. “Now, come up!” Frost had never seen the man as uptight as this before. He was a hairbreadth from breaking point.
“All right, I’m coming,” said Frost. “Don’t do anything daft.”
Pulling the woman back, Stanley led Frost into the bedroom. On chairs against the wall were two terrified young boys.
Eustace took the gun from the woman’s throat and pushed her away from him. “Go and sit down with your kids and not a move, do you hear? Not a move and not a word.” He swung the gun around to cover Frost.
“Sadie sent me,” said Frost. “She said you’d be pleased to see me. I wouldn’t have come had I known it would be like this.”
“I want a car,” said Eustace. “A getaway car. And they’ve got to promise not to come after me.”
“Sadie said if I came up here, you’d let the hostages go,” said Frost.
“No. I need them!” His finger kept touching the trigger then moving off.
“You don’t need them, Stanley. If you want a hostage, you’ve got me. Besides, you haven’t the slightest intention of harming them, and those kids ought to be in bed.”
Allen put down the phone. “Eustace says he’s letting the woman and the kids go, but Frost remains.”
“That’s excellent news,” said Mullett.
“Is it?” muttered Allen. “All we’ve done is swap one set of hostages for another. We’re back to where we started.”
“Jack Frost will get Stanley to come out, don’t you worry,” chimed Sadie. “He won’t let you bastards kill him.”
PC Collier, watching the garden, called out excitedly to Allen. “The hostages are coming out now, sir.”
Frost was reaching for his cigarettes. “Stan, if I take out a fag, will you promise not to blow my head off.”
The gun moved with Frost’s hand as it dived into his pocket. The gunman shook his head when the packet was offered to him. “Given it up.”
Frost clicked his lighter. “Wish I could, Stanley.” He sucked on the cigarette and let the smoke fill his lungs, then slowly exhaled. “You’ve got to give yourself up some time, Stan. Why not now?”
“I want a car, petrol…”
Frost waved his hand impatiently. “You know bloody well they’re not going to give it to you. They’ve got the press and the TV cameras out there, all waiting for the happy ending with the crook losing and the police coming out on top. Mr. Mullett’s hoping for a different happy ending you blowing my brains out. But there’s no way they’re going to let you get into a motor and drive away.” The man’s entire body started to shake. “If the bastards want a fight, I’ll give them one. They framed me. I never touched that copper.”
The waiting and the hanging about was making Mullett impatient. “What’s going on, Allen?”
Allen wished Mullett would get back to the office and stop being a pain. All this standing behind him and fidgeting and expecting things to happen just because the great Chief Constable was there was getting on his nerves. He radioed Ingram. “What’s happening, Sergeant?”
“Mr. Frost is by the window, sir, Eustace well back, the gun trained on the inspector. No chance of a shot at the moment, sir, I might hit Mr. Frost. Hold on, sir something’s happening…”
“As God is my witness,” said Eustace, the finger on the trigger shaking dangerously, “I never touched that copper. I never even saw him that day. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Stanley,” said Frost uneasily, ‘with a gun rammed in my gut I’m prepared to believe anything.”
