pushed the gun against his cheek and ordered him to bite down hard on the gag, and he did as he was told.
When she’d finished gagging him, she pulled out his mobile phone and switched it off. It would be switched on again later and moved to different places in the hotel to confuse any rescuers trying to locate him.
She then pulled out her own phone and speed-dialled a number. ‘I have the prize,’ she said, ‘and it’s ready to be opened.’
And Michael Prior truly was a prize. But then, a director of MI6 was always going to be.
Seventeen
16.40
WOLF PUT DOWN his mobile and turned to Fox. As he did so, some of the hardness left his face, and for a moment he had that faraway look of the daydreamer.
Every man has a weakness, thought Fox, and, like a lot of men, Wolf’s was the opposite sex. The woman on the other end of the line had him wrapped round her little finger, and that worried Fox because she was a wilful little bitch. He had the feeling that when the op began in earnest she might well cause problems.
He’d have to watch that.
‘Cat’s got him,’ Wolf said as Fox turned the van out of the traffic chaos of Park Lane and down one of the side streets. ‘The MI6 man is ours.’
‘Good. She’s done well.’
And she had too. To lure such a senior member of one of the largest intelligence agencies in the world into a honey-trap was no mean feat, and it had taken a lot of skill and planning. But then it seemed that Michael Prior’s weakness was women too.
Fox drove the van round the back of the Stanhope Hotel, parking on double yellow lines a few yards short of the delivery entrance. The journey had taken them eight minutes longer than anticipated, and Fox could almost feel the adrenalin surging round the interior as each of them prepared for the assault. Wolf had pulled back the curtain separating the front cab from the back, and Fox could see the others now. Each of them was quiet and focused. Everyone was waiting to begin.
Wolf put his mobile on loudspeaker and made a call to Panther, their inside man in the Stanhope.
Panther was Cat’s brother, Armin. Both Fox and Wolf had met him on a number of occasions as they endeavoured to find out everything they could about the hotel. He was an unpleasant little bastard with a bad attitude who resented the fact that he might have to take orders from Fox, a foreigner he neither knew nor respected, but in the three weeks he’d been working at the Stanhope as a room service waiter he’d been an invaluable source of information.
It had been no problem getting him the job. Big hotels are notorious for their lack of background checks. He possessed good-quality fake papers supplied by his embassy, entitling him to work in the UK, and the fact that he had no experience, and virtually nothing on his CV to indicate what he’d been doing for the past few years, was clearly of no consequence. What mattered to the hotel’s management was that he had a valid work permit and, more importantly, was prepared to work hard for the frankly appalling wages on offer.
Panther answered immediately. ‘What kept you?’ he hissed into the phone. ‘I’ve been waiting by the back door for the last fifteen minutes. If anyone spots me—’
‘We’re here now,’ Wolf told him. ‘What’s the situation in there?’
‘Everything’s good. The kitchens are beginning to get busy. About twenty to twenty-five staff inside.’
‘What’s the security on the gate like? Can you see?’
‘Just the usual guy, Kwame. He’s sat down reading the paper. I can see him now.’
Wolf and Fox exchanged glances, then Fox turned to the men in the back. They were all sat up straight in anticipation, cocking their weapons.
‘OK, get the back door open,’ ordered Wolf. ‘We’re coming in.’
‘Right,’ Fox said, ‘we all know what we’re doing. This is crowd control, not a shooting fest. We want them scared but not panicking. But if anyone resists or makes a bolt for it, take them down. If any of you still have mobiles on you, turn them off now and do not use them for the duration of the op. From now on, all communications are face to face. Got that?’
Every man grunted his agreement.
Fox pulled the van away from the kerb and into an archway that led through to a rear courtyard where the Stanhope received all its deliveries. As the van approached the single-bar security gate, Kwame put his paper down and got up from the chair. He was only a young guy – twenty-five, twenty-six – with the kind of round boyish face that was never going to cause anyone any trouble.
As he walked up to the driver’s-side window, Fox pulled a gun from the seat pocket beside him and pointed it at his face. ‘Open the gate.’
Kwame nodded rapidly and immediately put a code into a keypad on the gatepost that lifted the gate automatically, before shoving his hands in the air just so no one was in any doubt that he was being cooperative.
Not that it made any difference. Fox held his gun arm ramrod straight and shot him in the eye, the bullet’s retort echoing round the archway, before accelerating into the courtyard.
Panther had already opened the double doors that led through to the kitchens, and it looked like he was talking animatedly to someone behind him.
Fox swung the van round in a wide semi-circle and backed it up to where Panther stood in the open doorway, looking over to where Kwame’s body lay unmoving on the ground. Anyone passing along the street outside would see it, but it no longer mattered.
They’d arrived, and soon the whole world would know about what they were doing.
He cut the engine, removed the cap and glasses disguise he’d been wearing, and pulled on a balaclava. Then, grabbing his AK-47 and backpack from behind the seat, he leapt out of the van along with the others, feeling a tremendous exhilaration.
It was time for war.
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.
