made direct contact yet. We’ve tried calling the hotel on the external lines but there’s been no response. To be honest, we don’t know if they actually want to negotiate. From what we can gather they’re holding hostages rather than conducting a massacre. Having said that, though, the military are being put on standby and my guess is responsibility for the operation will get turned over to them sooner rather than later if we can’t make contact.’
Riz nodded. ‘I’m assuming this is connected with the bomb attacks at the Westfield and Paddington.’
‘We think so, so it’s obvious they’re not too worried about taking human life. Also, when they attacked the hotel, which happened at just before five o’clock, they killed several people in the kitchen, and opened fire on the first officers at the scene.’
‘That’s not going to help the negotiations. I was told they’re from an organization called the Pan-Arab Army of God. Does that mean they’re Islamic extremists?’
‘We don’t know anything about them yet but, given what we’ve got so far, we’ve got to assume that, yes.’
She saw the concern on his face when she said this. Islamic extremists were notoriously tricky to negotiate with because they were unpredictable and far less concerned with staying alive than the average hostage- taker.
‘I’m sorry to put this on you, Riz. But if anyone’s got a chance of turning this round, it’s you.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll do my absolute best, but I’m no miracle worker.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘None of us are. We’ve just got to hope we can conjure up something.’
By now they were approaching the command centre. Groups of officers and assorted emergency services personnel were milling about, talking in low voices, as they waited in the cold night air for instructions. Most of them looked nervous, but then, thought Arley, that was to be expected. Their home city was under attack from a group who’d already caused carnage and chaos at two separate locations, and who now controlled one of the most prestigious hotels in London. And right now it looked like the bad guys were winning.
Arley took a deep breath. One thing she’d learned in the best part of a quarter of a century in the force was that criminals, however well organized, had weaknesses that could be exploited. The key to success was locating those weaknesses.
Her mobile rang in her trouser pocket. It was Gold Commander, Commissioner Phillips – the first time she’d heard from him for over half an hour.
‘Has your negotiator turned up yet?’ he asked, trying to sound calm and collected but falling just that little bit short.
‘I’ve just collected him. We’re outside the incident room.’
‘You need to hurry. We’ve had contact. A man with a Middle Eastern accent has just phoned, saying he’s the commander of the Pan-Arab Army of God forces in the Stanhope Hotel. He’s demanded to speak to me personally in the next fifteen minutes, or his men are going to kill a hostage.’
‘You haven’t spoken to him, sir, have you?’ she asked, thinking it would be a complete breach of procedure if he had.
‘Of course not,’ he answered gruffly. ‘That’s your negotiator’s job. The call was made from a landline in the kitchen on the mezzanine floor, and it was logged at 18.20. That’s six minutes ago.’
‘What instructions shall I give our negotiator?’
Phillips paused. ‘That’s the thing, Arley. They’re very specific. I’ve just been on the phone to the Prime Minister, and he’s very concerned.’
‘We all are, sir.’
‘Not just about the situation with the civilian hostages.’ Phillips spoke slowly and carefully, the concern in his voice becoming steadily more obvious. ‘Can you move away, so there’s no risk you’re being overheard?’
‘Of course.’ She excused herself from Riz and walked a few yards away.
‘Apparently the MI6 man Michael Prior has some information that, should it fall into the wrong hands, would be disastrous for the country. There’s no reason to believe that the terrorists know he has this information – only a handful of people do know about it – but it’s absolutely essential your negotiator speaks to him. He’s got to insist on it.’
‘But how are we going to find out whether Prior’s given away information without alerting the people holding him?’ she asked.
‘Prior has two pre-arranged codewords. He’ll use one if he has been compromised, and the other if he hasn’t. They’re both on your desk in the incident room. As far as anyone else is concerned, the codewords are simply to find out if he’s been mistreated or not. Is all that clear?’
‘It’s clear,’ she said, not liking the sound of his voice at all.
‘Good. Then get your man on the phone to the hostage-taker right away. We need this cleared up fast.’
Thirty-seven
FOX SLIPPED INTO room 316, shutting the door quietly behind him and bolting it from the inside.
Michael Prior, the director of MI6 and their VIP prisoner, was still in the tub chair where they’d left him earlier, and he was staring cautiously at Fox from behind the gag. He seemed to be quite calm for a man who had a bomb strapped to him.
‘You know they wanted to kill you on film,’ said Fox, reverting to his normal accent as he threw his rifle on the bed and pulled off his backpack. He leaned round behind Prior’s head and unstrapped the ball gag, letting it fall to the floor.
‘If you let me go, I’ll do everything I can to minimize your prison sentence.’ Prior’s voice was deep and authoritative, his expression stern and unwavering. It was obvious that he was accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed.
Fox ignored him. He was just another public-school establishment man used to getting his own way. Perhaps he thought that because Fox spoke with a local accent and was clearly English, he could be reasoned with. ‘They wanted to shoot you dead as a show of strength to the UK government. I stopped them.’
‘Thank you. You don’t sound very much like a member of the Pan-Arab Front, or whatever you people are calling yourselves. So, why are you involved?’
Fox sat down on the bed, facing him. Even trussed up like a chicken, Michael Prior exuded a certain gravitas. With his silver hair and finely delineated features, he had the distinguished, well-fed look of confidence backed by old money. ‘I told the man who was holding the gun to your head that you were much more useful to them alive.’
‘You keep saying “them” and “they”. If you’re not a part of them, then who are you?’
‘That doesn’t really matter right now. What matters is that you have information that I need.’
Prior’s eyes widened just a little. ‘I know a lot less than you think.’
‘Don’t try to bullshit me. We haven’t got time. I need a name. A name that only you and a handful of other people know.’
Prior swallowed, and Fox could tell that he knew exactly who he was referring to. ‘I thought this was a terrorist attack.’
Fox stood up. ‘It is. Now, we can do this the hard way, or we can do it the easy way, but the result’s going to be the same. You’re going to give up that name, and if you do it quickly, then it’ll be a lot less painful.’
‘Please, if you have any decency or patriotism …’
He stopped talking as Fox produced a scalpel and a small container of liquid from the backpack.
‘Give me the name and as soon as I’ve verified it I’ll unstrap the bomb, untie you, and let you go. You’ll have to take your chances, but you’ll probably make it out alive.’
‘I can’t. Please. I’ll give you any information you want, but not that.’
‘Last chance,’ said Fox. ‘Then I’ll have to replace the gag while I go to work on you.’
He lifted the scalpel, and Michael Prior’s eyes grew wide with fear.
