Her mobile rang, and she sighed. Back to work, she thought, wondering what had happened now.
It was Howard, her husband. She’d left a message on his phone close to two hours back now to let him know that she was involved in the siege at the Stanhope, and it had taken him this long to get back to her. Doubtless he’d been busy getting supper ready and hadn’t wanted to disturb her. He was good like that, and she realized, almost with surprise, that she was pleased to be hearing from him.
But the voice at the other end wasn’t Howard’s. It belonged to a man with a foreign accent.
‘We have your family,’ he told her.
Forty-three
ARLEY FELT A physical lurch of terror that almost knocked her over. ‘Hold on,’ she said, moving further away from the police vehicles towards a nearby oak tree.
‘Your au pair is dead,’ continued the caller, his tone matter of fact, ‘and your husband, son and daughter are being held in a secure location a long way from where I’m calling now.’
‘What do you want?’ Arley whispered into the phone.
‘I’m going to send you a short video of your children with the au pair. Then I’m going to call you back. In the meantime, do not try to trace me. I am in contact every fifteen minutes with the man holding your family. If he doesn’t hear from me for more than half an hour he has strict instructions to execute all of them.’
‘I’m not going to do anything stupid, I promise,’ she said, angered at the note of pleading that had crept into her voice. But she was already talking into a dead phone.
For perhaps the longest few minutes of her life she stood in the cold staring at the phone, ignoring everything around her, before it bleeped to say she’d received a text message from Howard with a video attached. Taking a deep breath, she opened the message and pressed play on the video.
It lasted barely thirty seconds but it was enough to confirm that the people holding her family were utterly ruthless. The frightened expressions on the faces of her children as they were forced to sit either side of Magda’s dead body made her want to throw up.
Don’t panic, she told herself. Think.
The phone rang again, Howard’s name and a photo of him pulling one of his stupid faces coming up on the screen.
‘You’ve seen the video?’ asked the caller.
‘Yes. What do you want?’
‘I understand you are in charge of the police operation at the Stanhope Hotel.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘You’re going to find out the SAS’s plan of attack, and when they’re aiming to penetrate the building. If your information is correct, your family will be released unharmed.’
‘There is no plan of attack,’ she whispered urgently into the phone, stepping even further into the shadows of the oak tree. ‘We’re still at the negotiating stage.’
‘There will be an attack,’ said the man with a confidence that scared her. ‘And you will find out the details of it.’
‘I don’t think you understand. Even if some kind of attack did go ahead – and there is no guarantee that it will – it would be a military operation, and under military jurisdiction, which means I won’t be party to any of their plans.’
‘Then you will need to find a way, Mrs Dale. This phone is now going to be switched off. I will call you again when the time is right. If you ever want to see your family again, you’ll tell us everything we need to know.’
Forty-four
19.12
THE PARK VIEW Restaurant, usually a busy yet relaxed place full of the buzz of conversation, was hot and silent, and the exotic smells of Asia and the East had been replaced with the stench of fear, human sweat and, in the last few minutes, urine.
Elena glanced up at the two guards. The taller of the two was sitting down with his foot dangling above the detonation pedal for the bomb that had been placed in the middle of the group, only a few feet from where Elena herself sat. He hadn’t said a word the whole time they’d been here, but was still watching them carefully, while occasionally checking the TV screen on the table next to him, which appeared to be showing news coverage from outside the hotel. The other guard was smaller and wiry. He had a pronounced limp and he spoke with a Scandinavian accent. He seemed more agitated and unpleasant, and was often limping up and down the far end of the room. When the mother of the youngest child had requested permission to take her to the toilet, the Scandinavian had refused, saying that no one was allowed to go to the toilet. The mother had started to plead, looking over at Elena for support, but the Scandinavian had marched over to where the family were sitting and pointed the gun at the child. ‘Keep arguing and I shoot her dead right here,’ he spat. His words had been delivered like a boast, as if he was proud of his cruelty, and when the poor child started to sob Elena had so, so wanted to stand up and say something.
But she hadn’t. She’d stayed silent. And so had the mother. For the last few minutes Elena had watched as she comforted the child, whispering soothing words to her.
At least now everyone was calm again, and the Scandinavian guard had left the room, which had eased the tense atmosphere a little. Elena was thankful that the blinds were pulled down on the windows so that the world’s TV cameras couldn’t see them. She wondered how many people were right now looking at the normally beautiful image of the Stanhope Hotel at night. There would be millions of them. Hundreds of millions. They would probably include her own family. And Rod. God alone knew how worried they’d all be, although it would be nothing to the fear she was experiencing. Because the thing was, the people holding them were killers. Most worrying of all, Elena could see no joy or hope in any of their eyes, only the cold certainty that they were prepared to die. Possibly even looking forward to it.
She shifted position on the floor so that she was sitting with her arms clasped round her knees. She was trying to get comfortable, and ignoring the thirst that was beginning to gnaw at her, the result of dehydration from the previous night’s drinking session. God, how long ago that seemed now.
The man next to Elena, the one who’d come to the hotel to commit suicide and who’d fashioned a noose in his room, caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile. They’d barely looked at each other this past hour, and hadn’t exchanged as much as a word. All that time he’d sat unmoving with his head bowed.
She smiled back, curiosity getting the better of her. Here was a normal-looking, quite attractive middle-aged man and he’d come here to die a lonely, bleak death.
‘Are you here alone?’ she whispered to him, even though she knew the answer. She glanced up as she spoke to make sure the tall guard hadn’t heard her. It didn’t look like he had.
He nodded, looking ashamed. ‘Yes, I am.’
They were silent for a few moments after that, then he sighed, clearly wanting to unburden himself. ‘I have to admit, I came here to die,’ he whispered. ‘But not like this.’
‘Forgive me for asking, but why do you want to die?’
‘Because I’m going to die soon anyway. I’ve got cancer.’
Elena’s jaw tightened. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘It’s OK,’ he said, and they both fell silent.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked him eventually, wanting to keep the conversation going, if only to take her mind off everything else.
‘Martin.’
‘I’m Elena.’
‘So I see,’ he said, pointing at her nametag. ‘I’m sorry about choosing your hotel to finish things in,’ he continued. ‘I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, but the Stanhope has a very special place in my heart.’
