And yet somehow she was here in the cold, having been dragged into the middle of a case that had global implications. So far tonight she’d impersonated a police officer, interfered with a crime scene, and withheld vital information in what was shaping up to be one of the biggest single crimes in modern policing history.
But that was Tina. She never did anything by halves. And so far she still believed that she was doing the right thing, although the more she thought about it, the more the doubts gnawed away at her. She understood why Arley hadn’t wanted to say anything to her bosses, but at the same time Tina herself didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of any SAS men. After all, they had families too.
Her phone rang. It was Arley.
‘What have you got?’ Tina asked her.
‘The vehicle with the registration you gave me was last picked up on the ANPR cameras in Willesden,’ stated Arley. Her voice was calm, but only just, as if she was only a wrong word away from hysteria. ‘That was at eight twenty-seven a.m. this morning, and it hasn’t moved within camera-range since. And it’s definitely the same vehicle because it was caught on camera a few hundred metres from our house at five to eight.’
‘How big’s the area it could be in?’
‘About four hundred metres by six hundred. And it’s high-density residential. The Hendon guys are contacting the local council to see if there are any other cameras that might narrow it down, but that’s going to take time, and it’s unlikely.’
‘Driving there’s going to take time too, and unless I strike bloody lucky, I could still be looking round for it tomorrow morning.’
‘It doesn’t look like there’s much off-road parking or garages,’ said Arley hopefully.
Tina didn’t share her optimism. ‘Any news on the location of your husband’s phone?’
‘It’s been switched off most of the day, but on those occasions it has been on, it’s been nowhere near Willesden.’
‘Have any calls been made on it today?’
‘Only the ones to my mobile.’
Tina suppressed a frustrated sigh. The man dealing with Arley was a canny operator with a thorough knowledge of police tactics, and he was being careful to give away as little information as possible. ‘You need to get me a map of the area where the van could be. I’ve just set up an anonymous hotmail account. Send it to me there.’ Tina gave her the address.
‘Will you be able to go over there right away?’
‘Yes, but it still might take me time when I get there. And I’m guessing that now they’ve killed a hostage, that’s something we haven’t got a lot of.’
‘You know about that?’ Arley sounded surprised.
‘The whole world knows about it, Arley.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Listen, I’ve got an idea. The next time you speak to the kidnapper, demand proof of life. Demand to speak to your family. Say that if you don’t, you won’t cooperate.’
‘What if he doesn’t go for it?’
‘Make him go for it. Put him on the back foot for once. You haven’t got anything to lose.’
‘I’ve got everything to lose, Tina. My children, for God’s sake.’
‘But you need to know they’re still alive. And you need to make him want to keep them alive so that you do what he wants. And the only way you’re going to do that is by being firm. It’s the only way.’
‘OK,’ said Arley uncertainly. ‘But wait, he doesn’t have the children. He told me he was in contact every fifteen minutes with the man holding them.’
‘That doesn’t change anything. Insist on speaking to your family – not just the children, or he’ll know you know that Howard’s dead. And if he won’t go with that – which I suspect he won’t – demand that he send a video message from them, and insist that one of the children says a certain word or phrase, something that tells you that the footage has been taken after you demanded it.’
‘But how will that help us locate them? He’s obviously using a different phone to stay in touch with the man holding the twins.’
‘The man who makes the video will send it via a phone to the man you’re in contact with. He won’t have time to do it all through email. I reckon your man will get him to send the video to Howard’s phone so that he can send it straight on to you, and as soon as he does that we’ve got the other guy’s number, and we’ll be able to track his location.’
‘But he’ll see through it, surely? It seems too obvious.’
‘Not if you sound frightened enough. He’ll think you genuinely want to hear from them, which of course you do. And remember, he’ll be under pressure himself by now, and people under pressure make mistakes.’
There was a silence on the other end of the line. ‘Unless, of course, they’re already dead,’ said Arley at last. ‘They killed Howard easily enough.’
‘We can’t think like that,’ Tina told her firmly. ‘I’m on my way to Willesden.’
Tina ended the call and pulled the car away from the kerb. For the first time that evening she felt in control, now that she was actually doing something rather than sitting around watching events unfold without her.
21.20
GRAHAM JONES SHOULD HAVE
been home for dinner at eight at the absolute latest. He’d told his wife that morning before he left for work that he had a business meeting in Birmingham which was why he’d be home at eight rather than the usual time of six.
In truth, since 1.30 that afternoon Graham Jones had been in the Stanhope Hotel, ensconced in a room on the fifth floor with his lover of more than two years. Like Graham, Victor Grayson was married with children and couldn’t afford for his secret to come out – at least not until his children had grown up and left home. Perhaps then the two of them could live together in peace and quiet. But until that time they had to make do with clandestine meetings at anonymous London hotels where no one would give them a second glance. And today they’d chosen the worst venue possible.
For the last four hours they’d been trapped in their room as the dramatic events of a full-blown siege played out around them. Victor had stayed remarkably calm, saying that they should stay in the room and wait for help to arrive, which it surely had to do eventually. But then Victor had the advantage of not being expected home until much later. His wife seemed to be a lot more laid back than Graham’s wife Carol, who these days acted as if she was permanently suspicious of him, even though he was sure she had no idea about Victor. Carol would have a heart attack if she knew he had a male lover, and who could blame her? It was bad enough losing your husband of more than fifteen years to a woman, but for a conservative, middle-class woman like Carol, who liked to keep up appearances, losing him to a man would be too much to bear. Graham kidded himself that this was the reason he didn’t want her to find out, but deep down he knew it was far more than that. He didn’t want the embarrassment of being outed as a gay man in front of his parents and brother, and he didn’t want a messy divorce while the kids were still young.
But as time kept ticking by, so the chances of his secret being exposed to the world grew greater. Surprisingly, it was this, rather than being caught by the terrorists who’d taken over the hotel, that scared him the most. He was sure Victor was right when he said that they should stay put, but he also knew how long sieges could last. Days in some cases. He’d read once about one in Hackney that had lasted three bloody weeks. He couldn’t have that. He had to get out. Make a break for it somehow.
Victor had told him not to be so stupid. That he’d be risking his neck for no good reason. ‘Text her,’ he’d suggested. ‘Say you’re stuck on the train.’
But when he’d tried to text, the message had bounced back. He’d tried again every fifteen minutes until eventually he’d realized that the signal had been cut deliberately, leaving him with no means of communication with the outside world, other than the hotel phone, and if he used that he’d have to whisper and the stress he was suffering from would be obvious. Also, Carol was technically minded and suspicious enough that she’d be able to trace where the call had come from.
Which was how Graham now found himself alone in the hotel lobby, having walked all the way down the emergency staircase from the fifth floor. It had been the most terrifying journey of his life, and Victor had begged him not to make it. At one point he’d even tried to physically prevent Graham from leaving the room, grabbing him in a bear hug. ‘I can’t lose you,’ he’d whispered, tears in his eyes.
But Graham had made his mind up. ‘I’ll be all right,’ he’d answered. ‘I promise.’ And with that he’d broken free and gone, with barely a goodbye, still hoping that he could come up with a reason Carol would believe as to why he was so late.
Keeping close to the side of the main staircase for cover, he looked over towards the hotel’s front doors, wondering if there was someone guarding them. He couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t necessarily mean no one was there. One of the glass panes was cracked and it looked as if someone had fired shots through it.
Thirty yards separated him from freedom, and the heavy silence gave him confidence that no one would try to stop him if he made a dash for it.
But there was another problem. He was pretty sure Carol would be watching events on the TV. Since she’d got made redundant earlier in the year, she’d become something of a newshound with an addiction to Al-Jazeera, of all channels. If he went out the front of the hotel, she might see him on TV, and even if she didn’t, someone would, and his secret would be out. It seemed so stupid under the circumstances to worry about something like this, but he couldn’t help it. So much of his life was based on this one major lie that if it were to be discovered, everything else would come crashing down around him. Right then, he’d rather die than face that happening.
He’d go out the back. That would be easier. He knew that the Stanhope backed on to narrow streets where TV cameras would almost certainly be prohibited. He could get out without being seen, at least in public. Then one quick call to Carol, apologizing and bemoaning the state of the British railway system – a perfectly plausible explanation given how appalling it usually was – and everything would be fine. The strange and terrible events of this night would be his and Victor’s secret for ever.
From somewhere up the top of the stairs he thought he heard a moan. It was followed immediately by a barked, unintelligible order. Turning away quickly, Graham made his way across the floor and through a door marked STAFF ONLY.
Straight away his nostrils were assailed by an appalling stench. Holding his breath, he made his way down a narrow, dark corridor, then through another door, and into the hotel kitchens. The smell was far worse in there and it took him only seconds to realize why, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. There were bodies, three of them as far as he could see, dressed in chef’s whites and lying on the floor in pools of blood. A wave of nausea overcame him and he had to put his hand on one of the worktops to steady himself. Graham Jones had never seen a dead body before, and to see three in such appalling circumstances was a nightmare come true.
Plucking up the necessary courage, he skirted around them and tried the windows that led out on to an empty courtyard behind the building, only to find them all locked. He needed to get away from the stench of death and breathe some fresh air. After hours trapped in the hotel room, freedom was finally so close.
Making a conscious effort not to look down, Graham stepped over a body and went through another door. He almost tripped over another corpse blocking the way, but managed to stop himself. To his right was a fire door with a push-lever handle. It had to lead outside, and it wouldn’t be locked. It might be alarmed, but right then that was the least of Graham’s worries. He hurried over to it, forcing down the lever and pushing it open in one movement, immediately feeling a welcome slap of frigid air against his face, hardly hearing the clunk as the fully primed grenade dropped to the floor.
FOX STOOD IN
the ballroom satellite kitchen, waiting impassively while Wolf ranted and raved.
‘You were the last person to see him alive, Fox. If it wasn’t you who killed him, who was it?’
‘I have no idea. And why on earth would I want to gouge his eye out?’
‘I don’t know, but it was your idea for us to kidnap him in the first place—’ Wolf stopped in mid flow, interrupted by a dull boom coming from below. ‘What was that?’
‘It sounded like a grenade,’ said Fox, immediately tensing. ‘I set a couple of them as booby-traps on the exit doors to the kitchen.’
Wolf checked the portable TV, then leaned over the laptop. ‘Are we under attack already? You said it would take them time to strike.’
‘What’s the TV showing?’
‘Just the front of the hotel. It all looks the same.’
‘Is there any email message on the laptop?’
‘No, nothing.’
There was an edge of panic to Wolf’s voice, and Fox knew he was going to have to take charge.
‘If they’ve come in via the kitchen, then they’re on their way up now. Come with me.’
Fox walked rapidly out of the kitchen with Wolf behind him. Cat and Bear were guarding the increasingly restless-looking hostages, and they both turned round when they heard the door open.
‘Everything’s all right,’ Fox called out, more for the benefit of the hostages than anyone else. ‘One of the booby-traps went off accidentally.’
Keeping a firm grip on his AK-47, he opened the ballroom doors and went over to the top of the main mezzanine floor staircase, leaning back against the wall to give himself cover as he looked down into the empty hotel lobby. If this was an attack the SAS would have been slowed down by the booby-trapped grenade. There was no sign of them yet.
He heard Wolf come up behind him.
‘Is anything happening?’ he whispered.
Fox pointed his AK-47 down the stairs, finger on the trigger. ‘Nothing yet.’
They waited a full minute. In the background, Fox could hear the faint ringing of the phone in the satellite kitchen. It seemed the negotiators were trying to make contact. If this was a surprise attack, then the element of surprise had long gone. And if it was a full-scale, multi-entry attack, then where the hell was everybody?