Siege by Simon Kernick

he still had to know who was boss.
    ‘Understand?’
    Panther nodded, and Fox motioned for him and the ex-marine Leopard to follow as he ran through the door that led into the lobby, holding his AK-47 out in front of him. He’d set his stopwatch the second the first shot had been fired, and as he came out into the hotel’s immense lobby it read sixty-two seconds.
    The kitchen was supposedly soundproofed, but as Fox moved into the lobby the first guests were already hurrying towards the main doors, while the door staff, decked out in their ridiculous tasselled uniforms and peaked caps, had come inside to see what the commotion was. As soon as they saw Fox in his balaclava with the AK and the other two coming in behind him they started bolting for the exits.
    ‘Everyone on the floor!’ Fox yelled. ‘Now!’
    Almost all of them obeyed, but one guy, a businessman in a suit, who’d almost made it to the doors, clearly decided to take the risk and keep going. There was no way Fox could let him go. It would be a show of weakness, and he was too pumped up for that anyway. He’d always found something exhilarating about shooting people – it was the hunter in him – and it was the reason he’d joined the army. He was no indiscriminate killer, he always needed a reason; but give him one and he never hesitated. Flipping the AK to his shoulder, he took aim and, as the man’s hand reached out to push open the glass door, he fired a single burst of automatic weapon fire into his back. The force drove the target into the door with an angry thud. There was the sound of breaking glass, and a second later he collapsed.
    Fox looked round the room. ‘Anyone else try anything, they die too.’
    No one did. They lay still, faces squashed into the expensive-looking burgundy carpet. There’d be no further resistance here.
    Fox motioned for Panther to stand guard over their new hostages, hoping he wouldn’t decide to start shooting them, and took Leopard through the adjacent corridor and into the main bar and restaurant area, where there was now outright panic. People were running around looking desperately for a way out. Unfortunately for them, although there was a bank of windows looking on to Park Lane and Hyde Park beyond, their only obvious means of exit was through the main lobby of the hotel. It was one of the reasons they’d picked the Stanhope as a target. It was easy to corral their prey.
    At this time of the afternoon there were also exactly the right numbers. Fox estimated that there were about fifty people in all in the restaurant and bar, a manageable mix of afternoon teas, business drinks and the first of the after-work crowd. An hour later and there’d have been too many; an hour earlier, too few. Like everything else about the op, they’d planned the timing of the assault carefully. Publicity-wise, five p.m. GMT was perfect. Their audience would be eating breakfast in LA, getting ready for lunch in New York, heading home from work in Europe, and sitting down to dinner all across the Arab world. Even in Pakistan, India and beyond people would be up and tuning in to what was happening on a billion television sets.
    Soon the whole world would know about them. It was an intoxicating thought.
    Once again, Fox yelled at everyone to get down on the floor, putting a burst of fire into the ceiling to encourage them.
    There were a few screams, and everyone hit the deck. They really had little choice.
    When they were done, Fox walked into the room and began his prepared speech, delivered in a non-specific eastern European accent he’d been working on for the past few months. He spoke loudly, but with a deliberate calmness. ‘Please do not be alarmed. You’ve been taken hostage by the Pan-Arab Army of God. As long as you cooperate, no harm will come to you, and you will be released when our demands are met.’
    ‘What are your demands?’ came a male voice from somewhere in the middle of the restaurant.
    ‘Who said that?’