Siege by Simon Kernick Page A

demanded Fox, taking a couple of steps forward.
    A balding businessman reluctantly put up an arm.
    ‘Get up.’
    Slowly the businessman got to his feet, palms outstretched in the universal gesture of non-confrontation. He was overweight with a florid expression and an air of self-importance. ‘It’s just I may be able to help. I’m a—’
    Fox shot him in the chest with a three-round burst. He knew that the cardinal rule of hostage-taking was to establish total control over your hostages, and that meant eliminating any challenges to your authority quickly and ruthlessly.
    Screams and terrified gasps immediately filled the room but Fox ignored them and kept on talking. ‘As I was saying, you will all be released when our demands to the British government are met. In the meantime, you are to do exactly what you are told. Any failure to comply, or any attempt to escape, will result in the same punishment I’ve just meted out to Mr Loudmouth here. Do you all understand?’
    There was a low and not particularly enthusiastic murmur of agreement.
    ‘On my command you are all to get to your feet and form two orderly lines. It doesn’t matter which line you’re in, so don’t waste time choosing. You’ll then follow me out of the room, and in silence please. My colleague here will be bringing up the rear. We’re going to go upstairs to the next floor. Anyone trying to stay behind will be shot on sight. If you want to live, you’re going to have to do as we say.’
    The threat of violent death is a highly effective method of concentrating the mind, and within seconds the hostages had got themselves into two long, roughly even lines that snaked across the restaurant floor, including several people who’d come out from where they’d been hiding behind the bar.
    Fox motioned to Leopard to go to the end of the lines and bring up the rear. They’d trained for this on many occasions and everyone knew exactly what to do. He gestured for the two people at the front of the lines to follow him, then backed slowly out of the room, keeping his gun trained steadily on them.
    Wolf and the others were already in the lobby and in the process of taking the remainder of the hostages, including the traumatized kitchen staff, up the marble staircase that led to the next floor and the hotel’s ballroom.
    As Fox backed up the staircase with the two lines of hostages following, he saw a handful of people standing a few yards beyond the main glass doors. Most of them were talking into their mobiles, or staring at the shattered glass with the smear of blood across it and the body of the man he’d shot a few minutes earlier, who was still lying just inside the entrance to the hotel. A few of the sick bastards were even using their phones to film the scene. It seemed to Fox that everyone was a voyeur these days, preferring either to film or watch events rather than help shape them. It was one of the key differences between them and him.
    He knew it wouldn’t be long before the first police arrived on the scene. Fortunately, they were unlikely to be armed, since less than seven per cent of officers in the Met were authorized to carry guns, and even if one of the mobile armed response vehicles did turn up, they were trained to act with extreme caution and wouldn’t attempt to penetrate the building at this stage.
    Still, the ground floor was going to need securing quickly.
    The ballroom was the perfect location for holding the hostages. It was a cavernous place with no windows or natural light, and like the main restaurant and bar area, there was only one way in or out, making escape impossible and severely limiting the scope of an assault by the security services to free them. Once again, it was why they’d chosen the Stanhope – and proof, thought Fox, of the effectiveness of good surveillance.
    The hostages themselves were largely calm and quiet as they were shepherded over to the far end of the room and made to sit down. There were about