Free Siege by Simon Kernick

the frankly appalling wages on offer.
    Panther answered immediately. ‘What kept you?’ he hissed into the phone. ‘I’ve been waiting by the back door for the last fifteen minutes. If anyone spots me—’
    ‘We’re here now,’ Wolf told him. ‘What’s the situation in there?’
    ‘Everything’s good. The kitchens are beginning to get busy. About twenty to twenty-five staff inside.’
    ‘What’s the security on the gate like? Can you see?’
    ‘Just the usual guy, Kwame. He’s sat down reading the paper. I can see him now.’
    Wolf and Fox exchanged glances, then Fox turned to the men in the back. They were all sat up straight in anticipation, cocking their weapons.
    ‘OK, get the back door open,’ ordered Wolf. ‘We’re coming in.’
    ‘Right,’ Fox said, ‘we all know what we’re doing. This is crowd control, not a shooting fest. We want them scared but not panicking. But if anyone resists or makes a bolt for it, take them down. If any of you still have mobiles on you, turn them off now and do not use them for the duration of the op. From now on, all communications are face to face. Got that?’
    Every man grunted his agreement.
    Fox pulled the van away from the kerb and into an archway that led through to a rear courtyard where the Stanhope received all its deliveries. As the van approached the single-bar security gate, Kwame put his paper down and got up from the chair. He was only a young guy – twenty-five, twenty-six – with the kind of round boyish face that was never going to cause anyone any trouble.
    As he walked up to the driver’s-side window, Fox pulled a gun from the seat pocket beside him and pointed it at his face. ‘Open the gate.’
    Kwame nodded rapidly and immediately put a code into a keypad on the gatepost that lifted the gate automatically, before shoving his hands in the air just so no one was in any doubt that he was being cooperative.
    Not that it made any difference. Fox held his gun arm ramrod straight and shot him in the eye, the bullet’s retort echoing round the archway, before accelerating into the courtyard.
    Panther had already opened the double doors that led through to the kitchens, and it looked like he was talking animatedly to someone behind him.
    Fox swung the van round in a wide semi-circle and backed it up to where Panther stood in the open doorway, looking over to where Kwame’s body lay unmoving on the ground. Anyone passing along the street outside would see it, but it no longer mattered.
    They’d arrived, and soon the whole world would know about what they were doing.
    He cut the engine, removed the cap and glasses disguise he’d been wearing, and pulled on a balaclava. Then, grabbing his AK-47 and backpack from behind the seat, he leapt out of the van along with the others, feeling a tremendous exhilaration.
    It was time for war.

18
    THE STANHOPE’S MAIN kitchen was situated on the ground floor, directly below the main ballroom on the mezzanine floor, yet well out of sight of the lobby. It was reached through a soundproofed door marked STAFF ONLY , and as soon as Elena was through it she was assailed by the smell and noise of preparations for the evening food service.
    Her mood hadn’t improved much. Having mollified the guests who’d originally complained about the late arrival of their room service orders with complimentary champagne, she’d just been informed by reception that there were two more similar complaints, including one from a VIP guest who’d been waiting almost an hour for a steak burger and fries. There were always occasional delays in delivering orders in a hotel the size of the Stanhope, but they tended to be rare. A cluster of five was almost unheard of and Elena had decided to get it sorted out once and for all with the catering manager. If it turned out that Armin was the one responsible, she’d march him off the premises herself then and there.
    She spotted a familiar face – Faisal, the Jordanian line cook, who was