Free Siege by Simon Kernick Page A

stirring a giant steaming pot – and he gave her a big grin and an exaggerated tip of his chef’s hat. ‘Miss Serenko. Looking beautiful as always. How are you?’
    ‘Why thank you, Faisal,’ replied Elena, feeling better immediately. ‘I’m fine, thanks. Have you seen Rav? I need a word with him.’
    ‘I think he’s out the back telling off one of the employees.’ He arched a thick grey eyebrow and was about to say something else when there was a loud commotion and a series of barked shouts coming from behind the door that led to the kitchen’s main storage and delivery area.
    As everyone turned towards it, another sound rang out. One that was unmistakeable.
    A gunshot.
    No one moved. It was just too unexpected for anyone to react.
    And then the door opened and Elena let out a shocked gasp as Rav stumbled through it. Dressed smartly, as always, in a navy suit, he was clutching his stomach, where a dark red stain was visibly spreading across the white of his shirt. His face registered complete surprise – a surprise that was reflected in every other face in the kitchen.
    Two more shots rang out in quick succession and Rav’s face appeared to explode, showering one of the stainless steel work surfaces with blood. As he collapsed, another figure filled the doorway. It was Armin, the room service waiter Elena had had the confrontation with barely half an hour earlier, and he was holding a smoking handgun out in front of him.
    A young pot washer Elena vaguely recognized was standing a few feet away from Armin, and he leapt at him, going for his gun. But Armin was quicker. He swung round and opened fire, his bullets sending the pot washer crashing backwards.
    More men strode into the room, one after another, dressed identically in balaclavas and dark clothing. All were carrying assault rifles.
    ‘Everyone down on the floor now!’ screamed the first of the men, pointing his rifle straight at Elena’s chest.
    For an interminably long, slow moment, she was completely mesmerized by the scene in front of her; then Faisal grabbed her by the collar of her jacket and pulled her to the floor.
    A second later the noise of automatic rifle fire from more than one weapon erupted around the kitchen, and as Elena hit the floor, shoulder blades first, she heard Faisal cry out and saw him stumble past her before collapsing to his knees. He swayed unsteadily in that position as more bullets tore up his back like angry geysers, and then he pitched over sideways, landing on Elena’s feet, already dead.
    The whole thing had lasted barely ten seconds, and it had taken Elena a good portion of that time to come to terms with what was going on; but now that she had, she experienced an icy, stomach-wrenching terror followed immediately by a desperate desire to survive. Knowing she had to get out of the line of fire, she kicked Faisal’s body off her and scrambled on her hands and knees behind one of the kitchen units as another burst of rifle fire reverberated around the room, the bullets ricocheting like pinballs off the stainless steel work surfaces.
    Leaning back against the unit, the fear coming at her in ferocious waves, she realized she was trapped. It was a good ten feet to the door that led back into the lobby, most of it over exposed ground. She’d never make it. She was going to die, helpless and without the people she loved – Rod, her mother, her sister – by her side.
    In a hotel kitchen that smelled of fat, for God’s sake.
    Elena caught the eye of another member of staff, a young Irishman called Aidan she’d seen working in the kitchens a few times before. She remembered him because he looked more like an artist or a singer than a cook. He had raffish curly hair and a cool beard, and sad but very beautiful blue eyes. Even though she loved Rod, she’d always found Aidan attractive in an exotic way, as if he was a box full of secrets. He was squatting down on his haunches next to a unit a few feet away, looking scared