Hannah suggesting I hole up somewhere is also indicative of her intentions. Someone hiding is often much easier to find than a person who’s moving around keeping a watch on all areas.

  Should I follow her instructions I’d be playing into her hands. On the other hand, I’d already found my hiding place before she radioed me. She couldn’t know that though.

  There must be another reason for her wanting me to hole up for a while.

  It’s as I look at the walkie-talkie in my hand that I make the connection.

  She’s contacted me on the walkie-talkie, which means she has one, and if she’s heard my conversation with Nathan, she’ll know the police’s tactical team are on their way and that their arrival is imminent.

  That’s why she wants me holed up. She’s planning a reception committee and doesn’t want me to attack it or warn the tactical team.

  ‘You got a deal, lady.’

  It’s a lie that’s every bit as large as the one she’s told me. I have every intention of warning the cops.

  I thumb the control of the walkie-talkie and try to raise Nathan on a different channel.

  Five times I speak his name as I try each of the walkie-talkie’s other five channels, before I give up and try the first channel again.

  I’m more than aware I’m gambling with the life of at least one hostage by trying to contact Nathan in a way Hannah can overhear, but I have to do what I feel is best for the majority rather than the individual.

  I say what I have to say and listen with my breath held to see who replies.

  ‘You’re wasting your time, Boulder. I’ve had one of my men install a signal blocker.’ She gives a contented little laugh. ‘It’s a clever piece of kit, we can set the distance it blocks radio signals and leave a zone in which communications can still be made. It’s currently set at fifty feet, which means you’re very close.’

  Hannah’s words leave me colder than any snowstorm. If she’s telling the truth, the police are heading right into a trap, and if she’s lying, she’s trying to flush me out.

  I decide to give Nathan five minutes to come back to me, and if I don’t hear from him, I’ll have to try and ambush the welcoming committee.

  Five minutes pass, and so does a sixth.

  When I clamber out from my hiding place, I’m cold, stiff, and more than a little nervous about my chosen course of action. None of that matters, my logic that the good of the many outweighs the good of the few has to apply to myself as well as others.

  I make sure the submachine guns in my hands are ready to fire and start trudging my way to the top of the resort. The snowstorm’s intensity has remained, which means I’m working in an isolated bubble that keeps me ever fearful of shapes appearing out of the snow. The billowing swirls make constant changes that throw all kinds of shapes at me.

  With every step I take I expect to encounter a terrorist, or to feel the slam of a bullet hitting my body.

  Chapter 45

  As I head towards the resort my mind is firing on all cylinders. I’m rehashing my brief conversation with Hannah, and second guessing my assumption that she’d overheard me talking to Nathan earlier. I’m also wondering how I can warn the tactical cop team if I see any signs of an ambush being laid.

  It’s as I pass the control booth that both questions are answered. Through the swirling snow I see the outline of a warning sign. I passed the sign earlier and remember its brief but poignant message.

  The sign warns of the avalanche risks, and alerts skiers of areas they should avoid if the avalanche siren is heard.

  If I can use the siren to give the SOS code, the cops will know there’s something up. As plans go it’s a good one, and should work, apart from one flaw: the controls for the siren are in the resort itself. Specifically, they are in the ante-room used by the professional ski-instructors. To get access to the controls, I’ll have to sneak back into the resort and make my way to the ante-room.

  The problems don’t stop there. I’ve heard the siren ring out on more than one occasion. Its very purpose is to make a lot of noise and it’s exceptional at its job. As soon as I trigger the siren the terrorists will hear it.

  Hannah will figure out my plan at once and will despatch someone to silence it. Just because she doesn’t know where the controls are located won’t matter. It’ll take her no more than a few seconds to put a gun to someone’s head and get the information.

  With luck, I’ll have a whole minute between switching on the siren and someone arriving at the ante-room with a gun full of bullets bearing my name. Without luck, it could be thirty seconds, which means I’ll barely have time to ring out my SOS before I get company.

  Either way, I don’t want to be trapped in a room with an armed terrorist outside the door. The ante-room has only one door and no windows. If I’m caught in there I’m as good as dead. Being realistic, I know I’ll have enough time to set off the alarm and make a run for it. Anything subtler than that will be akin to signing my death warrant.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that I have to do it, though. Somehow, I have to warn the tactical cops they could be walking into a trap.

  Other than side doors and emergency exits, there are only three ways into the RidgeTop Resort. The first is via the cable car station, the second is the door that leads onto the top of the ski slopes, and the third is via the decking that leads alongside the hotel to the balcony in front of the dining room.

  I’m sure all the smaller doors will be locked from the inside. This makes sense at the best of times, and if Hannah’s expecting a police attack, she’ll be sure to have made life awkward for them. Therefore, there are only three doors I have to consider.

  Accessing the resort via the cable car station is possible, but, if there’s anyone waiting for me at the top, they’ll be able to put a bullet or several in my back as I climb the ladder I used to escape the resort in the first place.

  I’d seen the balcony doors being locked from the inside, which means I’d have to announce my arrival by shooting out the glass. With there being at least six terrorists guarding the hostages, I’d be dead before taking two steps into the building.

  The main doors seem like the better option, but in reality, that’s like saying facing a tiger is preferable to a lion. One man would be able to guard the cableway station by staying hidden. So long as he keeps the cableway mechanism inactive, all he has to do is see who is stupid enough to climb the ladder and shoot them at his leisure.

  The main entrance is a different proposition: it’s not cluttered with anything. Off to each side there are drying rooms with steel cage lockers where ski equipment can be stored. Once you get ten feet inside the doors there’s a second corridor bisecting the one that leads from the doors to the social areas.

  If a terrorist or two were to lie in wait a few feet along this corridor, they’d be able to cut me down with ease. There’s also the worry of which way I should look. If I choose wrong, I’ll be exposing my back to them.

  I doubt I’ll be quicker on the draw than them, or more accurate with my aim, but it would be nice to have the option of at least returning fire.

  I move away from the resort so it’s a vague shape in the darkness. Its outside lights are the only thing other than the gradient to help me navigate. I’m making damned sure I don’t walk into an ambush that’s been laid for me.

  As I crest the rise to the level area where the helipad is, I’m at least thirty feet away from the nearest building, which is the control booth for the ski chairs. Like the resort, it’s just a dark shape in the whiteout. Unlike the resort, it doesn’t have any lights to guide me so I have to make sure I keep it in my sight.

  My legs are aching from the exertion of wading through deep snow, and while my feet feel as if they’ve frozen solid, my thighs and calves are burning. My hands are as cold as my feet and, although I’m not out of breath, I know my heart is beating faster than usual. Fear may well be a contributor to that phenomena, but I tell myself it isn’t, and my heart is pounding because I’ve just trudged up a mountain through two feet of snow, wearing nothing but indoor clothes.

  The cold is fast becoming my enemy as much as the terrorists. My fingers don’t move with anything like the speed they should and, if I didn’t know better, I’d expect to see diving boots where my feet are supposed to be.

  When I get a little further, I see the glare from the smouldering helicopter, which I can use as a navigational beacon.

  From the light thrown out by the burning wreck, I can see the helicopter is now a twisted mess. The explosion has flipped the aircraft onto its side and there’s not a mechanic alive who could make it fly again without replacing at least ninety per cent of its parts.

  I keep the helicopter’s fire on the limit of my sight as I circle round until it lies in a direct line between my position and the front door. This part has been easy. The next won’t be.

  When I look beyond the helicopter all I can see are dark, indistinguishable shapes. From my time at the resort I know what most, but not all, of them are.

  I circle round further and approach the door from the side that doesn’t lead to the slopes. It’s bordered by a rugged rock face, which forms the picturesque ridge that gives the resort its name. There’s nothing near the rock face that can be used as cover due to the fact it’s been left bare in a magnificent display of nature’s beauty and strength against the elements.

  The problem with using that route is that some of the areas I’ll have to cross are illuminated by the glare from the helicopter and the resort’s outside lighting.

  If I’m to have any success against the terrorists, stealth and subterfuge are my best weapons.

  I retreat a few paces, strip off my jacket and lay it on the ground. Now I’ve removed it I realise how much it’s kept me warm. Next, I take off the burgundy vest that’s part of my uniform and drop it on the jacket. I add my shirt to the pile and remove my T-shirt. I pull the shirt back on and fumble with the buttons. It takes a half dozen attempts before my numb fingers get the first button closed, but I keep going until all bar the collar button is fastened.

  The T-shirt gets pulled part-way over my head until its neck surrounds my face.

  With a white shirt and T-shirt covering the upper half of my body, I blend into the snowstorm a lot better than I did when I was wearing the bright red ski jacket.

  By the time I’ve taken a dozen steps I’m wondering if I’ve made a mistake in shedding the quilted jacket. I’ve been cold before, but never quite as cold as this. There isn’t a part of my body that feels anything other than frozen. My arms are the coldest part of my body as my shirt is sleeveless from where I’d treated the bullet wound I picked up under the balcony.

  I push the cold from my mind, if not from my limbs, and keep going.

  I make it to the rock face without incident, and it’s as I’m moving forward in a low crouch that I see a shape moving by the resort’s door.

  My stance becomes statuesque as I halt all movement that isn’t shivering and watch the shape. It moves left five or six paces and then the same distance right, before turning left again.

  There’s no doubt in my mind it’s a guard, patrolling back and forth to warm himself against the elements.

  A quick glance at my watch tells me I have no time to do anything but go on.

  I wait until the guard is walking away from me, progress forward four paces, and then stop.

  Chapter 46

  Every time the guard walks away from me, I move forward another few paces and crouch to hide the dark trousers I’m wearing. I’m on the fifth repetition of this when the guard stops halfway along his route and turns to the door. I’m close enough now to make out the shape of his body and can observe his movements in far greater detail.

  I halt at once, and, when I see three more shapes join the first one, I ease my way to the ground until I’m lying prone in the cold, wet snow.

  Of the three terrorists who’ve emerged from the resort, two are carrying automatic rifles and the third is carrying a large cylindrical object on his shoulder.

  This must be Hannah’s welcome committee.

  I’ve seen enough action movies to work out that the cylindrical object is a rocket launcher of some description. It could fire rocket propelled grenades, or some other kind of missile, but that’s a moot point. Whatever it fires will decimate the tactical police team or destroy the piste basher and kill its driver.

  It’s bad enough that cops could die in the line of duty, but the idea of innocents being slaughtered makes me hate Hannah and her gang even more.

  It’s obvious to me that Hannah is a psychopath of the highest order; what she did to Debbie Boitoult showed that, and everything she has done since has only reinforced my opinion of her.

  Human life means nothing to her, she kills and maims without consideration for anything other than the negative effect it will have on others. Now she’s identified a threat to her life and liberty, she’s organised what will become little more than a turkey shoot.

  The men who’re under her control are little, if any, better. Every time I’ve seen her give an order it’s been carried out without question or hesitation. Each of them are killers and, while I don’t know their end game, they must stand to gain a hell of a lot to take the risks they’re taking.

  Whether it’s a financial, political, or ideological goal they’re after, doesn’t matter any more. All that matters is that they’re stopped.

  As I watch them from my prone position, the three new men advance past the guard. The two carrying assault rifles are moving with tactical acumen, advancing and then covering each other, along with the man carrying the rocket launcher.

  Every corner they round sees them lead gun first, before they sweep the new area and then wave the others forward.

  In a way it’s flattering to me that three of them have been sent, but the increased watchfulness of their actions will be a serious deterrent to any attempts I make to disrupt their plans.

  The way they’re going about their business, it’s unlikely I’ll be able to get the jump on them without getting shot again. They’re armed with assault rifles, whereas the best weapon I have at my disposal is a pair of submachine guns.

  While I’m no expert on guns, I know that soldiers carry assault rifles for distance shooting, and submachine guns for close up work like clearing houses of enemies. In my amateurish hands the submachine gun is no match for the assault rifles.

  This leaves me two options.

  One is to rush them, guns blazing, hoping for three lucky shots, and the other is to warn the tactical team of the terrorists’ presence before they get within range.

  The first option is suicidal and would require me to kill the terrorists, and the second is a lot harder because of the guard patrolling outside the main door.

  As much as it goes against my instincts, and the desire not to have any more murders on my conscience, I know if I’m to stand any chance of success in saving lives, I’ll probably have to kill at least one of the terrorists before this ordeal is over.

  I could rush the guy at the door and take him down with a burst from the submachine gun, but that would alert the welcoming party, which means I’d be gunned down where I stood, or trapped between the terrorists both inside and outside the resort.

  Neither of these options appeal so I try to think of another way to warn the tactical team.

  If I can get access to the drying rooms, I’ll be able to grab bundles of skis and send them down the slope. Whether or not it would work as a warning is debateable, but it would at least make the cops proceed with more caution. The counter point to this is not knowing where the cops are, or how they’re approaching. If they’re travelling the last few hundred yards on foot, skis coming at them out of the darkness could hit them; at the pace they would be sliding downhill, they would smash any limb they collide with.

  I wait until the guard resumes his patrolling and back away until I’m at the other side of the helicopter again.

  An idea is forming in my mind, but it’s neither clever nor safe. The needs of the many still outweigh the few, so I have little choice but to follow through with the idea to its conclusion.

  Chapter 47

  The woman and the teenage boy emerge from the office and, like those who’d gone before them, they look shocked by what they’ve experienced. It’s the second time they’ve been in there, and despite giving herself a headache trying to work out what’s going on, Sharon can’t see the terrorists having an agenda that doesn’t involve kidnapping.

  They’d been in there longer than any other couple, and while they both appear to be unharmed, the psychological toll of what they’d endured can be read on their faces and told in their body language.

  The boy is trying to look after his mother, who looks to be catatonic and has to be guided to her seat. To Sharon, she looks on the verge of a breakdown, and she understands how the woman has been affected.

  Mothers all have the same instinct: namely the protection of their young. They nurture, educate and guide their offspring through life. Their instincts have them ready to catch at any moment, to place a hand on table corners as their toddler approaches, and, while they accept there are some situations beyond their control, they do all they can to prevent their child being exposed to even the minimal of risks.

  For a mother to have a child with her when being threatened by terrorists must be the worst kind of torment imaginable. The simple threat of harm to the child wouldn’t even have to be spoken to coerce the mother. It would hang like a Damoclean sword, twisting in the charged atmosphere. Its very presence enough to ensure instructions were followed regardless of how unpalatable they may be.

  The woman has endured all this and more. Her expression tells of utter defeat, of a future so bleak as to be undesirable. The woman still has her child, but if her body language is anything to go by, everything else in her life has been destroyed.