The proposal from Neill couldn’t have been timed better, and Casperton was too small to be of interest to crime gangs of any size. By the time Jake had got himself fully integrated into the local society, he’d had enough punch ups to establish his position in the town’s pecking order and had found a job that kept him out of trouble.

  ‘Mrs B, look at this, will you?’

  When Ivy peers at the screen she can feel the blood draining from her face. Jake’s name is in the police report as the person who’d raised the alarm about the events at RidgeTop Resort.

  Jake had told her that Alfonse could get into any database, but until now she hadn’t believed him. She’d always thought he was embellishing things and mocking her. Computers aren’t something she understands, beyond online shopping and basic searches, but here, in front of her eyes, she can see that Alfonse has tapped into the Vermont police’s computer and is accessing their communications about the suspected terrorist attack.

  There are lots of other communications, but none of them are important to her. All that matters, is that her son is in a situation where terrorists are present.

  She knows her son, and not just in the way a mother normally knows their child. She has a deeper understanding than most. The knowledge of how far he’ll go to protect others is the greatest burden she carries, and the fact he’s laden with guilt and grief means he’ll be compelled to fight back against the terrorists.

  Details on the terrorists are sketchy at best, but that doesn’t reassure her. In her mind, there are dozens of gun-toting bad guys facing off against an empty-handed Jake.

  She hasn’t seen her son since he left town after the business in New York, but there’s no doubt in her mind that he won’t have undergone a personality transplant in the months that have passed.

  ‘What will become of my boy?’

  The question is a rhetorical one, but Alfonse takes her hands in his so she looks up at him.

  ‘Jake will do what he will do. Knowing him, he’ll find a way to take those terrorists out. What it’ll be, I have no idea, but, Mrs B, I trust him to find a way.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  Alfonse looks away. When he speaks, Ivy has to strain to hear him. ‘Forgive my honesty, but if he can’t find a way, I think he’ll die trying rather than quit. He couldn’t protect Taylor, and in his mind, saving the hostages’ lives will atone for some of the guilt he feels about her.’

  Ivy doesn’t reply.

  She can’t.

  Not because she thinks Alfonse is wrong.

  But because she thinks he’s right.

  She’d wanted him to tell her something, anything, else. Instead, he’s confirmed the worries she’s been harbouring since hearing of the attack on the mountain.

  She knows Jake will put his life on the line for others and, while she admires his courage, she can’t get her head around the fear that her son may already be dead.

  Chapter 59

  I leave the maintenance shed behind me and creep through the snow. After being ambushed by Tattoo Neck I’m more cautious than ever. The extra level of caution slows down my progress, but I’m comfortable with being a little slower if it keeps me alive.

  My first destination is the decking that runs out to the balcony – the more weapons I have the better. Plus, what I do or don’t find there will let me know how much the terrorists know.

  If the bodies of the three terrorists have been moved, and their weapons are gone, I’ll know Hannah has sent someone out to look for them. On the other hand, if their orders were to remain outside in case of further rescue attempts, it’s possible that she’s unaware I’ve taken them out and I’ll find them lying where they dropped.

  When I get within sight of the first part of the decking, I give the whole area a slow, careful scan. It’s hard to look for movement when snow is billowing and swirling around, so I scan more than once before crossing the open area at a slow trot.

  I press my back against the wall of the resort and check both ways before moving along the decking.

  There are three large mounds halfway along the decking. They’re semi-covered by the falling snow, but there’s no mistaking they’re human shapes. I slide my feet through the snow until one of my feet bumps against something.

  I thrust my hands down and retrieve the rocket launcher. With it stood against the wall I continue dragging my feet along until they bump against something else.

  This time my hands emerge with an assault rifle.

  I brush the snow from the three bodies and find two more clips of ammunition for the rifle.

  As I’m bent over the third body, I notice a smaller mound in the snow. In the half light, from the outside lights that the terrorists didn’t smash – I’m not sure why they’re working when the electricity has been cut, but I figure they double as emergency lights that will work in the event of a power failure – it looks to be about two feet long and one wide. When I brush the snow from it, I find an ammunition case.

  I haul it from the snow and take a quick look around me before reaching for the clasps. There’s no one about so I open the case’s lid and reveal a pair of rockets for the launcher. They’re encased in moulded padding, but that’s not what’s got my attention.

  Their presence is what’s gripped me. I’d come here looking for an assault rifle, and I’d have been more than happy to get one. Instead, I’ve gone one better and not just got the rifle, but also a rocket launcher, and ammo for them both.

  I don’t yet know how the rocket launcher can be of use to me, but I’m glad it’s in my hands and not theirs.

  I remove one of the spare rockets from the case and slide it on the end of the rocket launcher. It glides down and there’s a soft thunk when it’s in position. I lift the launcher up so I can examine it in the faint glow.

  There’s a safety catch and a trigger, but I don’t see any other controls. I had expected it to have some complicated mechanism that required a series of actions to activate it, but when I think about it, that doesn’t make sense. When used in a combat situation by army grunts, it needs to be as simple as possible to use.

  Now I’ve got it prepared, I can start to execute the next part of my plan.

  I prop the rocket launcher against the corner of the resort wall and peer round the timber cladding.

  The man patrolling outside the front door is still pacing back and forth. Other than the falling snow there’s not a scrap of cover in the thirty yards between us.

  There’s no way I can use stealth to sneak up on him; all I can do is ambush him, so I wait until he walks towards me and, as soon as he turns, I dash from where I am and head straight for him.

  I’m gambling on a couple of things: that I can get close enough to shoot him before he hears me coming and turns his gun on me, and that there are no other terrorists waiting just inside the door.

  The thick layer of snow coupled with the howling wind muffle my approach, but he’s at the end of his route by the time I’m within five yards of him, so I squeeze the trigger on the assault rifle.

  It spits bullets and I have to wrestle with it to keep it trained on him.

  I see him jerk backwards, and then his head snaps to the side.

  He slumps in a heap, but I keep running towards him.

  I skid to a halt and reach down to grab his collar with one hand and his rifle with another.

  It’s a struggle, but I manage to drag him until the resort’s main entrance is only just visible through the snowstorm and lay him on his back.

  My next move is to untie the laces of his boots.

  I haul him into a sitting position and press his shoulders forward until I can tie the laces of his left boot around his right wrist. Once both of his arms are tied to his boots, I claim his weapons and retreat to get ready to put the next part of my plan into action.

  When I reach the end of the decking, I tease my head around the corner and see what I’d both hoped and expected to see.

  The sliding glass doors that form the front wall of the dining room, and provide easy access to the balcony, are not just closed, but their curtains are still drawn.

  This makes the first part of my plan a lot safer.

  I face the wall of glass and raise my automatic rifle. I’ve checked the clip and there’s around twenty bullets remaining.

  It takes around two seconds for the twenty bullets to smash every pane of glass. While the glass will be toughened, and have a shatterproof membrane attached, it’s not designed to deal with small projectiles travelling at several hundred miles an hour.

  Chapter 60

  Daniel lifts his head and stares around him. Like him and his mom, everyone else in the room had pressed themselves to the floor at the sudden burst of gunfire.

  One of the terrorists had opened fire in retaliation, but thankfully he’d aimed at the windows behind them rather than at the hostages.

  Now the terrorists are huddled in a tight bunch and the woman has left the office to speak to them.

  Even though Daniel can see she’s strung out, it looks like she’s calming down her men.

  He watches as she takes a gun from one of them and inches her way along the wall; she teases the curtain back just enough to let her peek beyond it. Her head shakes, and she marches back across the room. She points at two of her men and sends them towards the end of the room where the broken windows are.

  Daniel looks at his mom and sees the fear in her eyes. He knows she’s nowhere near as tough as she makes out – he’s known for a long time, although he’s never let on to her. To tell her he knows would shatter what strength she does have. Despite his tender age, he’s aware that some illusions have to be believed by the conjuror as well as the audience.

  When he turns and looks at the windows he can see the curtains flapping in the breeze. The temperature in the room has dropped several degrees already, and with the windows appearing to be smashed it’ll soon get a lot colder.

  As he’s looking at the curtains he notices something odd about the ceiling. Right along the first six feet of the ceiling, there is a series of pockmarks in the wooden panelling. He’s sure they weren’t there before, which means they’re a result of the gunfire.

  This makes him think about who’d fired at the windows from outside, and why.

  The obvious answer is that it’s someone coming to their rescue, but he doesn’t know who that someone could be. So far as he can work out, the only candidate is the bartender. If the police were involved then the gunfire would have been followed up with an attack of some kind.

  Daniel knows from his experience of playing online games with his friends that storming a building works best when there’s a distraction of some kind. That’s what he figures the police would do, but there’s no sounds of gunfire coming from the opposite end of the building, indicative of a follow up attack; therefore, it must be the bartender who’d shot out the front windows.

  The position of the pockmarks in the ceiling suggest to Daniel that the bartender had kept his aim high to avoid killing anyone in the room.

  That one of the terrorists had reacted by firing at the windows is telling. It shows at least one of them is nervous about what’s happening, and Daniel has already noticed that several of the terrorists have left the room without returning.

  Daniel’s not sure whether it’s good or bad that the terrorists are on edge. On the one hand, they might well decide to cut their losses and make their escape while it’s still safe to do so, but on the other, the longer they stick around, the more chance there is of their brutality continuing, or even increasing.

  The more he thinks about it, Daniel realises the effect that shooting out the windows has had.

  The terrorists are now under attack, and although the woman had looked to see if she could spot whoever was attacking them, she can’t have seen anyone as she’d shaken her head.

  Daniel has to hide his smile at the fact the terrorists are now being terrorised. It’s the most perfect of ironies and nothing less than they deserve.

  Chapter 61

  I rush to the front of the hotel as fast as the snow allows me and get ready for a group of terrorists to come running out. So they don’t immediately see me, I keep myself tight against the building and wait either for bodies to appear, or for them to start shooting at the man I’ve sat in front of the entrance.

  If they appear, I’ll shoot them. If they stay back and shoot at their comrade, I’ll know when they’re coming and, as such, I’ll be prepared for them trying to sneak out.

  I’m comfortable either way, but my preference would be for them to come rushing out in a tight knot. Then I’ll be able to attack them before they’re even aware of my presence.

  My heart is pounding in my chest and I know it’s nothing to do with the short dash from the balcony.

  At times like these the human body fills itself with adrenaline, as part of the natural fight or flight reaction. As much as I’m keyed up and ready for the next battle, a part of me is screaming that I should get myself out of here as it’s more than a little probable that I’ll die in my attempt to save others.

  I don’t listen to that part of my psyche: running away doesn’t solve anything. If it did, the world would be populated by nomads as the entire population upped sticks for greener pastures at the first sign of trouble. My own experience of leaving town can’t be described as positive. Everywhere I’ve been, I’ve carried my troubles with me, and were it not for the fact that my presence endangers those I care about, I’d have given in to my homesickness months ago.

  Nobody emerges from the resort’s main entrance.

  The same nobody refuses to take a shot at the terrorist I’ve trussed up.

  It’s possible they can tell he’s one of their buddies, but I’d made sure to drag him far enough away that the snowstorm would shield his identity and leave him appearing as nothing more than a shadow.

  I give it another minute or so, and then turn my head to check my rear. If they’ve fooled me, and exited the building via the shot-out windows and doors that lead to the balcony, they’ll be able to ambush me from behind.

  There’s no sign of any movement in either direction so I revise my thinking and stay where I am.

  For the next five minutes I keep my back pressed against the wall and swivel my head left and right.

  Nobody comes out of the main entrance or around the corner from the decking.

  This tells me a number of things. Number one is that Hannah or one of her lieutenants has a cooler head than I’ve anticipated. I’d expected them to react in anger or fear, and send a posse charging after me; that hasn’t happened.

  The second thing is that they’ve enough training to make sure their superior numbers work for them. From the military thrillers I’ve read, the odds are always with the force that has the greater numbers. This counts even more so when one force is storming a building held by their enemies. By far their safest course of action is to stay put and wait for someone to try and breach their way into the resort.

  A third point is that they don’t know who they’re up against. It’s possible they saw the piste basher explode but, as their men haven’t returned after shooting rockets at it, they may well think the cops escaped unhurt and have taken out their buddies. My shooting the resort’s front windows out will have reinforced their fears that they’re under attack.

  I already knew they were disciplined, but their non-reaction shows self-control.

  It’s possible they have escaped down the ladder leading from the cable car station, but I’m not sure where they think they could go.

  Either they’re going to negotiate for a helicopter to take them away, or they’re going to try and sneak away.

  To stand any chance of sneaking away they’ll need to go a couple of hundred yards uphill, to the summit of the mountain, and then make their way down the other side.

  That area is cordoned off due to the avalanche risk, but for terrorists looking to escape a police chase it’ll look mighty inviting.

  The next thought that enters my head isn’t a welcome one.

  If they’re planning their escape, they’ll be getting ready to make sure there are no witnesses left behind.

  I don’t know at what point Hannah plans to detonate the charge on the columns, but it makes sense that she plans to do it before the hostages have a chance to move away from the kill zone.

  If she’s in there with her finger on the detonator, she’ll soon realise her charges aren’t working. Once that moment is reached, she’ll starting gunning down the hostages.

  This line of thinking is most unwelcome; all I can picture is a row of terrorists firing their submachine guns into a crowd of bodies.

  I check both ways again and start making my way back to the corner of the building. I left the rocket launcher there and I feel it’s time it was used against the terrorists, instead of by them.

  Where they’d got it from is beyond me, but I’ve lived long enough to know there’s nothing that can’t be bought, provided you approach the right people.

  Chapter 62

  Captain Ogden barges into the control room with the same force of personality he left with. His face is set in concentration as he faces up to Nathan.

  ‘These cable cars, can they be controlled from either end, or do you have to work in synchronisation?’

  Nathan isn’t sure of the reason for the question, but figures that Ogden must have an idea of some kind if he is asking it. ‘Either station can control the whole thing, but we always run with an operator top and bottom. The people who can afford to stay at RidgeTop expect to see us controlling the cars and, because they’ve got money…’ Nathan gives a helpless shrug. ‘Some of them think the cableway exists for their personal use, so we have to be on hand at either end. Over the years I’ve been here, I’ve sent customers cartons of cigarettes, suitcases they’ve forgotten, and, on a couple of occasions, hookers.’