The way Attwood rolls his eyes tells Nathan he is probably in line for a disciplinary hearing for that last admission, but he isn’t worried. He’s been honest with the captain and, as far as he’s concerned, that’s the most important thing.

  ‘Can you tell if someone’s trying to move the cars from the top station?’

  ‘Definitely. If the brakes are on you can hear them protesting against the pull, and if they’re off you can see the wheel turning.’ Nathan points up at the huge wheel, which is suspended from the ceiling of the station. ‘Plus, of course, you see the cars moving.’

  ‘Right. Are the brakes on at the top?’

  ‘Yes, they are. It’s protocol to have the brakes on at all times when the cars are stationary.’

  ‘Fair enough. I want you to release the brakes at your end. I don’t suppose you can release them at the other end too?’

  Nathan doesn’t bother looking at Attwood before throwing the brake lever into the off position.

  The resort manager has other ideas though. ‘Why do you want the brakes off? Surely if they try and escape this way you’ll want to be able to stop them?’

  ‘I do indeed. But I also want to give the hostages an escape route. We don’t know what in Sam Hill is going on up there, but if my men are doing their jobs, they may want an open route to evacuate people. Let’s make sure they have one.’

  Attwood fronts up to Ogden. ‘Is that all you’re doing? Giving the terrorists a possible escape route? Good God, Captain, what about the people who’re trapped up there?’

  ‘I’ve a little surprise in store for the morning, but trust me, I’ve had my orders from the chief of police. No more men are to be risked until first light. If the terrorists have any demands, they’re yet to make contact. If they plan to kill everyone up there, then we’re already too late.’

  Attwood pushes himself forward from where he’d been leaning against the control desk and stands toe to toe with Ogden. ‘This surprise of yours, I don’t expect you to tell me what it is, but it had better include a helicopter gunship.’

  Nathan watches as Ogden pulls a face, but the captain doesn’t react quick enough to hide the flicker of surprise in his eyes. Therefore, a gunship is exactly the kind of surprise he’s got for the morning.

  With a helicopter gunship providing cover, an assault team will be given a great chance to land and then storm the resort. As Ogden has pointed out, the terrorists are yet to make any demands, so, theoretically at least, time is on their side.

  Attwood isn’t finished with his questions though. ‘And what if it’s the terrorists who come down? I’m not risking any more of my staff.’

  For a moment, Nathan thinks the finger that Attwood is jabbing in Ogden’s face will make contact, but he’s glad his boss doesn’t go that far. Maybe it’s Ogden’s physique that stops him, or perhaps his rank, but he has enough sense to make sure his finger doesn’t touch the police captain.

  ‘I wouldn’t ask you to.’ Ogden jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the public area of the cableway station. ‘That’s what they’re here for.’

  When Nathan looks at the station he sees a squad of men similar to those who clambered into the Ridge Runner. Each man is dressed in combat clothes and is carrying an automatic rifle. Another group of regular cops enter the station carrying what look to be armoured riot shields.

  Nathan gives out a low whistle. ‘I like how you think, Captain.’

  Ogden glowers towards Attwood. ‘It’s a good job someone does. Tell me, how long does it take for one of those cars to get from top to bottom?’

  ‘Fourteen minutes and thirty-six seconds.’ When Nathan sees the amazed expression on Ogden’s face he gives a shrug. ‘There’s a lot of long, boring nights in this job. You gotta amuse yourself somehow.’

  Ogden leaves with a half chuckle rocking his shoulders, but there’s no such levity from Attwood.

  Nathan knows his boss will already be counting the cost of the attack in terms of lost revenue through a decrease in future bookings. He suspects Attwood will already be thinking of ways to limit the reputational damage and how to market the resort in the days and weeks to come.

  To Nathan’s mind this is a waste of time, as nothing can be decided until they know all the details of the attack.

  Chapter 63

  I’ve waited here long enough to realise that none of Hannah’s men are coming out to where I am, so I revisit my earlier thinking and move on to the next plan. I’m not sure what letter of the alphabet I’m up to, or if I’m now on the second round, but such concerns have long passed me by.

  If I’m going to progress with plan whatever, I have to do it now before I lose my nerve, or give the terrorists even more time to anticipate my arrival, and prepare all manner of traps and ambushes.

  Rather than walk straight in through the main doors, I plan to use a little subterfuge, if not stealth.

  I forge my way back to the corner of the building and take a careful peek around it. When I don’t see anybody waiting to ambush me, I step around the corner and lift the rocket launcher.

  It’s heavy and unwieldy in my hands, but I’ve lifted greater weights, and anyone who’s ever had to carry a drunk out of a bar will have experienced the worst kind of flaccid load imaginable. When working as a doorman, I’ve tossed, carried and knocked drunks out of bars on more occasions than I can remember.

  Compared to tonight, those were halcyon days, when the worst I could expect was a ten-beer-hero with an array of badly thrown punches, and the prospect of a few bruises on my knuckles.

  I don’t put the rocket launcher to my shoulder, or try and aim it in any way, I just want it to hand for when I do need it.

  There’s still isn’t anyone near the main entrance as I approach it, one crumping step at a time. When I’m a foot away from the point where I’ll expose myself, I lean the rocket launcher against the wall and creep until my head is right by the open doorway.

  I listen. Chatter, the striking of a match or the cocking of a weapon are what I’m listening for, along with footsteps. In an ideal world, footsteps and chatter are what I’d like to hear. They’d allow me to judge the number of opponents, along with any possible movements they’re making.

  I hear nothing but the howling wind of the snowstorm.

  With no other option, I cast a quick look back towards the balcony and check there isn’t a terrorist coming my way, and then turn so I’m facing the wall.

  I bend at the waist, so my upper body leans left and then right.

  My left eye passes the edge of the doorway for less than a half second, but I get enough of a look to see there aren’t any terrorists waiting for me.

  It feels as if the rocket launcher has gained another twenty pounds since I put it down, but I blame the extra weight on tiredness, and my body’s inability to produce an endless supply of adrenaline.

  The hour is late and, while I’m no stranger to late nights and hard work, the way I’ve been chilled, and have slogged up and down the ski slope, has sapped a lot of my strength and energy. The fact I’ve had to wade through snow for the last couple of hours has caused my energy resources to more or less vanish. Adrenaline has carried me this far and it’s going to have to keep me going for a while longer.

  The fact I’m so weary is yet another concern I have to push to the back of my mind; if I were fresh and rested, I’m sure I’d be a bit more confident about the course of action I’m about to take.

  I creep into the main entrance. My eyes are flicking all ways, but I see no immediate threats.

  This is a worry, I don’t for one minute believe they’ve left the entrance unguarded. Unless the bullets I fired high into the windows at the front of the dining room have ricocheted off the ceiling and buried themselves in the terrorists, it doesn’t make sense for them not to have a presence here.

  Except it does.

  They’ve been hunting me in small groups. I’ve taken those groups out.

  They think they’re under attack, either from me or a police tactical team. Therefore, they’re now doing the smart thing and allowing Mohammed to come to the mountain.

  The layout of the main entrance is a wide passage bisected at right angles by a corridor with doors leading from it. Ahead of me the passage leads to the customer suites, and the dining room where the hostages are being held.

  There’s a series of heavy doors between the entrance and the dining room – which keep the heat in and the cold out – meaning I can’t be seen by anyone from that direction.

  It would make an awful lot of sense for a couple of terrorists to wait ten yards along the corridor, ready to ambush anyone who enters.

  The question is, are they to my left, or my right? For a fraction of a second, I wonder if they’re on both sides, before I discount the idea. If they were on both sides of the corridor, shooting at someone in the middle, there’s every chance the two teams would shoot each other.

  What I need to do now is figure out which side they’re on and a way to eliminate their threat.

  The answer is a simple one.

  I creep forward until I’m within ten feet of the corridor and release the assault rifle in my right hand. It hangs from its strap, bumping against my hip, ready to be grabbed should I need it.

  The rocket launcher in my left hand gets hoisted onto my right shoulder and I give it a quick check to make sure it’s ready to fire when I press the trigger.

  All I need to do now is identify whether to fire left or right.

  The fingers of my left hand grasp the ratty hat on my head and toss it into the middle of the corridor.

  Gunshots ring out before the hat has even landed, and punch it to the left.

  It makes sense for the terrorists to have taken up station on the right, from there they can cover attacks from both the main entrance and the cable car station.

  I now know the terrorists are on my right and that they’re jumpy – the speed of their response has shown as much, as they shot without realising what they were shooting at and gave away their position at the same time.

  A more worrying concern is that they hit a small moving target within a second of it appearing.

  Rather than dwell on negative thoughts, I take two steps to my left and point the rocket launcher right. I can see the first few feet of the corridor, but no more than that.

  I’m not a hundred per cent sure I won’t get caught by the explosion, but I’ve come too far to start worrying about the unknown.

  I squeeze the trigger and take a couple of steps to the right, so the corner of the wall will give me some cover. The whoosh from the rocket launcher is immediately drowned out by a thundering explosion that pummels me with superheated air and pushes me backwards.

  As soon as I can recover my balance, I drop the rocket launcher and run into the corridor with my hands clutching the automatic rifle.

  I’m looking at the right-hand end of the corridor for signs of life, but it’s a waste of time. There’s nothing but utter carnage. Two bodies are slumped against the walls and there’s the acrid smell of burning in the air, although I don’t see an actual fire.

  Chapter 64

  An idea comes to me, so I make my way to the cableway station as fast as I can while still showing a reasonable level of caution.

  I don’t think there will be anyone ahead of me, but I have to make sure I don’t have any nasty surprises. To run into a trap now would be careless, possibly fatal. My biggest fear is that the explosion will have been heard by everyone in the dining room.

  It’s one thing for the terrorists to have taken up defensive positions, but another for them to hold tight when they’re under attack. So far, I haven’t found any radios on the terrorists, which means they’ve no way of communicating with each other. Therefore, those in the dining room will have no idea whether the explosion has killed their men or the enemy. The last thing I want is Hannah sending some more of her men to investigate.

  It’s a gamble, but I aim the automatic rifle along the corridor and fire a short burst. My thumb flicks the rate selector to single shot and I fire off two rounds, three seconds apart.

  I’ve wasted maybe ten rounds, but if I’m lucky they’ll be fooled into thinking there’s a firefight going on and their guards are still alive.

  Rather than waste time waiting to see if my ruse has worked, I get to the cableway station and have a quick search. The men I pushed over the edge are still there, but the one I dumped behind the packing crates has gone.

  I run back to the beer cellar and find that the man I’d left between the kegs has also gone.

  There’s nothing I can do about it now, but I curse my earlier thoughts of being merciful. At least two of the men I fought with earlier are back in the game and, while it was very noble of me not to kill them, I’m now wishing I’d crippled them the way I did the guys by the ski lift.

  I expect that, if I get out of this alive, Doctor Edwards will have something to say about my escalating levels of violence, but when he asks, I plan to bat the question back at him to find out what he would have done in my position.

  I push those thoughts from my mind and concentrate on the matter at hand. Any further terrorists I encounter will either be killed or disabled to the extent they can no longer offer even the mildest threat.

  When I throw the drive lever against its stops, the cableway creaks into action.

  I then grab the notepad and pen from the operator’s control desk and start writing. My fingers are too cold to hold the pen properly, and this makes my writing childlike, but I do the best I can.

  I have to drop the pen and grab the drive lever when a cable car hoves into view.

  I don’t bring the cable car to a halt in the correct place, but it’s near enough for me to slide the door open and get inside.

  It takes me about two minutes to scrawl everything I need on three sheets of paper, and another minute to find a roll of tape.

  Before I return to the cable car I toss a glance along the corridor.

  It’s clear, so I dash into the cable car and tape my notes to the inside of the door. Not only do I have to get a message to those at the bottom of the mountain, I have to make sure I’m trusted by those who receive it.

  I go back to the control panel and send the cable car on its way downhill.

  When I first came to RidgeTop, my natural curiosity made me time the journey. It took fifteen minutes. Therefore, it will be at least thirty-five minutes before I hear back from Nathan, or whoever receives my message. That’s fifteen minutes each way, plus a minimum of five minutes for them to compose a response.

  In an ideal world, another police team will be waiting at the bottom and will come right back up, but I doubt that will happen. They’ll be fearful of being picked off by the terrorists.

  I could have let them know I’d stay and guard their approach, but the idea of sitting around for a half hour, while Hannah does goodness knows what to the hostages, doesn’t sit well with my conscience.

  ‘Boulder.’

  I freeze at the mention of my name. It’s coming from the radio I’d stuffed into my pocket and forgotten about.

  As much as I want to get into a dialogue with Hannah, and tell her what I think of her, I don’t answer. She can take from that whatever she likes.

  A reply from me will tell her I’m still alive and give her the confirmation she’s after.

  ‘Boulder, we need to talk.’

  I stifle the snarky response that’s in my mind and pick up my rifle. I’d rather show her I’m still alive and active than tell her.

  Chapter 65

  The wind howling in from the smashed windows makes Leslie as cold as he’s ever felt. He’s got his back against an upturned table and an arm round Lily. They’re huddled together for warmth but the only part of him that doesn’t feel chilled is the part that’s pressed up against his wife.

  The longer this ordeal goes on, the more he believes he’ll not see dawn.

  His heart is troubling him, but he’s keeping that information from Lily. There’s no point in worrying her about a situation she cannot change.

  He’s just taken his meds and there’ll be the usual ten minutes delay before they kick in and settle his heart.

  Lily had raised one of her sculpted eyebrows when she saw him take the meds. He wasn’t due any more until morning, but she hadn’t commented on what he was doing. For once in their marriage she trusted him to do what he thought best.

  Rather than waste time worrying whether or not his heart would survive the night, he distracts himself by puzzling over the actions of the waiting staff.

  The one in her forties, who’d been beaten up, is being tended to by one of the younger ones. This in itself isn’t unusual, he’d expect the same level of care for a colleague in any working environment. What is odd, though, is the way the younger one has stripped off her shirt so the older one can use it as a makeshift cloth to dab at the wounds on her face.

  Had it been a male colleague who’d done that, it would have been unremarkable. The same thought would have carried had the younger woman worn a T-shirt or vest under her shirt.

  The problem is, she doesn’t. Therefore, there is very little chance she would have chosen to expose herself in this way just to provide a cloth for a colleague. When Leslie factors in the dropping temperature – since the windows were shot out – the likelihood of the act being solely about caring for a colleague shrinks even further.

  Other than her bra, the girl is naked to the waist and Leslie can see her shivering from twenty feet away.

  The only other reason he can think of for the girl to remove her shirt is that she is trying to distract one or more of the guards.

  Them trying such an obvious tactic is a sign of their desperation and, while Leslie doesn’t think for one moment that the guards will be naive enough to fall for such a simple ruse, he has to admire the bravery shown by the two women.