I remove the ceiling tile I lifted earlier and use the light that floods upwards to get my bearings.

  Now that I’m about to light one of the matches, I’m grateful for their length; the last thing I want to do is set fire to my hands.

  When I touch the lit match to the cognac-soaked wick, it flares at once. I shake the match out and toss the bottle of cognac down towards the one I opened and rolled along the floor earlier, before clambering into the crawl space.

  It doesn’t matter that it misses the first bottle, it lands close enough to ignite the cognac that has spilled from the rolled bottle. Nor does it smash, but that’s fine as well. When the flame gets past the wick it’ll explode.

  The sugar I poured into each of the bottles will cause the burning cognac to stick to whatever it comes into contact with.

  As planned, the blaze sets off the fire alarm, which in turn activates the sprinkler system. The alarm is nothing less than a klaxon, and the jets of water from the sprinklers are spraying the whole corridor.

  I don’t waste time watching the fire. The assault rifle is in my hands, and before I’ve counted to ten, the terrorists who were at the other side of the doors burst into view.

  They recoil at the suddenness of the flames, but it’s the last reaction they ever have.

  I’m no marksman, but I can hit two man-sized targets at a range of six feet. They crumple where they stand, and as they’re falling to the ground the bottle of cognac explodes and showers their bodies with glass and burning alcohol.

  The alcohol-fuelled fire won’t burn for long under the spray of water coming from the sprinklers, but if luck is on my side, it’ll burn long enough to hide their bullet wounds from any quick examinations their buddies give them.

  I drop the ceiling tile back into place and set off for my next destination; setting a fire and drawing this pair of terrorists out is only the first part of my plan.

  Chapter 70

  The double impact of the fire alarm and the cold water from the sprinklers is enough to cause panic and confusion in the dining room. Some of the hostages stand, as if getting ready to evacuate, but the terrorists guarding them wave them back to a sitting position.

  Sharon’s first instinct is to leave the building as well, but as she’s starting to rise she realises the fire alarm must be to do with Boulder.

  Whether he is screwing with the terrorists, the way he had when he shot out the front windows, or has some other reason for triggering the alarm, it doesn’t matter. The simple truth is, every one of the terrorists looks nervous.

  No longer are they exuding quiet confidence. As their numbers dwindle, so does their surety.

  She can imagine the doubts flooding their minds. The huge explosion was enough to sow the first seeds, but every action since has worsened things for them.

  With their colleagues continually leaving the room and not returning, thoughts of abandoning their plan and escaping while they can are bound to be entering nervous minds. Next will come a decision of mutiny, followed by the terrorists speaking to each other and looking towards the office.

  The female terrorist emerges from the office, points at one of her men and then to Fleming.

  The other terrorist walks across to her but Fleming pushes himself backwards.

  Sharon watches with distaste as the terrorist crooks a finger at Fleming and gets ignored. The manager’s reaction showcases the dictionary definitions of both cowardice and denial.

  It’s obvious why the female terrorist wants Fleming: he’s the manager of the hotel and, as such, he’ll know how to switch off the alarm and the sprinklers. It’s clear he hasn’t considered this. With every passing minute he’s showing himself to be nothing more than a corporate drone rather than a real leader.

  Sharon is tempted to offer to switch off the alarms herself, but she knows the female terrorist won’t let her leave the room with one of her men as she’s already identified herself as trouble.

  Fleming will just have to suck it up and do as he’s told.

  Despite the blaring of the klaxon and the cold from the water, Sharon can’t help but admire Boulder’s cunning in setting off the fire alarm.

  Not only is the noise disorientating, but the cold water will chill the terrorists and slow their movements. Coupled with the psychological effects of the action, it’s clear to Sharon that Boulder is not just tough, he’s smart as well.

  The noise from the klaxon is a nuisance and is sure to trigger headaches, but it’s the water that’s a greater concern for Sharon.

  She’s tough enough to withstand being cold for a while, but with a sub-zero wind blowing through the room it won’t take long for people to become dangerously cold.

  It may take a while for hypothermia to kick in and frostbite to develop, but being soaked through is likely to increase the risk of people succumbing to either condition.

  Sharon doesn’t believe Boulder would want to wantonly risk people’s lives this way, so she reasons that he must have an end game in mind and it’s going to be soon. She’s pleased at the thought, although she can’t help but worry that the female terrorist will arrive at the same conclusion.

  In front of her, Brooke’s bare skin has a bluish hue to it, and like so many of the others she’s straightened a table and is hunching under it to shelter from the water sprinkling down from the ceiling.

  Brooke is looking her way with expectancy in her eyes. Sharon wonders what she’s asking, when she realises the girl is waiting for the nod from her to carry out the next part of their ruse.

  Sharon shakes her head and gives Brooke the best smile her battered face will allow. This isn’t the right time for them to act, but she knows it’s coming soon.

  Chapter 71

  I lie in wait above the plant room door. I’ve moved a ceiling tile an inch out of place so I can see any movement below me. To shut off the sprinklers and the alarm they’ll have to access the control panel, which is located in the plant room.

  As there’s a code that needs to be keyed in to deactivate the alarm, I suspect one of the terrorists will bring either Fleming or Ed the maintenance man to switch it off. There will be a gun at their backs, but I’ve already thought of a way to deal with that.

  With the klaxon blaring I can’t hear footsteps approaching, but I can see shadows crossing the floor.

  I tighten my grip on the pistol and prepare myself.

  It’s Fleming’s comb-over that comes into view first. He pulls a key from his pocket and I see him tilt his head to one side as he looks at the door. I’m guessing either the lock has been shot out or the door has been kicked in by one of the terrorists.

  He won’t like that: any small piece of damage to his fiefdom is taken as a personal insult. I’m sure when he learns it was me who soaked his precious hotel by setting off the sprinklers he will fire me.

  That’s fine. If I get out of this alive, and somehow manage to not end up in prison for all the homicides I’ve committed, I plan to drive south until I’m somewhere that’s warm all year round. Being from Glasgow, I have a natural tolerance to cold weather, but tonight has given me enough cold to last me the rest of my life.

  Fleming pushes open the door and takes a step forward. I can see the gun at his back, and the top of a terrorist’s head.

  The terrorist stands guard at the door, which is what I expected him to do. I use my left hand to slide the ceiling tile further over and extend my right hand downwards. The pistol in my hand has my substitute silencer attached and I’m aiming it right at the top of his head. It’d be easy to shoot him now, but his gun is still trained on Fleming so I have to wait until the alarm is silenced. Before I pull my trigger, I have to be certain that if the terrorist pulls his trigger in a death spasm, he won’t shoot Fleming.

  As soon as the noise stops I say two words loud enough to be heard past ears still ringing from the alarm’s piercing note.

  The terrorist does as he’s instructed and looks up. It’s not that he’s obeying me, he’s just giving an instinctive reaction to an unexpected command.

  As his head tilts back, his gun comes up towards me. It’s a great mix of human reaction and military training that makes the gun point where the eyes are looking.

  Once I’m convinced his gun isn’t pointing at Fleming, I pull my trigger.

  The terrorist gets two bullets in the top of his head. At the range of a foot I wasn’t going to miss; the second was my way of making sure.

  He slumps down in a heap as Fleming’s head appears in the doorway.

  ‘Kirk. It’s me… Boulder. Listen up and listen quick.’

  Fleming cranes his neck further round the door and looks up at me. I’m sure he wants to say something, but his mouth is opening and closing without any sounds coming out.

  I don’t have time to deal with his shock so I start firing instructions at him.

  The first thing I tell him to do is to drag the terrorist into the plant room. When he’s in there he has to check the phone lines. If there’s a new router in place of the one that serves the resort, he’s to remove it and give it to me.

  ‘Should I plug our one back in?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not.’ I don’t waste time explaining it to him, but if all the cell phones in the dining room suddenly get a connection, they’ll start pinging and beeping and that’s sure to draw Hannah’s attention. While it would be nice to screw with her some more, I don’t want to push her too far and I don’t want her to find out that I’ve cut her connection until she discovers it for herself. Plus, if some of the hostages start trying to call or send messages, they will be putting themselves at risk of reprisals.

  ‘How can I go back in there? The second I turn up without my guard they’ll think I’ve killed him.’

  Fleming has a point, or he would do if he wasn’t a nine-stone weakling with a dodgy comb-over. The only people who could believe he’s killed an armed man with his bare hands wear straightjackets or aluminium foil hats.

  ‘Run back in, shouting “don’t shoot”; tell them the guard got into a gun fight with me and you ran for your life.’

  ‘Why can’t I just hide out somewhere?’

  His cowardice makes me want to drop down and recalibrate his sensibilities, but I don’t have time for that. Besides, if I don’t want him to rat me out at the slightest pressure, I have to keep him onside. Also, sending him back without his escort, with a black eye or a bloody nose, is akin to putting a noose round his neck.

  ‘Two reasons: one, sooner or later they’ll coming looking for you and the guy I just shot, and the chances are they’ll find you. Two, I need you to pick up that guy’s pistol and put it under your shirt, in the back of your pants. When you get back in there, sit where you were for ten minutes then move so you’re beside Sharon Bairden – make sure nobody sees what you’re doing. Give her the gun then tell her that when I come in, she’s to take out the guards nearest her.’ I have one last use for him. ‘The terrorists, how many of them are left in there and where are they?’

  Fleming’s eyes glaze over as he thinks before giving his answer. I learn there are four guards covering the hostages, two by the front window, and Hannah is still using his office.

  ‘Tell Sharon, if she takes the two by the windows, I’ll deal with the rest. Now go.’

  He goes – not without swallowing a few times first, but he goes.

  I know in my heart that, by telling him to take a gun in for Sharon, I’m putting his life at risk. It’s not a decision I came to lightly, but if I’m to succeed in rescuing the hostages I’ll need some help.

  I just hope Fleming can be trusted not to ditch the pistol rather than deliver it to Sharon.

  Chapter 72

  The control room has become a whole lot busier since the cableway started moving. The police team are poised, ready for an attack, and Ogden has stationed a spotter on the roof and equipped him with a huge torch so he can see into the cars before they arrive in case they contain explosives.

  Nathan has Attwood, Ogden, and an FBI special agent called Riley with him in the control room.

  The air in the room is stale, yet Nathan can feel the sense of anticipation. He’s already told the others in the room that the next car to appear will be the first one to have travelled all the way down from the resort.

  As much as Riley might outrank Ogden, he is the only man the FBI had available to send, and therefore the only resources he has at his disposal are those he can commandeer from the police captain. The two men have had their pissing contest, and now they are working together in the kind of uneasy truce that usually requires the services of the United Nations.

  Ogden’s radio crackles into life.

  ‘Got the car in view. I can see no occupants or any obvious explosives.’

  Nathan eases back the controls so the car slows as it approaches the station. As soon as it appears from the snow, all four men give it their focus.

  ‘What’s that? Are those safety notices?’

  Both Nathan and Attwood say no at the same time.

  Nathan turns back to his control desk and stops the car at the point where passengers would board or disembark.

  The four men all move towards the door as one. Despite it being his domain, Nathan has the good sense to let the others go first. He’s as keen as them to know what the papers that have been stuck to the door are, but he figures he’ll be lucky if he ever finds out.

  As the others file into the station, Nathan looks past them and sees two members of the assault team approach the cable car with their guns aimed and ready for use.

  By the time Nathan has joined the others in the station, the cable car has been declared clear by the two cops, and both Ogden and Riley are in front of the door.

  Nathan steps forward when Ogden calls his name. ‘Yes, Captain?’

  ‘This door, can you see any strange wires or anything unusual about it?’

  Nathan gives the door a quick but thorough examination. He gets what the captain is hinting at. The idea the terrorists may have booby trapped the door is a real and terrifying prospect, but he doesn’t see anything untoward.

  ‘It looks normal to me.’

  ‘Good.’ Ogden grasps the handle and slides the door of the car open.

  Nathan doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until he jumps at Ogden’s hollered request for evidence bags.

  From the glance Nathan had of the papers while he was examining the door, he’d seen they were a message to him from Boulder. While he doesn’t think they’ll hold evidence against the terrorists, he’s seen enough cop shows to know that procedures have to be followed.

  As soon as the three sheets of paper are placed in separate evidence bags, Nathan feels a strong grip on his arm; he looks round and sees it’s Riley.

  ‘Come with me, please. Ogden, the control room, if you will.’

  Although the FBI man’s words are polite, there is no doubt in Nathan’s mind that he’s just received an order, not a request.

  Attwood tries to follow them but Ogden plants a hand in the middle of his chest and closes the door in his face.

  The three evidence bags have been laid across the control desk, and Nathan is invited to read them.

  The handwriting is terrible, but at least the author has used block capitals to make the notes more legible.

  He reads each page twice so he can comprehend every word. When he’s finished he looks at Riley, who rolls his hand indicating he should speak.

  ‘He’s genuine. Where he says about Deadwood Attwood, that only broke yesterday morning, there’s no way the terrorists can know about that.’ Nathan explains where the nickname came from, but neither man reacts to it.

  ‘And the rest of it, what do you make of his claim that he’s taken out a dozen of the terrorists, including their pilot and their helicopter?’ Riley’s tone is both incredulous and respectful.

  ‘I hardly know the man. I’ve only seen him once or twice.’

  ‘He’s on the right side.’ Ogden pushes his cell phone back into a pocket and looks at Riley. ‘When I heard his name earlier, I had him checked out. He has a bad habit of getting mixed up in stuff he shouldn’t be anywhere near, but until we can get a team up there, he’s the best hope the hostages have.’

  Riley draws back his shoulders and looks up at Ogden. ‘Are you condoning a civilian taking vigilante action, Captain?’

  ‘You’re damn right I am. I’ve lost a dozen men to these terrorists. You’ve read the message the same as I have. They shot that piste basher with a goddamned rocket launcher. Maybe a civilian shouldn’t be running around taking on terrorists, but if what he says about the place being rigged with explosives is true, we should be building a statue of the man for the lives he’s saved, not arresting him for his methods.’

  While Nathan is enjoying watching the two men go at it, they’re both missing the most important detail. Rather than point it out to them, he turns his radio to channel three, as per the instruction on the second page of the message, and hands Captain Ogden the evidence bag with the third part of the message in it.

  As he waits for the radio to crackle into life, he stares out of the window that faces the mountain.

  ‘Nathan, can you restart the cableway please?’

  Nathan understands the sense in Riley’s request; as long as he’s got the cars stationary, Boulder can’t send any more messages or start to evacuate hostages – if he’s successful in his attempt to eliminate the terrorists.

  As he throws the lever over, he can’t help but wonder what kind of man Boulder is to keep risking his life for others. If he’d been up there, he wouldn’t have sent messages down in the cable cars, he’d have been in one himself.

  Boulder had refused that option and chosen to stay up there with the aim of saving the lives of strangers. To Nathan, that choice showed all kinds of bravery, and maybe a little insanity.

  Ogden steps forward from the back of the control room, his cell in his hand. ‘Right, that’s that done. And there’s been more praise for this Boulder guy.’