When he’s finished speaking, Ogden knocks on the window that overlooks the station, and points at a cop who’s almost as big as he is. When the cop looks his way, Ogden gestures for the guy to join them in the control room.

  ‘What are you doing, Captain?’

  ‘I’m going up in the next cable car.’

  ‘No way are you doing that.’

  As Riley glares at Ogden, the cop enters the room.

  ‘You’re damn right I am. And I’m doing it alone so I don’t risk the lives of any more of my men.’ Ogden turns to face the cop. ‘I need your body armour, helmet and weapons.’

  The cop looks at Ogden. ‘Sir, I’d like to volunteer to come with you.’

  ‘Your request is noted, appreciated, and denied. I’m going up alone. Give me your gear, please.’

  As the cop strips off his equipment, Riley tries to order Ogden not to go up the mountain, but the burly captain just ignores him.

  Nathan keeps his face neutral, but inside he’s backing the captain. Boulder will need all the help he can get, and the way the captain has chosen to take action himself, rather than delegate the danger to his men, speaks volumes about him.

  The worry for Nathan is that Ogden may be too late to save Boulder. At least twenty minutes have passed since the message was written, and there will be a minimum of another fifteen before Ogden arrives at the resort. Thirty-five minutes is a long time for anyone to be battling against terrorists.

  Chapter 73

  Sharon can’t help but wince at the way Fleming returns to the dining room. To her way of thinking, it’s a miracle he hadn’t got himself shot when he burst through the door. Had he not had the good sense to raise his hands above his head, and shout to announce his arrival, she’s sure he’d be dead by now.

  She watches as the terrorist who’d had the clipboard marches up to Fleming, his gun aimed at the manager’s nose. Somehow, Fleming manages to raise his hands another couple of inches.

  Sharon can see the two men speaking but she has no idea of what’s being said.

  Fleming has the gun removed from his face and gets directed towards the hostages.

  Once he’s under the watch of one of the guards, the man who’d put the gun under his nose marches to the office where the female terrorist is holed up.

  Sharon can only think of one reason as to why the terrorist who had escorted Fleming from the room hadn’t returned with him: he’s fighting with Boulder.

  She now wants to get involved in any way she can, but she still doesn’t have a weapon beyond her fists and feet.

  Brooke’s arm is close to hers, so she gives the girl a nudge with her elbow and keeps her eyes fixed on Fleming. ‘Go and see if the bald guy will let you go to the restroom. If he does, go, and come back to me. If he refuses, don’t sit near me when you return. Keep an eye on me, and when I nod your way, get up and make as much of a scene about it as you dare.’

  Sharon puzzles at Fleming’s return. In the normal run of events he’s a stickler for professionalism, and carries his slight frame with a stiffness she’s always thought was his way of trying to appear larger than he is.

  Since the terrorists launched their attack, he’s had the slumped posture of a defeated man. Now, he’s walking that little bit taller, and regaining some of his usual stiffness. This tells her he has a purpose. The way he’s appearing to scan the mixture of hostages and staff seems false to her. From the moment Debbie Boitoult screamed, he hasn’t looked anyone in the eye.

  Fleming catches her eye and holds her stare for a second.

  There’s something about the way he’s arranged his face that tells Sharon he’s trying to give her a message.

  As Fleming sits down ten feet away, Sharon can hear Brooke trying to persuade the bald guard to allow her a trip to the restroom.

  The guy just shakes his head and points to the corner of the room, his meaning implicit.

  Brooke pouts and flounces away from him in what Sharon considers to be a masterful performance.

  The desire to find out what Fleming wants with her is burning at Sharon, but the way he has kept away tells her that he’s trying hard not to be obvious. She’s on the point of revising her opinion of him when she realises how wrong she is.

  Fleming isn’t acting of his own accord, he’s not subtle or brave enough to do what he’s doing without an external force guiding him. The way he came back without his guard tells her that the hand pulling his strings belongs to Boulder.

  If Boulder has taken the guard out and spoken to Fleming before sending him back, he must have a message for Sharon. The message will be a request for help, or an instruction for her to carry out at a certain point in time.

  For a moment, she fantasises that Boulder has sent a weapon in with Fleming, but she doubts he would gamble with the man’s life. If the terrorists had frisked Fleming on his return and found he was carrying a weapon, they’d have killed him, or at the very least crippled him in some way.

  Sharon watches as the female terrorist gives Fleming a hard stare then goes to the doors past the restrooms.

  The woman draws her pistol and takes a peek through the doors.

  When her head comes back in, her face is twisted in fury.

  Within seconds she’s beside the clipboard guy and is issuing orders that are accompanied by frantic hand gestures.

  Two of the guards covering the hostages are sent to guard the doors. That leaves just two terrorists, plus the clipboard guy and the woman to watch over them.

  Sharon hopes the men will rebel against their leader, but from the way they’re obeying her commands, it looks as if that’s a forlorn hope. She guesses the woman is aware of the threat and is planning to make their escape before it happens.

  If that’s the case, it means the clock is ticking for everyone, but until she finds out what Boulder has told Fleming, and Boulder himself acts, Sharon knows there’s nothing she can do except make sure she’s ready to act when the time comes.

  With an icy wind blowing errant flakes of snow into the dining room, and the soaking from the sprinklers, Sharon is shivering – along with everyone else in the room. She flexes her feet and tucks her legs beneath her backside to make use of her core heat. Her hands are buried into her armpits, but she knows she can’t retain this position for long. The discomfort is bearable, but the way her legs are positioned won’t enable her to spring into action.

  Sharon doesn’t know when her chance to act will come; all she knows is that she’ll get a second or two’s warning at the most.

  Chapter 74

  I lay the terrorists’ router on top of a ceiling tile and make my way back to the beer cellar. Before I climb down, I pull the walkie-talkie from my pocket and turn the channel selector.

  ‘Nathan. Are you there?’ I know there’s a proper way of speaking through a walkie-talkie, using words like ‘copy’ and ‘over’, but I’m not familiar enough with the protocol to use the right word at the right time so I don’t try. Sometimes it’s better to embrace ignorance than be too clever and get things wrong.

  ‘Copy you. Is that Boulder?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘We’ve got the FBI and the police here. One of the police is making like a pregnant salmon.’

  That’s good news, but the next voice I hear is a bit more demanding. In this situation I’d expect nothing less from the police or FBI guy who’s been assigned to this mess.

  ‘I need you to identify yourself, Boulder. Why is the resort’s manager nicknamed Deadwood Attwood? Over.’

  ‘Because the maid who cleans his room found a packet of boner pills on his nightstand yesterday morning. Who am I speaking to?’

  ‘Special Agent Riley. I’m in charge of this incident. Over.’

  As much as I want to tell Riley that he’s not in charge of anything to do with ‘the incident’ as he calls it, I bite my tongue. When you’ve unlawfully killed as many people as I have tonight, pissing off the most senior cop around isn’t the wisest of ideas.

  ‘I hear you, Special Agent. As I’m up here and you’re down there, do you have any suggestions about how I can save the hostages? The fact you’re speaking to me tells me you got my message; therefore, you’ll know about the explosives I found and their location.’

  I let him have a few seconds to think. An FBI Special Agent cannot condone vigilante action; therefore, he can’t tell me to storm the dining room. However, the decision about how to save the hostages is now in his hands. The way he tells me not to engage with the terrorists again will tell me what he’s really saying to me.

  ‘I copy what you say regarding the explosives and their former location. This information suggests a significant risk to the lives of many innocent civilians. I’d like to think that risk will be reduced at the earliest opportunity. However, I have to say I cannot condone any of the perpetrators of this heinous crime being murdered in cold blood before a response team can arrive on the scene.’

  I’m tempted to reply with ‘copy that’, but I’m not going to be an asshole to him. He’s just given me the green light to rescue the hostages, so long as I don’t kill any of the terrorists without them having tried to kill me first.

  The terrorists are all carrying guns and will shoot me on sight. As far as I’m concerned, that constitutes them trying to kill me. With them having superior numbers and firepower, no quarter can be given by either me or Sharon when I make my move.

  Chapter 75

  Ivy scowls at Alfonse, although she knows it’s not his fault the police report doesn’t say if Jake is alive or dead.

  The furniture, walls and everything else in Alfonse’s apartment has either been scowled at or is waiting in line for its turn. She’s been worried about Jake before, mostly in the last year. Since he got mixed up in a murder case, his life has been under threat from one force or another on almost a weekly basis.

  What she can’t work out is why he keeps risking his life and putting her through so much torment. She’s positive she has twice as many grey hairs as she had this time last year. To Ivy, it’s almost as if Jake is trying to punish her for something.

  A series of thumps on Alfonse’s door interrupts her scowls.

  When she opens the door, the grim face of Chief Watson is staring back at her.

  Her knees buckle, this is the moment she’s been dreading. A cop knocking on the door in the middle of the night is never good news. It’s rarely even bad news. Invariably, it’s the worst news imaginable.

  Not one of Ivy’s limbs possess the strength to move. She just slumps to the ground and looks at Chief Watson. Every fibre of her soul is willing him not to speak. Not to utter the words his mouth is opening to form.

  ‘Mrs Boulder, Mr Devereaux.’ Ivy notices he’s being formal and using their surnames. This has to be the moment her worst fear is realised. ‘I need you to come with me. Boulder, well, Jake, has gotten himself into a situation where there’s a significant threat to life.’

  ‘Is he alive?’

  Ivy wants to kick and punch at Alfonse for asking the question whose answer may break her heart. It’s cruel, insensitive, and a huge step across the line.

  ‘He was the last I heard. Now, get a move on, I need to get you to the station where I can protect you.’

  ‘Come on, Mrs B. Let’s go.’

  When Ivy takes the hand Alfonse is offering, she feels his grip tighten and a gentle pressure on her arm as he hauls her to her feet and wraps an arm around her waist.

  With the strength returning to her limbs – now she knows Chief Watson wasn’t there to deliver a death notice – Ivy realises she was wrong to loathe Alfonse, even if it was for a split second. He’s a good man, who’d left a party without complaint just so he could assuage her fears. Her son is lucky to have such a good friend and the next time she speaks to Jake, she’ll make sure he knows it.

  Ivy notices, as they leave the apartment, Alfonse has his laptop in his hand.

  She wants to demand answers from the chief, as to why they’re being taken to the station for protection, but the man’s gruff manner stills her tongue as she collects her thoughts.

  Jake has told her about the chief’s habit of kneading his temples when he’s under stress, and even as he’s driving the mile across town, Chief Watson keeps swapping the hand he’s holding the wheel with so he can knead each temple in turn.

  When they arrive at the station, the chief leads them to what Ivy assumes is his office. She takes a seat beside Alfonse in front of a cluttered desk. Chief Watson has plonked himself in a seat that squeaks every time he moves.

  The chief stops kneading his temples long enough to lay both his hands on the desk, palms upwards in a helpless gesture.

  When he speaks, Ivy can see the stress he’s carrying in his eyes as he looks at her. ‘I know you’re going to have a lot of questions, but I have to tell you there’s been a terrorist attack at the ski resort where your son has been working. Boulder, sorry, Jake; well, Jake being the man he is, started fighting back against the attackers. Somehow, they learned his name, and when he was able to get a message out, he asked that you and your husband and daughter, along with Alfonse, were protected in case they tried to use any of you as a means of leverage.’

  ‘What do you mean “leverage”? Explain yourself, man.’

  Ivy sees the flash of anger cross the chief’s face, but she doesn’t care about hurt feelings, not when her son’s life is in danger.

  Alfonse lays a warm hand on her arm. ‘I think he means they want to make Jake stop fighting back, or hand over something they want.’

  ‘Is that what you’re trying to say?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. According to what I’ve heard, the terrorists had rigged the supports for the dining room and a balcony with explosives and positioned their hostages where they’d be killed in the collapse. Jake has dismantled the explosive charges and hidden them.’

  Ivy can’t help but notice the glance the chief sends Alfonse’s way. It’s like he’s telling him to keep his trap shut and not ask any questions. She can tell she’s not being given the full story, but she doesn’t care, she’s heard enough to allow her to work out the rest.

  The way Jake has been since he left Casperton is all the evidence she needs to complete the picture. His grief at losing Taylor, coupled with his biological need to right wrongs, will have led him to strike back at the people who’ve attacked the ski resort.

  The news he’s now taken up disarming explosives shows her just how far her son will go in his efforts to shed his guilt. Other than his safe return, all she can hope is that whatever he does tonight proves to be enough to restore the balance his life needs, because if it doesn’t, he’ll keep searching for karmic resolution until he gets himself killed.

  Chapter 76

  I tease the door of the beer cellar open enough to allow me to peek along the corridor. There are no terrorists in view, so I open the door a little further and look the other way.

  As there’s still no sign of them, I pad my way along to the cableway station and check the mechanism is still running.

  Nathan’s comment about one of the police imitating a pregnant salmon was an ingenious way of letting me know that at least one cop is coming up in a cable car. As soon as he’d said it, I knew what he meant: pregnant salmon swim upstream to spawn, and for the cops at the bottom of the mountain, upstream means uphill.

  The guy who’ll be coming will in all likelihood be one of their finest warriors. A man trained in using a variety of weapons and hand to hand fighting. The possible arrival of such a man, or men, is the reason I gave a written description of myself and the clothes I’m wearing in my message. To find myself under attack, from cops with orders to kill everyone holding a gun, is the last thing I want after everything I’ve been through tonight.

  With this area checked, I make my way along the corridor until I can once again slip inside the kitchen.

  As I walk across the tiled floor I can hear my shoes squeaking. Either they’ve now got the right level of dampness to make a noise, or I didn’t notice it the first time I was in here.

  Either way, now I’m about to attack the terrorists in their metaphorical stronghold, I need every piece of stealth I can get, so I take off my shoes. My socks are sodden as well, so I remove them too and drop one in each shoe.

  I’m sure the floor should feel cold to my feet, but I haven’t felt anything below my knees for the best part of an hour.

  I cross the kitchen at a half crouch and make my way to the service doors – as the doors that open into the dining room are known. By the time I get there, I have claimed one of the ornamental side plates the chef loves to use and the waiting staff hate.

  While very decorative, the dinner plates, which are part of a set, are large and cumbersome, meaning the waiting staff can’t carry as many as they’d like. Because of this, they have to make more journeys between the kitchen and dining room.

  Another reason they don’t like the plates is their fragility. Each plate has to be handled with care, even thunking one down from an inch above a table has been known to crack it.

  For use as a distraction, their fragility makes them perfect.

  Now I’m at the doors, I’m faced with a dilemma. The door on the left only opens inwards, for staff returning into the kitchen, whereas the one on the right opens into the dining room, for waiting staff carrying plates from the kitchen. It’s a standard arrangement in restaurants to keep the staff from pushing at doors from each side.

  If I go through the right door, it will act as a shield and, if I’m fired upon, thanks to the presence of a closing mechanism, the door will swing shut behind me should I need to duck back into the kitchen. The left-hand door will need a hand to open it, and as soon as I step into the doorway I’ll be exposed on all sides.

  This should be a no brainer, apart from one key detail. The bar is two paces to the left of the doors. My plan of using shock and awe tactics may well work fine, but if it doesn’t, the bar is waist high and fronted with timber panels that are at least an inch thick. In other words, it’s a great place to be when someone’s shooting at you.