Last Hope, Book One: Onslaught Read Free Page B

reception, taking in the detail of his surroundings. The large room, about 270 feet wide and 180 feet deep, had marble floor tiles and cream-painted walls. The white ceiling, which was decorated with sparkling chandeliers and swirling patterns of plaster, was thirty feet above the floor. A horseshoe-shaped reception desk was positioned to the right of the doors from the glass entrance foyer, which a map on the desk had told him was called the Tropical Walkway.
    Budd had also discovered that, despite its size, the marbled-floored reception did not take up the entire ground level of the building. Behind a wall of doors marked “Employees Only” were offices that occupied the rest of the New Millennium Hotel’s 330-foot square base.
    In the corners of the reception area were clusters of wide, low-backed leather sofas and stylish coffee tables, which were occupied by guests waiting to check in or out. All around, there were countless mauve-suited employees rushing to and fro.
    A bell chimed as an elevator reached the reception level, and Budd turned back to the bank of machines. Of the twelve, the four nearest the entrance from the Tropical Walkway were roped off and manned by several employees. A group of well-dressed guests were gathered around them. More and more people were coming from the Tropical Walkway to join them.
    In front of Budd, a set of the brass doors had opened and a mauve-suited attendant was waiting patiently inside. He eyed the strap of Budd’s rucksack. “Can I take you to your room, sir? May I ask its number?”
    “805,” Budd said as he stepped into the interior of the elevator. He pointed to his left. “But where’re all the fancy pants headed?”
    “They would be non-hotel guests with reservations at the Skyview Restaurant, sir. It serves London’s finest food.”
    “Forget my room. Take me there.”
    The elevator attendant’s finger hesitated over the button. “May I ask if you have a reservation for dinner, sir? It’s just that, after 9:00pm, the restaurant opens to the general public. It’s always fully booked. As it’s just after 9:00pm now, you may have trouble getting seated. Of course, there are other restaurants in the hotel.”
    “But that’s the best grub?”
    “Without question.”
    Budd eyed the name embroidered on the attendant’s jacket. “Then that’s the place for me, Stephen Doring.”
    “Very well, sir,” the attendant said. He pressed the top button on the panel and the doors slid closed with a chime of the bell.
    The elevator started to ascend.
    “Does it make that ringing noise every time?”
    “I’m afraid so, sir. This is your first visit, yes? I’ll explain a few things about the lifts. You can only reach the restaurant and the reception from this group, the West Bank, which serve the entire height of the hotel. The East Bank serves from the first to the eighty-fourth floors only.”
    Above the doors a display showed the number of the floor they were passing. When they reached twenty-four, less than a third of the way to the restaurant, the elevator stopped and the doors opened.
    Three people stood waiting on the outside, a man and two women.
    The two women were wearing knee-high suede boots and very-revealing black dresses. They had the same blonde hair, a color that Budd guessed had come from the same dye, and the same shape of puffy lips and full bosom, which he thought was probably the work of the same plastic surgeon.
     
    They could’ve been sisters…
     
    The man appeared equally as false. His short hair was spiked upwards with gel and, despite the fact that he was indoors and that in any case the sun had long since set, he wore a pair of curved sunglasses. The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, showing the heavy golden links of a thick chain, and his black pants and leather shoes looked too immaculate to be anything other than brand new.
    Budd took an immediate dislike to the man, and he stepped backwards, away from the three, as