State Of Emergency: (Tom Buckingham Thriller 3) Read Free

and was about to chuck them out onto the landing when they heard the first muffled thud.
    She dropped the shoes, shut the door abruptly and looked at him, alarmed.
    He sank back onto the bed. ‘Fireworks, probably. They’re still celebrating downstairs.’
    ‘ Inside the hotel? Like, I don’t think so.’
    Jennifer wasn’t giggling. That was a slight problem with her – a bit too serious. They’d met only three weeks ago in the queue of volunteers for Rolt’s campaign. Having just lost another bar job and with fuck-all else to do, he’d thought it might be a laugh. That, plus doing his bit for the country, of course, making a stand against Muslim extremist nutters, putting them in their place – preferably back where they came from. He’d seen her in the line and couldn’t take his eyes off her – she didn’t seem to mind. When they’d got talking it turned out she was heading towards her university finals in politics and was on a mission to help right some wrongs. Her father, a cop just retired from the Met, had egged her on to support Rolt. ‘Dad says he’s our only hope,’ she’d told him earnestly. He’d nodded vigorously. Next thing he knew they were paired up on the campaign trail. Bingo.
    She’d agreed they would spend election night together, and he’d pulled off something of a coup by securing the suite that had been booked for Rolt, who hadn’t even shown up at the victory party downstairs. Everything had come good, except now she was spoiling it by going all serious.
    Jennifer stood close to the door, listening.
    He beckoned her. ‘C’mon, get over here.’
    There were two more thuds, louder this time. She shuddered, gripped the lapels of the robe and bit her bottom lip as her eyes welled. He sighed as she wiped away tears. They had had their share of scares during the campaign and he had put on a show of chivalry, which he reckoned had only half convinced her.
    ‘Maybe they’re chucking furniture down into the atrium. Lock the door, come to bed and let the rumpus begin.’ He raised his arms in her direction and put on a sinister James-Bond-baddie voice, which seemed to go with the surroundings. ‘Come, my child.’
    The lights snapped off and the TV screen faded to black.
    Shit, he thought. This really isn’t how it’s supposed to go. He levered himself up from the bed and marched towards the door. He was about eight feet from it when the lock exploded, taking a chunk of the door with it, spraying them with splinters. Jennifer leaped towards him, gripping so hard her fingernails dug into his shoulder. There was something in the air, not a smell as such but as it hit his lungs he felt as if he’d inhaled nettles. His eyes burned and filled with tears. He whirled her round and pushed her towards the bathroom, falling on top of her as he lost his footing on the wet tiles. He kicked out wildly at the door and it slammed shut. He thought of getting up to lock it, then realized it would be ridiculous after what had just happened to the other door. They huddled in a corner of the shower, behind a partition no more than three feet high, clutching each other in the total darkness. Something sticky ran down the back of his hand, too thick and cold to be blood – they must have collided with a soap dispenser.
    Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was for real. Rolt’s people had always said, ‘Be ready. Never drop your guard.’ Any jihadi just back from Syria might be out there waiting for them. But the hotel was ringed with security: they should have been safe here. Rolt had many fans, but he wasn’t short of enemies sending death threats. For all his claims that he wanted to protect the patriotic Muslims, he’d pretty much alienated the entire lot of them. Ed and the rest of Rolt’s team had even been given some basic self-defence tips by one of the tough guys from the MP’s organization, Invicta, a jab in the eye, a boot in the balls but neither applied here. Jennifer’s grip tightened on