CHAPTER ONE

8:49 A.M.

There was chaos.

Sirens were wailing non-stop as numerous police cars pulled up, and a curious crowd made up of teenage girls, middle-aged women and office workers had gathered in front of the hotel.

Kaelyn Young got out of her car slowly, surveying the various law enforcement personnel who had responded to the emergency call. There were the men and women in blue – the first responders, no doubt – but they were closely followed by plainclothes detectives, probably members of the investigation team.

“Ma’am, you can’t park here,” one of the policemen manning the cordon line stopped her before she could move from behind the door. “Please move your vehicle.”

Ignoring him, Kaelyn focused her attention to another vehicle, an unmarked car with sirens blaring, that had made its way through the crowds, and was now past the cordon line.

It was a car she recognized.

“Phil!” she cried as the driver emerged. The tall, lanky man turned in response to his name, but didn’t see her among the inquisitive bystanders.

Kaelyn slammed her car door close, locking the vehicle in the process. She tried again. “Phil!”

“Ma’am, please! You’re not allowed beyond this line.” The same officer had taken to physically blocking her advance, and annoyed, Kaelyn reached into her bag.

Bringing out her badge, she growled at the uniformed officer. “Let me through!”

He didn’t move out of her way fast enough, so Kaelyn gave him a light shove to the side. “Phil!” she called again.

This time, the subject of her calls spotted her. “What are you doing here?” Philip “Phil” Anderson asked when Kaelyn came to a stop in front of him.

It was then that she realized he wasn’t alone – walking hurriedly in step in front and behind Phil were Lance Bradford, Thomas “Tommy” Calhoun, Edward “Ed” Logan and Noah “Mack” McCormack. Each man was wearing combat fatigues – their dark grey uniform covered by a light greyish-blue bulletproof vest, black combat boots, and an ammunition kit hung from their waists. In addition, Mack and Ed were armed with a sniper’s rifle each; and every man had his standard-issued firearms holstered to the hip and thighs.

They were members of the highly elite Strategic Response Team, a unit of the police force that was trained in crisis negotiation and to respond to nearly any kind of emergency situation. Phil had been leading the team for five years, and each member under him had a specialized role that made them effectively lethal in the field. Kaelyn, the only female, was the team’s forensic psychologist, their point man during negotiations. She was, however, as accurate a shot as her team mates.

“What’s going on?” Kaelyn asked, directing her question to no man in particular and falling into step with them. Although she had to take two steps to each of theirs, she’d learnt long ago to keep pace with them.

“You just ignored Phil’s question,” Lance quipped, without breaking stride. A small grin broke the serious concentration that had been on his face just a moment earlier. “What are you doing here?”

“Just answer the damned question,” Kaelyn snapped back. “What’s going on?”

The five men shared a look. “It’s your day off, Kae,” Ed reminded her.

Kaelyn shot him a “are you kidding me?” look, her brows crossing in frustration. Throwing up his hands in surrender, Ed passed the buck to Phil. “Hey boss, maybe you’d better brief her. Six heads are better than five.”

Phil motioned for Kaelyn to fall into step with them, and she was vaguely aware of the odd picture they made. Five burly Caucasian men, all standing at six feet or taller and dressed to kill, walking on either side of a petite five-foot-four Asian woman who looked like she was on her way to the beach. As they passed fellow officers and hotel staff, questioning glances shot their way, but nobody said anything.

“We have a hostage situation,” Phil told her, and Kaelyn felt her heart seize. “A lone gunman entered a hotel room and he has ten hostages.”

“Ten?” Kaelyn repeated. “How did he get ten people into one room?”

“That, baby girl, is the question we’re asking and no one’s answering,” Mack replied.

The team entered the security command post, which had been emptied of the hotel’s security personnel. A Middle Eastern man, whose nametag proclaimed him as Maumood, the hotel’s head of security, was conversing with a bald, plainclothes detective.  

“Captain,” the detective greeted Phil.

“Okay Sam, talk to me,” Phil instructed the man. Samuel Richards was a sergeant with the force, and he was well-known for being no-nonsense.

Sam began, “Subject is on the ninth floor, Room 903, which is the third on the left from the elevators. He forcibly entered the room about an hour ago, and is refusing to let anyone out.”

“No surprise there,” Ed muttered under his breath. The rest shot him a look to shut up.

“How’d he get ten people in one room?” Lance asked the question that was on everyone’s lips.

Sam gestured towards a monitor in front of them. “903 had two occupants who checked in two days ago, and we have another six men entering the room voluntarily.”

“What about the last two?” Mack asked.

Maumood spoke up. “They could have used the interconnecting door. 903 and 904 are both registered to the same party. It’s likely that they unlocked the interconnecting door.”

“Times?”

Sam spoke up. “Timestamp on the video from the corridor cameras has the perp entering nine-oh-three just after seven. Two more hostages entered at around 7.30 a.m., and the other four fifteen minutes later.”

“None of the four men who entered gave any indication that they suspected something was amiss in the room?” Ed asked, peering closely at the playback on screen.

“None, sir,” Sam answered. “I don’t think they knew anything was wrong until they stepped through that door.”

“What about the heat?” Kaelyn asked the question.

Maumood looked puzzled by her question, while Sam turned in surprise, as if just realizing she was present. He studied her unorthodox attire for a moment. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“She’s Kaelyn, that’s Doctor to you, and answer her question,” Mack shot back. “Please,” he added after Phil gave him a glare that said “be nice”.

“So far, the report says he’s only got one gun,” Sam replied.

“What I don’t get is this,” Phil was now pondering the possible scenarios in his head. “What sort of relationship or prior arrangement did these eight men have, that knocking on each other’s doors at seven in the morning is normal?”

“They were scheduled to check out this morning,” Maumood responded. “An early flight to catch, I think.”

“I have eleven bodies in that room,” Tommy called out. No one had noticed him quietly setting up his laptop and equipment in one corner, but now he was accessing the hotel’s floor plans and monitoring the room in question.

“Who was the room registered to?” Phil directed the question to Maumood, the hotel’s head of security.

“A Korean by the name of Shin Jiwoo,” the heavyset officer told them, moping sweat from his brow.

Kaelyn let out an audible gasp at the name, causing everyone to look at her.

“Something wrong?” Tommy asked.

“N-no,” she stammered. Composing herself, Kaelyn asked Maumood. “What about the other men who checked in with him?”

Maumood sighed. “They’re VIPs,” he told them. “Celebrities of some kind, I think. We had a difficult time trying to keep their stalking fans at bay.”

Mack swore under his breath. Their job just got more difficult with such high profile hostages. There was no telling if a crazy fan might jeopardize their operation.   

“What’s the band called?” Ed asked, without looking at the man.  He was busy studying the floor plans that Lance had brought up on the screen.

“No idea,” Maumood replied honestly. “Is that important?”

“Of course it is,” Lance said. “Every detail is important. If we know what the band’s called, we’ll know the names of the band members. And possibly find out why our friend the gunman is holding them hostage.”

“And that,” Phil continued, emphasizing the second word, “is the key to getting everyone out alive.”

“The band is called Super Junior M,” Kaelyn announced. She’d taken a seat next to Lance, and was working on the laptop next to him, loading a webpage with each member’s names and photos.

“Lee Sungmin, Lee Hyukjae, better known as Eunhyuk, Zhou Mi, Choi Siwon, Lee Donghae, Cho Kyuhyun, Kim Ryeowook and Henry Lau.” She pointed to each member’s photo as she said their names, and the team members committed that information to memory.

“That’s eight,” Mack spoke up. “Who’s the other two?”

“Moon Seung-hwan and Shin Jiwoo, the band managers,” Kaelyn replied. “No photos of them, unfortunately.”

“You know Kae, I never quite pegged you as the K-pop fan girl,” Tommy said, earning a cuff to the head from Phil for his remark.

Kaelyn scowled at him. “I just have better internet surfing skills than you do.”

She turned her attention away from him, hoping no one would notice she was lying. She was so engrossed in presenting a nonchalant mask that she didn’t notice the curious gazes both Mack and Phil directed at her.

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