Knife Edge

9.47 A.M.

Julie Neville stood motionless in the doorway of number ten London Road, her coat pulled around her shoulders, her gaze flicking back and forth.

She could see a number of uniformed men ahead of her.

She wondered how many were carrying guns. How many of those guns were trained on her.

She stood motionless, silhouetted in the doorway.

Waiting.

'Walk to the front gate,' Neville said, ducked inside the house, the Steyr aimed at her.

She did as she was told, slowly, falteringly. Her heart was hammering so hard against her ribs she feared it would burst.

'What the fuck is he playing at?' DI Calloway murmured under his breath as he stepped from the Portacabin.

DS Mason practically had to run to keep up with him as the taller man took long strides which ate up the ground.

'Perhaps he's going to set demands,' Mason said breathlessly.

'Or he's giving himself up,' Calloway said humourlessly.

They were less than thirty yards from the front of number ten now. Both men could see Julie Neville standing about six feet from the front door, the wind whipping her long blonde hair around her face.

Calloway reached for the two-way and flicked it on.

'Doyle, he's sent out the woman.'

No answer.

'Doyle. Doyle, can you hear me?'

Still nothing.

From his vantage point in the front bedroom of number eight, Doyle could see Julie Neville standing on the path. Every now and then she would take a step forwards, getting closer to the gate.

Was Neville setting them up?

Doyle saw Calloway and Mason drawing nearer.

What the fuck was Neville doing?

Doyle heard the two-way hiss, heard Calloway talking to him.

He finally reached for the radio and flicked it on.

'Watch yourself, Calloway,' he said quietly. 'Neville could be pulling you in.'

'What do you mean?'

'You get close enough, he'll open fire. Watch it.'

'Can you see him from where you are?' Calloway asked.

'No. Only the woman.'

Julie had reached the gate by now. She gripped it as if to steady herself then glanced back over her shoulder towards the house.

Doyle frowned as he saw her beginning to unbutton her coat.

Calloway and Mason were mere yards away from her now.

Julie turned and looked behind her, then pulled her coat free.

Doyle could see a small black oblong between her shoulder blades, held in place by what looked like masking tape. The object was roughly the same size as a TV remote.

There was a tiny red light blinking on it.

'Oh Jesus,' he murmured, snatching up the two-way.

You fucking sly bastard, Neville.

'Calloway, stay away from her,' Doyle said urgently. 'She's wired.'

'What are you talking about?' the DI demanded.

'She's got a fucking bomb strapped to her back,' Doyle rasped.