Knife Edge

10.01 A.M.

Doyle leaned against the door of the Portacabin and sucked hard on his cigarette, watching as Calloway finished his phone conversation.

'Sorted?' Doyle asked disinterestedly.

'The Commissioner isn't too happy about this,' Calloway told him. 'Letting Neville go.'

'You're not letting him go, you're agreeing to his demands in order to protect the lives of hostages, aren't you?'

'If he gets away…'

'He won't get away,' Doyle asserted.

'I wish I was as sure as you,' Calloway answered.

'He won't get away because hotshot here is going to get him, aren't you?' Mason chided. 'Captain fucking Marvel is going to track him down, isn't that right, Doyle?'

The counter terrorist looked at the DS contemptuously.

'You're going to track him down, you're going to hunt him,' Mason continued. 'What do you think this is, a fucking Western?'

'If it was, you'd be the fat, bungling sheriff, wouldn't you, porky?' Doyle quipped.

'All right, girls, knock it off,' Calloway said irritably. 'Let's just get on with it. The car's here.'

'Let me take it to Neville,' Doyle offered.

'You'll try and kill him as soon as you get near him,' Calloway snapped. 'One of the uniformed boys can do it.'

'Calloway,' Doyle said, taking a step towards the DI. 'Let me do it.'

The two men's eyes locked.

'You'll try to kill him,' the policeman said quietly.

Doyle shook his head. 'Not until the hostages are safe. You've got my word on that.'

Still Calloway hesitated. 'Earlier on, when we were outside the house,' the DI said, 'you told Neville you'd been where he'd been. What did you mean?'

Doyle shrugged. 'He was in Ireland, I was in Ireland,' he explained. 'He'd been wounded there. So was I.'

'Badly?'

Doyle smiled.

If you could see the fucking scars…

There was a knock on the Portacabin door and a uniformed constable stood there, a set of car keys in his hand.

Mason took them from him and handed them to Calloway.

'Let me take the car to him,' Doyle persisted.

Calloway waited a second, then tossed the keys to the counter terrorist who nodded and stepped outside.

The policemen followed, watching as Doyle slid behind the wheel of a dark blue Montego.

'No fucking heroics,' said Calloway. 'Our concern is the hostages.'

Doyle nodded. 'He'll ditch it as soon as he can, you know.'

'I know that,' Calloway told him.

Doyle started the engine and revved it, exhaust fumes filling the cold air.

'You tell those fucking snipers to keep their fingers off the triggers,' Doyle said. 'If one of them gets jumpy I don't want him shooting me by mistake.'

'Yeah, that'd be a tragedy, wouldn't it?' Mason chided.

Doyle eyed him coldly. 'You know what, fatso?' he said. 'When I finish with Neville, I might just come back for you.'

He stuck the car in gear and pulled away.

'Doyle,' Calloway shouted after him. 'Just take it easy. Remember the hostages.'

Doyle slid a hand inside his jacket and touched the butt of the Beretta.

Fuck the hostages.

He drove the Montego up on to the pavement, bringing it close to the front gate of number ten.

He left the engine running, eyes fixed on the front door.

Waiting.

'Come on, Neville,' he said under his breath. 'I've got something for you.'

The front door remained closed.