Knife Edge

11.54 A.M.

The speeding police car mounted the pavement to avoid the traffic in Hampstead Road, the driver twisting the wheel, guiding the vehicle down the sharp incline towards Euston's underground car park.

The sound of screeching tyres joined the strident scream of the sirens as the Astra sped down the ramp.

PC Stephen Garside glanced to his left as they swept through the subterranean area.

He saw the prone figure of the motorbike cop lying in a pool of blood.

'Shit,' he grunted and reached for the radio.

The car roared down another ramp, the vehicle skidding slightly on some spilled oil at the bottom.

'There's an officer down,' said Garside, gripping the door as the car turned the corner, throwing him sideways. 'Underground car park at Euston, it looks bad. Over.'

'Puma three, message received. Where are you now? Over,' the voice at the other end said.

'In pursuit of a motorbike. We have reason to believe the rider is responsible for the injuries to the officer. We're heading out of the underground car park at Euston and-'

He grunted as the car cannoned off a wall before spinning back on to the road.

'Fuck's sake, Phil,' Garside grunted, glaring at the driver.

'Do you want to drive?' PC Phillip Brenner said, eyes fixed on the speeding bike ahead of him.

'Heading up into Hampstead Road again,' said Garside into the radio. 'Request assistance. Over.'

The Astra reached the top of the ramp and sped between two cars, clipping the front of a Nissan, shattering one headlamp.

Neville looked over his shoulder and saw the pursuing police car, its lights spinning wildly on its roof, the siren wailing.

The ex-para gunned the throttle and took the bike into a tight left turn into Euston Road.

The Harley narrowly avoided a Rover heading in the opposite direction, the tip of one handlebar scraping the paintwork of the vehicle and almost causing Neville to overbalance but he kept control of the bike and roared on.

The police car followed.

More traffic lights ahead.

The lights were flickering from amber to red.

Neville shot through, the needle on the speedo nudging sixty.

The Astra followed.

Another police car turned out of Eversholt Road, its sirens also blaring and, for fleeting seconds, Neville could see the nervous faces of the two men inside.

The ex-para smiled inside his helmet and sent the bike roaring almost diagonally across the road.

It struck the kerb, skidded, then the wheels gripped and he was riding hell for leather along the pavement, pedestrians scattering before him, some shouting, some screaming, some gesturing angrily.

He turned the bike back on to the road and swept past St Pancras.

The two police cars followed, the first of them closing the distance between car and bike. Neville saw this in his wing mirror and slid one hand inside his jacket, pulling the. 459 free.

He looked quickly behind him then fired off four rounds, the pistol bucking uncontrollably in his hand.

Two shots ricocheted off the road, the third took off the police car's left wing mirror and the fourth struck the radiator grille.

Neville continued to pump the trigger.

His next two shots both struck the windscreen, which promptly spider-webbed.

The leading police car went out of control, skidded across the road and slammed head-on into a Range Rover, the sickening crash audible even over the sound of the Harley's engine.

Neville smiled, aware that the Astra was still in pursuit.

Come on, you fuckers. Your turn.

He guided the bike into Gray's Inn Road.

The police car followed.