Knife Edge

2.23 P.M.

'That's the deal. If you let me see Lisa, I won't activate the next bomb.'

Doyle perched on the edge of the desk, eyes fixed on the speaker-phone.

Calloway watched the face of the counter terrorist. If there were any thoughts flickering away behind those steel grey eyes then they didn't show in his expression.

Mason looked anxiously at the speaker-phone and then at his superior.

'Did you hear what I said, Doyle?' Neville repeated finally, his voice even. 'It's a fair deal. It's more lives saved. How many have died so far? Twenty? Thirty?'

'Why? Are you keeping a scorecard?' Doyle growled.

Calloway shot him an anxious glance.

'This isn't about your daughter, Neville. I know that,' Doyle said.

'I want her back.'

'And you know you'll never get her, so why don't you stop the bullshit now.'

Calloway shot out a hand and grabbed Doyle's arm. 'What the hell are you trying to do?' he demanded. 'Provoke him?'

Doyle pulled away angrily, glaring at the DI.

'It's over, Neville,' Doyle said with an air of finality. 'Set the fucking bomb off. And the next, and the next.'

'That's a lot of lives, Doyle,' Neville told him. 'How many do you want on your conscience?'

'I haven't got a fucking conscience.'

'Make the deal,' Calloway snapped angrily.

Doyle fixed him in a withering stare.

'We've got a friend of yours here, Neville,' the counter terrorist said. 'Kenneth Baxter. Remember?'

There was a moment's silence at the other end of the line.

'You got the gear from Baxter, didn't you? The guns, the explosives.'

A few more seconds of silence then Neville chuckled. 'Is that what he told you?'

'Yeah. Dropped you right in it. Up to your fucking neck.'

'You're a fucking liar, Doyle,' Neville laughed.

'Blew the gaff on you without even thinking about it,' Doyle continued. 'You see, he knows it's over too. He knows, I know. It doesn't matter what you do, Neville. Things are different now. Times have changed. The fighting in Ireland is over. You should have died in Belfast. Perhaps we all should.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' hissed Calloway. 'Just make the deal, for Christ's sake.'

'Who's there with you?' Neville wanted to know.

'The police,' Doyle informed him.

'Are they listening to me?'

'Hanging on your every word,' Doyle chided.

'Neville, listen to me,' Calloway said, moving closer to the speaker-phone.

Doyle swung himself off the table, digging out his cigarettes.

'Are you serious about making a deal?' Calloway continued.

'You let me see Lisa and I won't detonate the next bomb,' Neville repeated.

'OK,' Calloway said. 'Where do you want us to bring her to?'

'Hyde Park,' Neville said. 'The corner by Marble Arch. I want her there by three-thirty. One minute later and I'll detonate the next bomb.'

'She'll be there, I give you my word.'

'Fuck your word. I want my daughter.'

'How do we know we can trust you?' Calloway insisted.

'You don't,' Neville said flatly.

He hung up.

Calloway spun round and glared at Doyle.

'I'm trying to buy us more time and you're antagonising him,' the DI snarled. 'What the fuck are you playing at?'

'You play your way, I'll play mine,' Doyle snarled.

'What about Baxter?' Mason interjected.

'Let him go,' Doyle said. 'But put a tail on him.'

Mason looked at his superior, who hesitated a second then nodded.

The DS slipped out of the room.

'He's got to be stopped, Doyle,' Calloway said.

'You did the right thing,' the counter terrorist told him.

'Then what the hell was that bullshit with Neville?' the DI said angrily. 'What's going on between you and him?'

Doyle smiled. 'You'd never understand,' he said softly. Then he glanced at his watch. 'Who's going to tell Julie Neville you're using her daughter as bait because I don't think she'd want to hear it from me.'

'I'll take care of it. I'll send somebody to pick her up.'

'Half three, he said, didn't he?' Doyle mused.

Calloway nodded. 'Let's hope to God he shows up.'

'He'll be there,' said Doyle, sucking gently on his cigarette.

He slipped a hand inside his jacket and patted the butt of the automatic.

Neville replaced the phone and stepped away from the booth.

The woman who had been waiting for him to finish pushed forward immediately, practically bumping into him.

Neville looked at her sternly for a second until she turned her back on him and began jabbering into the phone in a language he didn't recognise.

Foreign bitch.

Across the road the magnificent edifice of St Paul's Cathedral rose up before him, the dome pushing upwards towards the cloud-filled sky.

Hundreds of sightseers were milling around the building, some sitting on the step which led up to its main entrance. He saw several people eating sandwiches on the stone stairway. A young man dressed in a long black T-shirt and shorts was swigging from a can of Coke, pointing towards the dome.

Neville could hear him as he swung his leg over the seat of the Harley Davidson.

Another fucking foreigner.

Neville started his engine, revved it hard for a second. 'I'm coming, Lisa,' he said to himself, then he pulled out into the traffic.