Knife Edge

4.57 P.M.

There were beads of perspiration on Doyle's forehead as he pushed open the door of Detective Inspector Calloway's office.

He looked at the DI then at Detective Sergeant Mason who was standing staring at the phone, as if his persistent gaze would cause it to ring. Or perhaps prevent it.

Doyle ran a hand through his hair, brushing sweat with it.

'Have you set up the link to the car in Newham?' Doyle wanted to know.

'We're having problems with it,' Calloway said, his face pale. 'The girl will be able to hear Neville but he won't be able to hear her.'

'Oh, fucking great.'

'We tried, Doyle,' Calloway snapped angrily. 'We're still trying.'

'Well try harder,' Doyle rasped.

Mason looked at the counter terrorist, who was pulling a cigarette from the packet.

'What else can we do?' the DS barked. 'You couldn't find Neville, could you? The fucking expert.'

'Shut it, fatso,' Doyle said, lighting his cigarette. 'You couldn't find your oversized arse with two hands and a fucking map.'

Mason took a step towards Doyle who merely glared at him and blew a stream of smoke across the office.

The phone on Calloway's desk rang.

The three men looked at each other, the room silent but for the high-pitched signal.

Two rings.

Calloway looked at the phone.

Three rings.

Doyle sucked hard on his cigarette.

The DI picked up the receiver.

Doyle moved closer to the desk, his eyes never leaving the policeman's face. He saw him frown.

'Not this one,' Calloway said. 'I said to keep this line clear.'

He slammed down the receiver.

'Jesus Christ,' hissed the DI. 'Someone put an internal call through here.'

Doyle shook his head.

Mason checked his watch.

'What about the link?' Doyle asked.

'They can't have managed it,' Calloway told him. 'We would have been notified.'

'Then we're fucked. If Neville finds out we haven't got his kid, that's it. That's all, folks.' He made a fist of his right hand then flicked his fingers upwards. 'Bang.'

The phone rang again.

Calloway waited.

Two rings.

Three.

He picked it up. 'Detective Inspector Calloway.'

Both Mason and Doyle saw him nod almost imperceptibly.

The DI reached forward and pressed a switch on the console beside the phone, replacing the receiver on its cradle.

Through the speaker-phone they could hear Robert Neville's voice echoing around the office.

'It's time,' he said. 'I want to speak to my daughter.'

'We know, we got your note,' Calloway told him.

Neville chuckled. 'I was going to deliver it personally but I decided against it,' he said jovially.

'Gutless bastard,' Doyle called.

'Hello, Doyle,' said Neville. 'I thought you'd still be there.'

'I'm here until the end, Neville,' the counter terrorist told him. 'Your end.'

'Don't hold your breath,' Neville retorted. 'Now let me speak to Lisa.'

Calloway gripped the receiver more tightly.

'I want your assurance that you won't let off any more bombs-' the DI began, but Neville cut him short.

'You're in no position to make fucking deals. Put her on. Now!'

Silence.

'Don't fuck me around,' Neville continued, his voice growing in volume. 'Let me speak to her now.'

'Neville, I-'

'I warned you what would happen. How many more lives do you want on your conscience?'

The phone went dead.