Knife Edge

5.14 P.M.

'That bloody maniac,' roared DS Colin Mason. He held both hands to his head, fingers clasped at the back of his skull. 'Christ. How many more?'

'How many dead?' Doyle asked. He stood at one of the large picture windows of Calloway's office gazing out over the city.

The DI glanced at the piece of paper before him and shook his head.

'It's difficult to tell so early,' He said wearily. 'But initial estimates put the death toll at twelve. More than three times that injured, some of them critical.'

'Any idea how big the device was?'

'Too early to say,' Calloway informed Doyle. 'The bomb squad is at the Trocadero now checking it out. It'll be another couple of hours before they come up with a full report.'

'Two bombs within half a mile of each other,' Mason said. 'We're going to have to close off central London at this rate.'

'How can we close off the entire centre of a city?' Calloway snapped. 'Besides, we don't know if the next bomb will be in the centre or further out.' He slammed the table with the flat of his hand. 'Maybe we should evacuate the whole damn place until we catch Neville.'

'I want to know how he's managed to keep clear of our patrols for so long,' Mason added.

'If he's riding a motorbike then he's wearing a helmet, isn't he, Sherlock?' Doyle chided. 'Chances are he's changed bikes or at least changed clothes since this morning. What are you going to do, pull in every bike rider in the city for questioning?'

'So let's hear your suggestions, Doyle,' Mason barked.

'Do what he says,' the counter terrorist said quietly. 'If he wants his daughter, then fucking give her to him.'

'Give in to him?' Mason said scornfully. 'Never.'

Doyle shrugged. 'You've got another option,' he said, sucking on his cigarette.

'Which is?' Calloway demanded.

'Let him use up the rest of the explosive. By my calculations, he should have about a hundred and twenty pounds left.'

'Let him use it?' Mason gasped incredulously. 'You mean let him detonate more bombs?'

'Then give him his daughter,' Doyle rasped. 'It's the only way you're going to stop him. You can't handle a man like Neville. He's not some dickhead with a sawn-off shotgun or a nigger purse snatcher. He's a professional. And he's right out of your league.' He pointed an accusatory finger towards the DS.

'You sound as if you admire him,' Calloway murmured.

'I don't admire him, I understand him,' Doyle said. 'I've been fighting men like him for longer than I can remember.'

The phone rang.

Calloway picked it up.

Doyle watched the expression on his face change.

'Neville,' the DI said. He pressed the button on the console to switch the phone to speaker.

'I warned you what would happen if I didn't speak to my daughter,' Neville said, his voice echoing from the speakers.

'Twelve more people killed,' Mason shouted. I hope you're happy, you mad bastard.'

'Is Doyle there?' Neville wanted to know, ignoring the outburst.

'Yeah, I'm here.'

'I need your help.'

'Fuck you,' Doyle called back.

'I want my daughter, and this time you're going to make sure I get her.'

'How?'

'You're going to bring her to me personally.'