Knife Edge

6.15 P.M.

Doyle stepped in front of the woman who shot him an angry glance.

'Excuse me,' she said, reproachfully, standing and watching as he snatched up the receiver.

'Doyle,' he said.

Silence at the other end.

'Neville, can you hear me?'

'I can hear you.' Neville's voice came down the line. 'Well done. I want to speak to Lisa.'

'I was here first, you know,' the woman continued from behind Doyle.

Still he ignored her, instead pulling Lisa to him, handing her the receiver.

'Hello, sweetheart,' Neville said to her, his tone lightening.

'Dad, I just saw this man and he had no money,' Lisa babbled. 'So I gave him some of my pocket money.'

'You're a good girl.'

'I said, "I was here first",' the woman persisted, tapping Doyle on the shoulder.

He turned and looked her squarely in the eye, the ferocity of his stare causing her to take a step back.

'I think he was hungry, Dad,' Lisa continued. 'Perhaps he can get something to eat now.'

'Good girl. Let me speak to the man with you again,' Neville instructed, waiting while Lisa handed the receiver back to Doyle.

'You make sure you keep her safe, Doyle,' the expara warned.

'She's fine. Now get on with it.'

'Bedford Square, just off Tottenham Court Road.'

Neville instructed. 'There're public phones on the eastern side. Five minutes.'

'Don't be fucking ridiculous,' Doyle snarled. 'I can't make that in five minutes.'

'I've told you before, watch your language in front of my little girl,' Neville rebuked. 'Bedford Square, five minutes or more people die.'

'You bastard, I'll-'

'Doyle, if you're worried about getting there on time, do you want some advice? Try running.'

Neville hung up.

Doyle looked around, as if hoping to find some kind of divine inspiration in the crowds thronging the pavement or the vehicles clogging the road.

What to do?

On his own he might be able to make the run to Bedford Square in time.

Maybe.

With the kid as company he didn't have a chance.

They could take the tube to Tottenham Court Road then run like hell the last few hundred yards, but if the train was delayed he was fucked.

Taxi?

Forget it. The traffic was bumper to bumper. It would take longer by road than any other alternative.

Come on, think.

He glanced to his right and left.

'Where are we going?' Lisa asked.

Come on, time's running out.

The little girl was pulling at the bottom of his jacket now. 'I want to see my dad.'

Doyle pulled away from her.

Jesus Christ. There it was. Fifty yards from him.

Salvation.

The Kawasaki KR-1S had stopped at the traffic lights in Oxford Circus, its engine idling, its rider adjusting the strap on his helmet.

'Don't move,' Doyle said, dropping to one knee so that his face was directly in front of Lisa. 'Promise me you won't move.'

She nodded.

He leaped to his feet and sprinted off down the street, bumping into people, knocking them aside in his desperation to reach the bike.

The lights were still on red.

Doyle reached the railings at the end of the pavement and hurdled them, ignoring the curious looks from passers-by.

He ran across to the motor-cyclist and gripped his arm.

The man pulled away irritably.

'I need your bike,' Doyle said breathlessly.

'Fuck off,' the rider said, eyeing Doyle as if he were some kind of lunatic. He revved the engine, as if to force Doyle away.

Doyle slid one hand inside his jacket and pulled out the Beretta. He pressed the barrel to the rider's head.

'Get off the fucking bike now,' he snarled.

The rider did as he was told.

No argument. No hesitation.

Doyle holstered the weapon, swung his leg over the seat of the Kawasaki and twisted the handlebars, guiding the bike up onto the pavement.

The roar of the engine mingled with the screams of pedestrians as they scattered, anxious to escape this maniac who was roaring along the'walkway on such a powerful machine.

He hit the brakes as he reached Lisa who was still standing obediently by the phone box.

He shot out a hand to her.

'Get on,' he said.

Lisa looked at the bike with a combination of fascination and fear.

'Now you hold on to my belt as tightly as you can and don't let go, right?' he instructed, almost lifting her up on to the pillion with one hand.

He worked the throttle then rode on down the pavement, finally swinging the bike on to the road.

He reached behind him and gently touched Lisa's back in an attempt to reassure her and also to prevent her from toppling off the bike, which was now speeding up Oxford Street, cutting alongside the gridlocked traffic.

He gunned the throttle once more, wondering, even now, if there would be time.