Knife Edge

6.59 P.M.

The phones were within reach.

Two dangling uselessly by their cords, the others replaced on the hook. Their users were long gone. Doyle stepped towards them, turning to look at Lisa.

He saw the policemen.

'Shit,' he hissed.

They were only yards from him now.

'It's all right,' he called, fumbling in his jacket for his ID.

'Put down the gun,' instructed the older of the two policemen, both palms extended to show he meant no harm.

Doyle pulled the ID free and tossed it at the older man, watching as he looked down at it.

'I'm with the Counter Terrorist Unit.'

'All right, son,' said the older man, taking a step towards him. 'Just take it easy.'

'Check the fucking ID, you halfwit,' Doyle rasped, the Beretta still gripped in his fist.

The phone began to ring.

The policeman kept coming.

'Put down the gun first,' said the older man. 'Then we'll talk.'

The phone rang again.

The policeman had actually stepped past the wallet now.

The phone rang for a third time.

Doyle swung the barrel until it was pointing at Lisa's head.

'Check the ID or I'll blow the kid's head off,' he hissed.

The second policeman dropped to his knees and flipped open the leather wallet, inspected the picture inside, saw the official stamp, the signatures.

Four rings.

'He's right,' the policemen kneeling nearby said, grabbing at his colleague's arm. 'Look.' He shoved the ID at the older man.

Doyle snatched up the phone.

He got the right one first time.

'Doyle,' he said, the automatic still aimed at Lisa's head.

The two policemen watched mesmerised.

Lisa's face creased slightly and they saw tears forming in her eyes as she looked at Doyle who, only now, lowered the weapon.

With the phone jammed between one shoulder and one ear, he snapped his fingers at the older policeman and pointed towards the ID wallet which the uniformed men tossed back to him.

'I want to speak to Lisa,' Neville said.

'No.'

'What the fuck are you talking about? Put her on, now.'

'Fuck you, Neville, I'm tired of this game. I'm not running around London for the rest of the night like a cunt waiting for you to do an impression of fucking Hiroshima when it gets to eight o'clock.'

'You know the rules, Doyle.'

'Fuck the rules, fuck the game and fuck you.'

'I'll let off another bomb in thirty seconds unless I speak to my daughter. The clock's running, hero.'

'Let it run, fuckhead.'

'You ought to know me well enough by now, Doyle. I'll do it.'

'I know you'll do it and I don't care. You can let off as many bombs as you like, you can kill however many people you want. I couldn't give a shit. You know why? Because I've got the only thing in this world that means anything to you. The only thing you value in your whole miserable fucking life is here with me now.'

'If you hurt her Doyle I'll-'

'You'll what?' Doyle hissed, scornfully. 'Bomb another part of London? Big deal. Be my guest. Now you listen to me, Neville, I'm changing the rules of this game. From now on we play my way. I don't know why it took me so long to suss this out. Are you listening to me?'

Silence at the other end.

'Neville, I hope you are listening. For your daughter's sake I hope you're listening. You and I are going to meet. But it'll be where I say and when I say. Got that?'

'And what if I don't agree?'

'I'll kill your daughter.'

'You're bluffing.'

'Do I sound like I'm bluffing? Are you willing to take that chance? Like I said, you can let off all the bombs you want but the only way you're ever going to see your daughter again is if you do what I tell you.'

'The only difference between us, Doyle, is that you've got the law to hide behind.'

'I don't need the law, Neville. Now you started this fucking game, I'm going to finish it. Any bullshit and I'll kill the girl. You let off any more bombs and I'll kill her. New rules. New game, Neville. Now listen.'