Knife Edge (22 page)

5.23 P.M.

    Doyle paused outside the interview room for a moment, as if to compose himself, then he pushed open the door and walked in.

    Julie Neville was seated on one side of a small table with a mug of hot tea cradled between her hands.

    She was watching the rising steam, as if fascinated by it.

    Only when the door closed did she look up, eyes narrowing as she caught sight of Doyle.

    The WPC who was seated in the room with her got to her feet as Doyle nodded towards her.

    She left him and Julie alone.

    'We're going to have to stop meeting like this,' he said quietly.

    'Am I under arrest?' Julie demanded. 'Because if I'm not, then I'd like to see my daughter.'

    Doyle perched on a corner of the table and lit a cigarette.

    'Your daughter's fine,' he reassured her. 'I've just seen her. She's happy enough. She's playing Snap with two coppers. I reckon she'll beat them.'

    'Cut the bullshit, Doyle. You're no good at it. Why am I here?'

    'OK. No bullshit. I need your kid.'

    'We've had this conversation before. No way. You're not giving her to Bob and that's the end of it. I don't care how many bombs he lets off.'

    'You don't care how many people die because of him?'

    'The only person I care about is Lisa and I'm not letting you use her like some kind of bloody prize for Bob. Now, if I'm not under arrest I'd like to go.' She got to her feet.

    'I think the police call it protective custody,' Doyle told her. 'Like that house in Lambeth you ran away from. They're trying to look after you and your daughter, not hurt you.'

    'And you, what are you trying to do?'

    'My job,' he said simply.

    They locked stares for a moment then Julie sat down again.

    'We've had new instructions from your husband,' Doyle updated her. 'He wants me to deliver your daughter to him. If I don't, he'll set off the rest of the bombs. I need your help, Julie. I'll give it to you straight. If I agree to do what your husband wants, take your daughter to him, then that'll be the end of it.'

    'How do you know?'

    'Because when I get close enough I'll kill him.'

    'He might kill you.'

    'He'll try.'

    'And if he does? What happens to Lisa then? I daren't take that chance, Doyle.'

    'If he doesn't get what he wants and he detonates all the bombs, he might just come looking for her himself when he's got nothing left to lose. Do you trust the police to stop him? You know him better than I do. You know he won't stop until either he's got his daughter or she's dead, because you can bet your arse if he can't have her he'll make fucking sure you can't. Now that's your choice. Trust me or the police.'

    'I don't trust anyone.'

    'What about Kenneth Baxter?'

    Julie held his gaze.

    'Where does he fit into all this, Julie? Why did you go to him?'

    Still she didn't answer.

    'You could have got out of London,' Doyle continued. 'Jumped on a train anywhere and just stayed on it until you'd put enough distance between you and your husband, the police and me. But you didn't. You went to Baxter. Why?'

    'I couldn't think of anyone else,' she said, tracing a slender finger around the rim of the mug.

    'No family? No friends?' Doyle challenged.

    'He is a friend.'

    'How long have you known him?'

    'Nine or ten years. Almost as long as I've known Bob. Bob brought him home one time when he was on leave. All three of us were friends. He was about the only person Bob ever trusted.'

    'Apart from you?' Doyle said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

    She either failed to notice the tone or chose to ignore it, and simply nodded slowly.

    'Where is he now?' she asked.

    'Baxter? He's in the next room, as far as I know.'

    She sighed.

    'Then perhaps you owe it to him to tell him what you just told me,' Julie said wearily. 'About taking Lisa to Bob.'

    'Why?'

    'He has a right to know.'

    'It's got fuck all to do with Baxter.'

    'It's got everything to do with him. Lisa's his daughter.'

5.25 P.M.

    Doyle shook his head and smiled mirthlessly.

    'Neville obviously doesn't know that Lisa isn't his.' It came out more like a statement than a question.

    Julie shook her head. 'If he did he'd have killed me and Ken by now. I'm the only one who knows, and now you. Lisa thinks Bob is her father. I want it to stay that way, Doyle.'

    'How long has this been going on?'

    'Almost nine years. On and off.'

    'And Neville never suspected?'

    Julie shook her head.

    'No, I suppose he wouldn't, would he?' Doyle chided. 'His best friend and his wife.' He grunted. 'Fucking hell, and you worry about not trusting him.'

    'I don't need a lecture on morality, Doyle.'

    'I'm not giving one. I don't care if you were getting fucked by Baxter or the entire band of the Coldstream Guards. The only thing that bothers me is getting Neville and to do that I need your help. Or, more to the point, your daughter's help.'

    'Are you asking for my permission?'

    'You could say that.'

    'Promise me no harm will come to her.'

    'I'll look after her. I don't make promises.'

    'You have to kill him?'

    'That was what I was planning to do from the beginning. I'd have thought you'd be glad to see the back of him too. It'll protect your little secret, won't it?'

    'Fuck you, Doyle.'

    'If that's what you want. Shall I get in the queue behind Baxter?'

    'You bastard.' She lunged forward, slapping at Doyle's face.

    He caught her wrist in one powerful hand and pushed her back on to her seat, finally releasing her, stepping back a pace.

    'Did you love him?' he asked, his voice low.

    'Who?'

    'Baxter.'

    'I don't think so. It wasn't like that. It wasn't some big love affair. We just-'

    'Fucked,' Doyle interjected. 'Are you sure Lisa's Baxter's?'

    'Yes. I hadn't known Ken very long. Bob was on duty when it happened.'

    'That was convenient. And he never suspected?'

    'Why should he? Besides, I can be discreet when I have to be.'

    'I bet you can.'

    'I didn't want it to happen that way, Doyle. If it hadn't been Ken, it would have been someone else. I just didn't want Lisa hurt.'

    'Why didn't you just leave Neville?'

    'I don't know. I loved him at the beginning.'

    'Is that why you were fucking his best mate?'

    'I wouldn't expect you to understand, Doyle. What do you know about love or emotion?'

    'Nothing any more,' he said quietly, averting his eyes.

    A vision flashed into his mind.

    Georgie. Laughing.

    Dying.

    He tried to drive the image away.

    But it didn't want to leave.

    They were together. Kissing. Making love.

    Jesus, it still hurt to be without her.

    So much pain. When would it end?

    He sucked in a deep breath.

    'You're going to have to talk to your daughter,' he said. 'Tell her what's going on.'

    'I can't,' Julie said falteringly. 'How can I tell her what I just told you? That her father isn't really her father? Jesus Christ, Ken doesn't even know she's his.'

    Doyle shook his head slowly.

    'Look,' he began. 'I'm not asking you to tell her -or Ken - what you told me, or anything else about this whole fucking mess. Just tell Lisa she's going to see her father… At least the geezer she thinks is her father.'

    Julie eyed him furiously.

    'Tell her I've got to take her,' Doyle continued. 'Tell her she's going to have to do what I say.' He smiled. 'You can even tell her to trust me.'

5.46 P.M.

    'This is crazy,' said DS Colin Mason, pacing the office. 'There must be something else we can do instead of just sitting here and waiting for that fucking headcase to ring.'

    'Such as?' Calloway enquired.

    'All this sitting around,' Mason continued irritably. 'The waiting. He's doing it on purpose. Neville's playing fucking games with us.'

    The harsh metallic sound of an automatic being cocked caused him to spin round.

    Doyle held the 92F burst-fire in his hands, examining the sleek lines of the pistol before pushing it back into its shoulder holster.

    'If he frisks you, he'll find that,' Calloway pointed out.

    'If he gets that close,' Mason added. 'He might just blow your head off from a distance and then take the kid.'

    In answer, Doyle pushed down the top of his cowboy boot slightly to reveal the ankle holster.

    He tapped the butt of the PD Star then pulled the boot back up.

    'He won't find that,' Doyle said with an air of certainty.

    'Proper Secret Agent, aren't you, Doyle?' Mason chided.

    The counter terrorist fixed Mason in an unwavering stare until the policeman finally turned away and continued pacing.

    'All this waiting about,' the DS said. 'It's like-'

    'Waiting for a bomb to go off?' Doyle offered.

    'That's not funny, Doyle,' Mason growled.

    'Did he say what time he was ringing back - he didn't, did he?' Doyle mused.

    Calloway shook his head.

    'He could keep us sitting here for the next three or four hours if he wanted to,' the DI said.

    Doyle glanced at his watch.

    'I don't think so,' he murmured. 'He says he's going to let the big one off at eight and I reckon he will.'

    'Even if he gets his daughter back?' Calloway said.

    'He's stalling,' Doyle continued. 'He could set it off anyway, even if he does get her. We don't know how big the thing is. A hundred, a hundred and fifty pounds. It'd be one hell of a fucking diversion.'

    Doyle had said nothing to the two policemen about his talk with Julie Neville. At least she'd agreed to allow her daughter to be taken along by Doyle, but that was all.

    They also knew nothing of the counter terrorist's attempts to contact Major John Wetherby.

    Twice Doyle had attempted to ring the Army Intelligence officer but, on both occasions, Wetherby had been unavailable, not at his desk or some other bullshit excuse.

    Doyle had slammed down the phone the second time.

    Wetherby needed to know what was happening. It was as simple as that.

    Doyle had decided to check in.

    Old habits died hard.

    Besides, Doyle had wanted to tell Wetherby that he was closing in on Neville and also warn him that there might well be some more civilian casualties. In particular, an eight-year-old girl.

    The phone rang and Calloway grabbed it.

    'You took your time, Neville,' he said, switching the phone to speaker.

    'Right, just listen,' Neville began. 'Doyle, can you hear me?'

    'Get on with it,' the counter terrorist called back.

    'I'll keep it simple,' Neville said. 'When I said I wanted Doyle to bring Lisa to me, I meant Doyle.ind Doyle alone. No back-up. No plain-clothes coppers following at a discreet distance. If I even smell a copper there'll be another explosion. Got it? Now this is how we play the game. Doyle, I'm going to give you locations. Each one is a phone box. I'm going to bounce you all over London to make sure you're not being followed. First one phone box, then another, then another, until I'm satisfied. When I am, I'll give you the location to bring Lisa to me. This is how it works. I tell you which phone box to get to, the phone rings five times. If it isn't answered after five rings I'll detonate a bomb. If anyone else other than you answers it I'll detonate a bomb. Got that?'

    'Got it.'

    'Right, here goes then and, Doyle, you take good care of my little girl,' Neville rasped. 'First phone box is an easy one. Get to the public phones at St James's tube station. Move it. You've got eight minutes.'

    The line went dead.

5.51 P.M.

    
I don't fucking need this.

    Doyle slowed his pace slightly, glancing round to see that the little girl was having trouble keeping up with him.

    Playing Neville's game alone would be bad enough, but I can do without the kid.

    'Come on,' he said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

    That was how you were supposed to sound when you were talking to kids, wasn't it?

    Lisa scuttled along beside him, bumping into him when he stopped hurriedly at a corner.

    She almost overbalanced but Doyle shot out a hand and pulled her along with him.

    'Where are we going?' she asked.

    'Didn't your mum tell you? We're going to see your dad.'

    
The bloke you think is your dad, at any rate.

    'Mum said I had to do what you told me.'

    'That's right.'

    They reached the entrance to St James's tube station.

    There were a number of people climbing the steps from below and more than one glanced inquisitively at the man with the long brown hair and the stubble-covered face as he pulled the little girl in the jeans and blue cardigan along with him.

    Perhaps a little too roughly sometimes.

    Doyle hurried down the steps, Lisa struggling along behind.

    
Come on, come on.

    He helped her down the last two stairs, eyes scanning the concourse for the phones.

    To his left.

    He strode towards them, Lisa in tow.

    Two phones. One was out of order.

    Doyle leaned against the working one and pulled cigarettes from his jacket, jamming one between his lips but not lighting it.

    'You'll get a cough,' said Lisa, looking up at him.

    Doyle looked puzzled.

    'If you smoke, you get a cough,' she continued. 'They told us that at school. I told Mum she should give up.'

    'Did your teacher tell you that smoking was bad for you?'

    Lisa nodded.

    'Well, you tell your teacher from me that non-smokers die every day.' He smiled crookedly.

    The phone rang.

    Doyle snatched it up and pressed the receiver to his ear.

    'Yeah,' he said.

    'Doyle?'

    'You know bloody well it is.'

    'Is Lisa with you?' Neville demanded.

    'Yes.'

    'Let me speak to her.'

    'This wasn't part of the plan.'

    'Who's making the fucking rules, Doyle? Let me speak to her,' Neville barked.

    Doyle pushed the phone towards the child, who had trouble reaching it because the cord was so short.

    Doyle lifted her up.

    'Is that my princess?' Neville said.

    'Dad. Where are you?' Lisa said excitedly.

    'I'm waiting for you,' he told her. 'Let me speak to the man who's with you and we'll talk later.'

    She handed the phone to Doyle, who put her down once more.

    'Satisfied?' Doyle snapped into the phone.

    'Listen to me. The next stop is Oxford Circus, there's a phone box outside Top Shop. It should take twenty minutes by tube. It means your friends won't be able to hear you while you're in the tunnels though.'

    'What the fuck are you talking about?' Doyle hissed.

    'Watch your language in front of my daughter, Doyle,' Neville said reproachfully. 'I know you're in contact with the police, I wouldn't have expected anything else. I thought you might wear a wire but that's a bit primitive, isn't it? What have you got? A mobile?'

    Doyle exhaled deeply. 'Yeah, full marks, Sherlock.'

    'Well, just make sure they don't get over-eager. Like I said, if I see a copper, Bang! Now move it, you've got twenty minutes to get to the next phone box.'