'Yeah, that'd be a tragedy, wouldn't it?' Mason chided.
Doyle eyed him coldly. 'You know what, fatso?' he said. 'When I finish with Neville, I might just come back for you.'
He stuck the car in gear and pulled away.
'Doyle,' Calloway shouted after him. 'Just take it easy. Remember the hostages.'
Doyle slid a hand inside his jacket and touched the butt of the Beretta.
Fuck the hostages.
He drove the Montego up on to the pavement, bringing it close to the front gate of number ten.
He left the engine running, eyes fixed on the front door.
Waiting.
'Come on, Neville,' he said under his breath. 'I've got something for you.'
The front door remained closed.
10.06 A.M.
Doyle was leaning against the bonnet of the Montego when he saw the front door open.
He had both hands dug deep into the pockets of his leather jacket but, as the door opened a little wider, he slid one hand inside the garment, almost unconsciously touching the butt of the automatic.
'I hope they've been given their instructions,' Neville called from inside. 'No shooting or I press this fucking detonator.'
'You're safe,' said Doyle.
Come out, you fucker.
'Step away from the car,' Neville ordered, finally stepping into view.
Doyle saw him for the first time.
Perhaps if he pulled the Beretta now. He could get off a couple of shots before…
Before Neville pressed the detonator?
Before he opened up with the Steyr?
'Where are the hostages?' Doyle demanded, watching as Neville edged cautiously from the front door, a hold-all gripped in his free hand.
'They're safe. Inside,' Neville said, motioning with his head. 'Unless someone gets trigger-happy.' He held up the detonator control.
Smaller than the palm of his hand. A tiny black box with a winking red light on it and a red button. Neville's thumb was poised over that button.
Neville was walking slowly up the path now, his gaze never leaving Doyle.
'Why did you do it, Neville?' Doyle asked. 'Why did you kill the IRA men, the Sinn Fein guys, the UVF blokes? Why?'
'Is that why they sent you?'
'They want you kept quiet,' Doyle told him.
Neville chuckled. 'They're scared of me, aren't they? Terrified I'll fuck up their little peace plan.'
Doyle nodded.
'How long were you in Ireland?' Neville asked.
'Five years, six, seven. Who cares?'
'Undercover?'
Doyle nodded again.
Neville opened the passenger-side door of the Montego and tossed the hold-all on to the seat, never allowing the barrel of the Steyr to leave Doyle.
'You saw what went on out there,' Neville continued. 'Don't you understand why I killed them? Why I don't want peace? I was shot at, screamed at, spat at and fuck knows what else while I was there but as soon as their little peace treaty is signed, they expect us all to forget about it. Bollocks to that.'
'I understand what you're talking about,' Doyle said quietly.
'Maybe you do but they don't,' Neville told him, sweeping one arm towards the watching horde of policemen.
Doyle could see the detonator in his hand.
'And the fucking army don't understand either, that's why they sent you to kill me, isn't it?' Neville hissed.
'Yes,' Doyle answered bluntly.
'What are you carrying?' Neville asked, nodding towards Doyle's jacket. 'Show me.'
Doyle eased open the jacket and pulled it to one side, allowing Neville a sight of the Beretta.
'Pull it,' Neville said, smiling.
'So you can cut me in half with that, fuck you,'
Doyle said, nodding towards the sub-gun.
'I'm giving you a chance,' Neville told him. 'Come on, you want to kill me. Try it.'
'Don't tempt me.'
'You know you can't. If you shoot me I'll still press this detonator.'
'Press it. I couldn't give a fuck if you blow up your wife, your kid and the whole fucking street,' Doyle rasped. 'I came for you.'
'Then take your chance while you've got it.'
'There'll be another time.'
Neville regarded him coldly. 'Why are you doing this?' he said finally. 'Why do you want to kill me? We're on the same side. We always were. We still are. What are they going to do with you now all this shit in Ireland is over? How long before someone comes to kill you?'
'They wanted peace and they've got it, Neville. You jeopardised that peace. That's why I'm here.'
'I thought you understood me.'
'I do but I've got a job to do and I'm going to do it.'
Neville slid behind the wheel of the car, the detonator still in one hand.
He's put the sub-gun down. Shoot him now.
'How long before they want you dead too, Doyle,' Neville said. 'You're as useless now as I am. Whatever we were was back in Ireland, in the fighting.'
Doyle gritted his teeth, the knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsing.
What's wrong? The truth hurt? 'I'm the only thing left for you, Doyle,' Neville said, a slight smile on his face. 'If you kill me what else is there for you?'
'Fuck you, Neville,' Doyle snarled.
'Too late. The politicians already did that.'
The car pulled away, moving slowly down the road, past dozens of watching policemen.
'Shit,' Doyle murmured under his breath.
Policemen were hurrying towards the house now.
The counter terrorist himself turned and walked up the short path towards the front door, pushing it, surprised when it swung open.
He stepped into the hall.
There was a faint, sickly sweet odour in the air which was familiar to him.
Something…
He pushed the living-room door open.
Again that sickly sweet smell.
Julie and Lisa Neville were sitting on the sofa, wrists and ankles tied, both of them gagged with pieces of cloth.
The first of the policemen entered the house close behind Doyle.
The counter terrorist was already untying Julie's hands.
