Doyle smiled.
As he entered the room both Mason and Baxter looked up.
'Mr Baxter, this is Sean Doyle,' Calloway said. 'He'd like to ask you some questions too.'
'Who's next? The fucking tea lady?' snapped Baxter, turning his back on Doyle, who moved around to sit opposite him, reaching inside his jacket for his ID. He flipped open the wallet and pushed it across the table towards Baxter.
'Counter Terrorist Unit,' he mumbled then leaned back on his chair, a smile hovering on his lips. 'I've heard of your lot.'
'Only good things I hope,' said Doyle mockingly, retrieving the ID.
'The real tough guys. Harder than the SAS.' Baxter chuckled.
'I thought the Paras were the real glory boys,' Doyle prompted.
'We did what we had to do in uniforms. We didn't have to hide.'
'Is that what Neville thought?'
'How the fuck do I know?'
'You were in his unit. You knew him.'
'I've already answered these questions,' Baxter protested.
'Not for me you haven't,' Doyle reminded him sharply.
The two men regarded each other coldly for a moment then Doyle looked up at Calloway. 'I'll speak to Mr Baxter alone if that's all right?'
Calloway hesitated a second then nodded, gesturing to Mason to follow him out of the room.
The DS followed reluctantly, closing the door.
Doyle pulled out his cigarettes, lit one then offered the pack to Baxter who declined.
'Look, I'm not going to bullshit you, Baxter,' Doyle said. 'I know you served with Neville, I know you and he were close, I know you've been in contact with him since you left the army.'
Don't push it too early.
Baxter looked surprised.
'I don't give a fuck about you; Neville's the one I'm interested in and I'm going to find him with or without your help, but I want to know if he got his equipment from you. The equipment he's using now.'
Careful. One step at a time.
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Baxter said dismissively but not too convincingly.
'Neville's got enough weapons and explosives to fight a fucking war, I just want to know if he got them from you.'
Baxter cracked out laughing.
'Did I say something funny?' Doyle hissed.
'The army said I supplied weapons to the IRA and the UVF,' Baxter said, smiling.
'And did you?'
'Maybe I did. Who fucking cares? It's all over now, isn't it? In ten years nobody's even going to remember anything that happened in Ireland. It's history already.'
'Tell me about it, I was there too, you know,' Doyle snapped.
'Yeah, you were there,' Baxter murmured, his tone lower but still venomous. 'Not on the fucking streets you weren't. Not being gobbed at by women and kids. The people we were supposed to be out there helping. No. Not the fucking Counter Terrorist Unit, creeping around undercover somewhere. We were the ones out in the open. Target practice for any cunt with an Armalite. One day they'd talk to you, the next they'd be throwing fucking bricks. None of us knew who was on our side.'
'And Neville felt the same way.' It came out as a statement, not a question.
'Fucking right he did. We all did. We knew we could rely on each other, nobody else.'
'And it's still like that, isn't it?' Doyle mused. 'Neville told me he missed it.'
'When did you speak to him?' Baxter blurted, genuinely surprised.
'Earlier today.'
'Why did they send you, Doyle? Who sent you?'
'After Neville? The army.'
'Why?'
'Why the fuck do you think? They want him dead.'
'And you're going to do it?'
Doyle nodded slowly.
'You'd kill one of your own for them?' Baxter said quietly.
'Do you think I want to?'
'Do you miss it, Doyle?'
The counter terrorist took a long drag on his cigarette.
'Every fucking day,' he said finally. 'But it's over. All that's left is Neville.'
'We were important then. Neville, me. You. Our lives meant something.'
'We all sing the same fucking song, Baxter. But you know what, you're right, nobody gives a fuck and Neville knows that and that's why he's doing what he's doing now. I just want to know if he's doing what he's doing with stuff that he got from you.'
The door opened and Mason peered in, his face flushed.
'Doyle,' he said breathlessly. 'Phone call.'
'Not now,' he hissed.
The DS remained where he was. 'It's Neville.'
2.23 P.M.
'That's the deal. If you let me see Lisa, I won't activate the next bomb.'
Doyle perched on the edge of the desk, eyes fixed on the speaker-phone.
Calloway watched the face of the counter terrorist. If there were any thoughts flickering away behind those steel grey eyes then they didn't show in his expression.
Mason looked anxiously at the speaker-phone and then at his superior.
'Did you hear what I said, Doyle?' Neville repeated finally, his voice even. 'It's a fair deal. It's more lives saved. How many have died so far? Twenty? Thirty?'
'Why? Are you keeping a scorecard?' Doyle growled.
Calloway shot him an anxious glance.
'This isn't about your daughter, Neville. I know that,' Doyle said.
'I want her back.'
'And you know you'll never get her, so why don't you stop the bullshit now.'
Calloway shot out a hand and grabbed Doyle's arm. 'What the hell are you trying to do?' he demanded. 'Provoke him?'
Doyle pulled away angrily, glaring at the DI.
'It's over, Neville,' Doyle said with an air of finality. 'Set the fucking bomb off. And the next, and the next.'
'That's a lot of lives, Doyle,' Neville told him. 'How many do you want on your conscience?'
'I haven't got a fucking conscience.'
'Make the deal,' Calloway snapped angrily.
Doyle fixed him in a withering stare.
'We've got a friend of yours here, Neville,' the counter terrorist said. 'Kenneth Baxter. Remember?'
There was a moment's silence at the other end of the line.
'You got the gear from Baxter, didn't you? The guns, the explosives.'
A few more seconds of silence then Neville chuckled. 'Is that what he told you?'
'Yeah. Dropped you right in it. Up to your fucking neck.'
