'You're a fucking liar, Doyle,' Neville laughed.
'Blew the gaff on you without even thinking about it,' Doyle continued. 'You see, he knows it's over too. He knows, I know. It doesn't matter what you do, Neville. Things are different now. Times have changed. The fighting in Ireland is over. You should have died in Belfast. Perhaps we all should.'
'What the hell are you talking about?' hissed Calloway. 'Just make the deal, for Christ's sake.'
'Who's there with you?' Neville wanted to know.
'The police,' Doyle informed him.
'Are they listening to me?'
'Hanging on your every word,' Doyle chided.
'Neville, listen to me,' Calloway said, moving closer to the speaker-phone.
Doyle swung himself off the table, digging out his cigarettes.
'Are you serious about making a deal?' Calloway continued.
'You let me see Lisa and I won't detonate the next bomb,' Neville repeated.
'OK,' Calloway said. 'Where do you want us to bring her to?'
'Hyde Park,' Neville said. 'The corner by Marble Arch. I want her there by three-thirty. One minute later and I'll detonate the next bomb.'
'She'll be there, I give you my word.'
'Fuck your word. I want my daughter.'
'How do we know we can trust you?' Calloway insisted.
'You don't,' Neville said flatly.
He hung up.
Calloway spun round and glared at Doyle.
'I'm trying to buy us more time and you're antagonising him,' the DI snarled. 'What the fuck are you playing at?'
'You play your way, I'll play mine,' Doyle snarled.
'What about Baxter?' Mason interjected.
'Let him go,' Doyle said. 'But put a tail on him.'
Mason looked at his superior, who hesitated a second then nodded.
The DS slipped out of the room.
'He's got to be stopped, Doyle,' Calloway said.
'You did the right thing,' the counter terrorist told him.
'Then what the hell was that bullshit with Neville?' the DI said angrily. 'What's going on between you and him?'
Doyle smiled. 'You'd never understand,' he said softly. Then he glanced at his watch. 'Who's going to tell Julie Neville you're using her daughter as bait because I don't think she'd want to hear it from me.'
'I'll take care of it. I'll send somebody to pick her up.'
'Half three, he said, didn't he?' Doyle mused.
Calloway nodded. 'Let's hope to God he shows up.'
'He'll be there,' said Doyle, sucking gently on his cigarette.
He slipped a hand inside his jacket and patted the butt of the automatic.
Neville replaced the phone and stepped away from the booth.
The woman who had been waiting for him to finish pushed forward immediately, practically bumping into him.
Neville looked at her sternly for a second until she turned her back on him and began jabbering into the phone in a language he didn't recognise.
Foreign bitch.
Across the road the magnificent edifice of St Paul's Cathedral rose up before him, the dome pushing upwards towards the cloud-filled sky.
Hundreds of sightseers were milling around the building, some sitting on the step which led up to its main entrance. He saw several people eating sandwiches on the stone stairway. A young man dressed in a long black T- shirt and shorts was swigging from a can of Coke, pointing towards the dome.
Neville could hear him as he swung his leg over the seat of the Harley Davidson.
Another fucking foreigner.
Neville started his engine, revved it hard for a second. 'I'm coming, Lisa,' he said to himself, then he pulled out into the traffic.
2.27 P.M.
Julie Neville regarded her reflection in the full-length mirror then sighed heavily and turned towards the small suitcase on the bed behind her.
She took out a clean T-shirt and slipped it on, tucking it into her jeans, then she pulled on a pair of white socks and stepped into her Reeboks, one foot perched on the end of the bed as she fastened the laces.
She hadn't had much time to gather clothes from the remains of the house after the explosion. There hadn't been much left to gather. A handful of things for herself and Lisa. That had been it.
Lisa.
She could hear sounds of movement from the bedroom across the landing of the safe house where her daughter still played happily, oblivious it seemed to what had already happened and what might still occur.
Julie crossed to the front window of the house and looked out.
The Astra with its solitary uniformed occupant was still parked across the street, the policeman slumped down in the driving seat, head tilted back.
She wondered if he was sleeping.
Julie fastened the zip around the small suitcase and felt its weight.
All she had was in that one small bag.
All that and Lisa.
She crossed to the other room, directly opposite, and stood for a second, gazing down at her daughter who was chattering quietly to one of her dolls.
If the little girl saw her she said nothing and, after a moment, Julie turned and stepped back onto the landing, peering over the banister down into the hall.
'Lucy,' she called, her voice reverberating in the narrow confines of the stairwell.
WPC Robertson appeared at the bottom of the steps and smiled up at her.
'Kettle's just boiled,' said the policewoman.
'Could you come up for a minute?' Julie asked, trying to control the quiver in her voice.
'Are you all right?'
Julie nodded and stepped back, watching as the policewoman began climbing the stairs.
The steps creaked protestingly as she reached the top.
'Is anything wrong, Julie?' the policewoman asked, wondering why the other woman's expression had suddenly hardened.
Julie grabbed for the small suitcase, gripping the handle, swinging it with as much power as she could muster.
It struck the policewoman in the face, split her bottom lip and knocked her off balance.
She clutched at empty air for a second then toppled backwards, trying to break her fall, flailing arms smacking against the wall and balustrade.
Julie stood watching as the WPC tumbled over and over down the stairs, each step bringing a renewed grunt of pain from her.
