He wondered if she was okay. He’d always looked out for her ever since they were kids. That was what older brothers were supposed to do for their little sisters his parents had told him. It was a credo he’d always lived by.
He and Shonagh were close. Even when they’d been growing up together, there had been little of the sibling rivalry that normally blights brother-sister relationships.
Perhaps, over the years, he’d been a little over-protective (using a length of lead piping on a man he’d
suspected of getting her pregnant when she was nineteen may have been a touch excessive) but, what the hell, he loved her and he wasn’t about to see any harm come to her.
He knew that one of her neighbours had a key to her house. He could always call her. Get her to check on Shonagh. If he could just remember the bloody number.
He began to climb the third flight of stairs.
Doyle held the mug of tea in both hands and looked again at the window.
‘How long are you going to be?’
Karen Mercer’s voice seemed to echo inside the small flat.
The counter terrorist heard but didn’t look at her.
‘What would you be doing if I wasn’t here?’ he asked.
‘Earning money.’
Doyle pulled another twenty from his wallet and slapped it down on the coffee
table.
She regarded the cash for a moment then sat back in her chair.
‘You’re not waiting for any friend, are you?’ Karen murmured.
‘I told you, he owes me money.’
Doyle sipped at his tea. He heard footsteps on the parapet. Heard them stop outside the flat next door. Heard a key turn in the lock.
About fucking time.
‘Put another sugar in there, will you, Karen?’
He handed her the mug then got to his feet, reaching in his jacket pocket for his mobile.
As she padded off to the kitchen, Doyle pressed the number he wanted.
‘Give me Robinson,’ he snapped before the voice at the other end even finished speaking. ‘It’s Doyle.’
Karen stood watching him from the living-room door.
‘Someone’s just gone inside the flat on Dalton Road,’ said Doyle. ‘Are the rest of your men in position?’
Robinson said that they were.
‘I want to wait until both of them are inside,’ Doyle continued. ‘If we take one of them out we’ll lose the other. Wait for my signal.’
‘You’re a fucking copper,’ Karen said. 1 knew it.’
Doyle finished the call and turned to face her.
‘I’m a guy who’s given you sixty quid to keep your fucking mouth shut. I suggest you do it. I’ll be out of here soon and you can get back to work. For the time being just sit down.’
She held his gaze for a moment then stepped forward into the living room and did as he instructed.
Shonagh Finan gritted her teeth and finally eased her left hand free of the nylon string. It had cut deeply into the flesh of her wrist and she gazed angrily at the red welts that had risen there.
She had no idea how long she’d been straining against the tightly fastened bonds. There was perspiration on her face from her struggles and both her hands felt numb.
She undid the string around her other wrist then freed her ankles.
As she got to her feet, she swayed uncertainly for a second or two, then headed towards the kitchen door and the stairs beyond.
Reaching the landing she saw her handbag lying on the bed. The mobile was in view.
Shonagh snatched it up and began dialling.
Doyle wandered across to the window of Karen Mercer’s flat and peered out on to the parapet. He looked at the flat next door then at his watch.
The counter terrorist didn’t want to move without Leary being present too but how long was Finan going to stay put?
Come on, think.
Karen sat watching him.
Take one of them or possibly risk losing both.
Doyle jammed a cigarette between his lips.
Shit or bust?
Footsteps outside.
Doyle stepped back from the window but kept his gaze firmly fixed on the man who had walked past.
About twenty-six. Five-ten. Light-brown hair, cut short.
Declan Leary?
Time to find out.
He reached for his mobile, and turned to face Karen.
‘When I walk out of here, you stay put, got it?’ he snapped.
She nodded. ‘What about the money?’
‘Keep it.’
‘Doyle,’ said a voice at the other end of the phone.
‘Robinson. I think Leary’s just arrived. Get your men to seal off both ends of the street.’
‘I’ve got snipers in position too. You can leave it to us now.’
‘Not a chance. I found these fuckers. I’m bringing them in.’
‘I’ll send men—’
‘You send nothing. Just be ready to grab them if they get past me.’
‘We need them alive, Doyle.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
He dropped the mobile back into his pocket then headed for the door of the flat.
Thanks for the tea and shelter,’ he said.
She raised one middle finger in his direction.
‘Remember what I said?’ he told her.‘You keep your fucking head down, right?’
He slid a hand inside his jacket and pulled the Beretta from its holster.
‘Otherwise you’re likely to get it blown off.’ He eased open the door. ‘See you around.’ And he stepped outside. Doyle heard her shout something as he went but he wasn’t sure what it was.
Who cared anyway?
No one else was on the walkway.
He glanced across to the buildings opposite wondering if, even now, RUC
snipers were drawing beads on him.
When you shoot, just make sure you shoot the right fucking person.
The dustcart was still at one end of Dalton Road. At the other end there was a large white Transit and a Land Rover.
Doyle peered down at the activity below for a second longer then turned his attention back to the door of flat number 44.
He had the Beretta held down low beside his leg as he edged forward.
How many times in your life have you been in this position?
Wondering if the men on the other side of that door know you’re here. Are they standing there now with weapons waiting for you?
There was no reason why they should be, Doyle reasoned. As far as they were aware, no one knew their whereabouts, least of all the RUC and the Counter Terrorist Unit.
Doyle took a step closer.
The choices now were fairly simple. Kick the door down and go in blasting.
