Knife Edge Page 18

  The punches and kicks from the combat games, the explosions emanating from the shoot-em-up's. And through it all, the shouts and joyful exclamations of those playing the games.

  The bank of arcade games was on the first floor of the Trocadero complex between Leicester Square and Piccadilly Circus. The building itself housed shops, the Guinness Book of Records exhibition, places to eat and a twelve-screen cinema.

  It was towards the main entrance that Mortimer briefly glanced.

  Penny was in there now with their two children, wedged in with the masses of others who had flocked to see the newest Batman film on its first day of release. The queues had been massive. Paul had bought the tickets himself a week earlier as a birthday treat for Jake, their elder child.

  Mortimer had wanted to see the film himself but, as ever, something had come up at the last minute and he'd been forced to pack his wife and the children off together, arranging to meet them outside when the performance ended.

  When the work was there he had to take it.

  He'd run his own photographic business for the last eighteen months and things were going well. Better than even he'd dared to hope. It had been a tough decision to take in the first place, striking out alone. The photographic firm he'd worked for since leaving college eight years earlier had provided steady and well-paid work, but Mortimer had wanted to escape the shackles of being an employee.

  Besides, he felt his talents could be better used in fields other than taking pictures for the Next and Top Man catalogues.

  Mind you, the work had been pleasant, he had to admit that and, while shooting part of the lingerie section for a Freemans catalogue, he'd met Penny.

  The attraction had been instant.

  They'd married seven months later. Two years on she was pregnant with Jake.

  Kelly followed eighteen months after.

  When he'd first suggested going it alone Penny had been her usual practical self, sitting down and working out, to the last copper, how much he would need to earn to maintain the comfortable life-style which they had built for themselves. It wouldn't be easy, they'd both realised that, but Mortimer had many contacts in the business and Penny herself had been asked to return to modelling on a part-time basis. Just hands, face and feet (even a body as well preserved and cared for as hers hadn't quite recovered sufficiently from producing two children to allow her back into the lingerie business). But the offers coming her way were good too.

  They had decided they could make a go of things and the best way to prove it was to do it.

  Mortimer had worked steadily, sometimes fren-ziedly, Penny thought, since forming his own company.

  He'd received the phone call from the Athenaeum Hotel that morning, asking him if he would come in and speak to them. Discuss the possibility of him taking on a long-term contract to photograph their promotional material.

  They had agreed to his price on the spot.

  Mortimer smiled, spun round in the seat and fed more coins into the video game.

  One more go before he met his family.

  Two teenagers stood watching him as he gleefully racked up another huge score. Perhaps they wondered why this man in his early thirties was so engrossed in the game they were waiting to play. He looked old enough to be their father, they thought.

  Nevertheless they watched intently.

  He was pretty good for an older bloke.

  The explosion which killed all three of them was enormous.

  A sudden screaming eruption of fire and smoke seemed to fill the entire building as it roared outwards from its source.

  Before the screen they were watching dissolved, Mortimer and the two youths saw just two words before them.

  GAME OVER.

  5.14 P.M.

  'That bloody maniac,' roared DS Colin Mason. He held both hands to his head, fingers clasped at the back of his skull. 'Christ. How many more?'

  'How many dead?' Doyle asked. He stood at one of the large picture windows of Calloway's office gazing out over the city.

  The DI glanced at the piece of paper before him and shook his head.

  'It's difficult to tell so early,' He said wearily. 'But initial estimates put the death toll at twelve. More than three times that injured, some of them critical.'

  'Any idea how big the device was?'

  'Too early to say,' Calloway informed Doyle. 'The bomb squad is at the Trocadero now checking it out. It'll be another couple of hours before they come up with a full report.'

  'Two bombs within half a mile of each other,' Mason said. 'We're going to have to close off central London at this rate.'

  'How can we close off the entire centre of a city?' Calloway snapped. 'Besides, we don't know if the next bomb will be in the centre or further out.' He slammed the table with the flat of his hand. 'Maybe we should evacuate the whole damn place until we catch Neville.'

  'I want to know how he's managed to keep clear of our patrols for so long,' Mason added.

  'If he's riding a motorbike then he's wearing a helmet, isn't he, Sherlock?' Doyle chided. 'Chances are he's changed bikes or at least changed clothes since this morning. What are you going to do, pull in every bike rider in the city for questioning?'

  'So let's hear your suggestions, Doyle,' Mason barked.

  'Do what he says,' the counter terrorist said quietly. 'If he wants his daughter, then fucking give her to him.'

  'Give in to him?' Mason said scornfully. 'Never.'

  Doyle shrugged. 'You've got another option,' he said, sucking on his cigarette.

  'Which is?' Calloway demanded.

  'Let him use up the rest of the explosive. By my calculations, he should have about a hundred and twenty pounds left.'

  'Let him use it?' Mason gasped incredulously. 'You mean let him detonate more bombs?'

  'Then give him his daughter,' Doyle rasped. 'It's the only way you're going to stop him. You can't handle a man like Neville. He's not some dickhead with a sawn-off shotgun or a nigger purse snatcher. He's a professional. And he's right out of your league.' He pointed an accusatory finger towards the DS.

  'You sound as if you admire him,' Calloway murmured.

  'I don't admire him, I understand him,' Doyle said. 'I've been fighting men like him for longer than I can remember.'

  The phone rang.

  Calloway picked it up.

  Doyle watched the expression on his face change.

  'Neville,' the DI said. He pressed the button on the console to switch the phone to speaker.

  'I warned you what would happen if I didn't speak to my daughter,' Neville said, his voice echoing from the speakers.

  'Twelve more people killed,' Mason shouted. I hope you're happy, you mad bastard.'

  'Is Doyle there?' Neville wanted to know, ignoring the outburst.

  'Yeah, I'm here.'

  'I need your help.'

  'Fuck you,' Doyle called back.

  'I want my daughter, and this time you're going to make sure I get her.'

  'How?'

  'You're going to bring her to me personally.'

  5.16 P.M.

  Silence fell upon the room.

  Both Mason and Calloway looked at Doyle, who took the cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out, watching the plume of smoke rise lazily into the air. 'Did you hear what I said?' Neville asked.

  Doyle didn't answer.

  'We heard,' Calloway responded.

  'Forget it, Neville, I'm not playing your fucking games,' Doyle told him.

  'Then a lot more people are going to die, aren't they?' Neville reminded him.

  'What do you want Doyle to do?' Calloway said.

  Doyle shot him an angry glance, but the DI held up a restraining hand.

  'Like I said, I want him to bring me my daughter,' Neville continued. 'No tricks, no double-cross. If he tries to pull anything I'll let off another bomb.'

  'You'll do it anyway,' Doyle said dismissively.

  'You'll have to trust me not to,' Neville chuckled.

 
; 'I wouldn't trust you to tell me what day of the week it was,' Doyle snarled.

  'Here's the deal,' Neville began. 'Doyle brings Lisa to me and I won't detonate the other bombs. Any fucking about and I'll let all of them blow and that includes the big one.'

  'I thought you were saving that one until eight o'clock,' Doyle said mockingly.

  'Only if I don't get what I want.'

  'If you blow them all you've got nothing to bargain with,' Doyle pointed out.

  'Maybe, but you've got an awful lot of dead bodies on your hands if I do.'

  'He'll do it,' Mason interjected.

  'Don't you tell me what I will or won't do,' Doyle hissed.

  'Come on, Doyle,' Neville continued. 'You wanted to find me, didn't you? I'm giving you the chance. Bring Lisa to me and you'll find me.'

  'Yeah, pointing a fucking gun at my head.'

  'That's a possibility,' Neville sniggered. 'So, what do you say?'

  'I want to know what your game is, Neville. What's all this about? Or don't you even know any more? Is it about your daughter or is it about what went on in Ireland? You can't change it now. You can't change the past, or the future. It's over out there.'

  'Maybe not.'

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'Bombs in London, bombs in Belfast, bombs in Dublin. One city's the same as another.'

  Doyle stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  Bombs in Dublin.

  'What the hell's he talking about?' Calloway demanded.

  'He's bluffing,' Doyle said.

  'Can you take that chance, Doyle?' Neville teased.

  The counter terrorist was pacing the office, head bowed slightly. He swept one hand through his long hair and sucked in a deep breath.

  'London today, Dublin or Belfast tomorrow,' Neville continued. 'Unless I get what I want. Unless you bring me what I want. Is it a deal?'

  Take the kid. Get close to Neville. Kill the cunt.

  'I'm not going to wait all fucking night, Doyle. Yes or no?'

  Do it. How else are you going to find him?

  'Tell me the deal.'

  'Is that a yes?' Neville pressed.

  'You know it is,' Doyle growled.

  I'm coming to get you, shithead.

  'I knew I could count on you, Doyle,' Neville laughed. 'We're two of a kind. I'm going to send you and Lisa on a little journey first, before I meet you. I'll tell you where to go and when. Just make sure you listen carefully to what I say. I'll call back with the first set of instructions.'

  He hung up.

  'Bastard!' Doyle shouted, then, turning to Calloway, 'I've got to talk to Julie Neville. Where is she?'

  'A car is bringing her, Kenneth Baxter and the little girl here.'

  'Well, let me know as soon as they get here,' Doyle instructed, heading for the door. 'Someone's got to tell Julie Neville what we're going to do with her daughter.'

  'Where are you going?' Calloway asked.

  'There's something I've got to do,' Doyle told him.

  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 do
n'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.'