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.
Wait for them to come out and hope they wanted to give up instead of fight.
Your choice.
Something glinted across the street. Sunshine on glass. The rays of the sun on a scope? If Doyle had seen it, perhaps Leary or Finan had too.
No reason to be expecting it.
He was less than a foot from the door now, pressed tight to the brickwork. The snipers would be watching him, relaying his progress to Robinson by two-way.
Go in blasting?
He knew there was no back door and if Finan and Leary were going to get away, they’d have to come straight through him.
He raised the butt of the automatic and prepared to bang on the door.
As he did he heard the high-pitched burr of a mobile phone from inside the flat. There was a moment of silence then some muted voices.
Doyle raised his hand again to hammer with the gun. He was about to strike when part of the door exploded outwards.
It was a shotgun. No mistaking the thunderous roar. Doyle had heard the sound enough times.
He stepped away from the door and pressed himself up against the wall, turning his face slightly as lumps of wood and metal erupted into the air, propelled by the force of two massive impacts. Several shotgun pellets rolled across the walkway and the counter terrorist smelled the all-too-familiar stink of cordite.
He worked the slide on the Beretta, chambering a round, his heart thudding more quickly against his ribs, adrenalin pulsing through his veins like heroin through a junkie.
What was fear to some men was close to exhilaration for Doyle.
He looked around. No cover on the walkway. If the fuckers came out shooting,
it’d be messy.
Further down the walkway a door opened.
‘Stay inside,’ Doyle roared and the door slammed quickly.
There was another massive roar as the shotgun was discharged again. Another piece of the door was obliterated, tiny cinders and splinters spiralling into the air.
For one ridiculous moment he thought about telling them to put down their weapons and come out.
Yeah, right.
What else had they got in there with them? More guns? Explosive?
Come on, think.
One way out. One way in. Snipers across the street. Armed RUC men at both ends of the road.
Step back. Let them rot inside there. They’re going nowhere.
He gripped the Beretta more tightly, aware now of the unearthly silence that had descended after the barrage of gunshots. The only activity was below in Dalton Road itself as plain clothes RUC men did their best to keep the thoroughfare clear of passers-by.
Doyle backed off slightly and dropped to one knee, steadying himself. He raised the Beretta and squinted along the sight.
The advantage was his. Finan and Leary had no idea how many men awaited them.
The counter terrorist wondered how they’d discovered they were under surveillance.
Finan’s fucking sister. Little bitch.
He nodded as if to confirm his own suspicions. She must have warned them.
‘Finan,’ Doyle roared.‘Can you hear me?’
Silence.
‘You and your fucking friend can stay in there as long as you like.You’re covered on all sides.You’re going nowhere.’
Still no reply.
‘Personally, I couldn’t give a flying fuck whether you come out with your hands up or you come out blasting,’
Doyle continued. ‘Either way you’re going down. You either walk out of that flat or they carry you both out in body bags. Got that?’
He moved a little closer to the door, his eyes never leaving the sight of the Beretta.
‘Pity about your sister,’ he called, a slight smile on his face. ‘She’s an accessory now. I know she was the one who tipped you off.You’ll do time and so will she. But before I arrest her there’s something I want to give her. And I’m sure I won’t be the first.’
Doyle heard sounds of movement from inside the flat. Muted voices.
‘Pretty little thing,’ he continued. ‘You should have kept your business to yourself. You made her fair game too. After I’ve put you and Leary in the fucking ground I’ll go back and pay her a visit. She looked like she was gagging for it when I was there this morning.’