The lift arrived and Doyle stepped in, rode it to the ground floor and made his way out.
He looked at his watch.
Next stop Lambeth. The safe house.
He slid behind the wheel of the Datsun, pulled the orange disabled sticker from the front windscreen and pushed it into the glove compartment.
Fuck it. He had to get a parking space somehow.
Doyle switched on the cassette, music filling the car.
'… If that's the only thing that's stopping war, then thank God for the bomb…'
He switched it off again.
Another glance at his watch.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
As he drove he looked around. At the cars. The buildings.
So many places to hide an explosive device. He drove on.
1.23 P.M.
'I want to talk to Doyle.'
DS Colin Mason recognised the voice immediately.
He reached for a pen on his desk and scribbled the time on the corner of a pad then, with the end of the Biro, he pressed another digit on the phone.
'Doyle's not here, Neville. Can't you talk to me?' Mason asked.
'I want the mechanic, not the fucking oily rag,' Neville growled.
Mason gripped the receiver more tightly, trying to control his anger.
Fuck you, you psychotic bastard.
'I know you're tracing this call by the way,' Neville continued. 'You're wasting your time. Just like you were at Euston.'
'Round one to you, eh?' Mason said, barely able to contain his fury.
'Not just the round, the whole fucking fight, shit-head. Now let me talk to Doyle.'
'I told you, Doyle's not here.'
'Well, fucking find him.'
'Look, I'm going to patch you through to my superior, he might know where Doyle is.'
Mason hit another couple of buttons.
As he did so the office door opened and a uniformed man stuck his head through.
'Get this fucking call traced. Quick,' the DS snapped.
'I told that other cunt, I want to speak to Doyle,' Neville rasped.
Inside the Mobile Operations Vehicle, Calloway glanced at his watch as he listened to Neville.
'Listen to me, Neville,' the DI implored.
'I don't want to listen to you. Besides, you're not the one to start giving ultimatums, are you?'
'I'm not giving you ultimatums, I'm asking you to listen.'
There was a second's silence at the other end of the phone.
'Neville?'
'Yeah, go on, I'm listening.'
'This can stop now, before anyone else is killed.'
'Fuck you. It stops when I get what I want, and I think the quicker you give me what I want, the better for everyone. The next bomb goes off in less than ten minutes.'
'Why are you killing innocent people? Your own people?'
'They're not my people. They couldn't give a fuck about me now. As far as they're concerned, I did my bit when the fighting in Ireland was going on. They don't want to know me now. My people were in Ulster with me. Other soldiers. Men like Doyle.
'Do you know Doyle?'
'I know what he did.'
'You know he wants to kill you?'
Neville chuckled.
'He'll try. What the fuck do I care? Do you think that frightens me?' Neville snarled. 'Do you think I'm frightened of dying?'
'No, I don't, I just don't understand why so many other people have to die too.'
'Don't try to understand. Besides, if you give me what I want nobody else has to die, do they? The quicker you give me my daughter, the quicker this is all over.'
'Where's the next bomb, Neville? At least give us a chance to find it.'
'Fuck you. Put Doyle on.'
A light flashed on the console in front of Neville and he pressed the button to switch the other phone to speaker.
'We've got the trace,' Mason informed him. 'Leicester Square.'
'I'm waiting for Doyle,' Neville said again.
Calloway gripped the receiver more tightly.
'You've got to give me time to contact him, I-'
Neville cut him short. 'Time's up. I'll speak to you after the next bomb.' He laughed.
'Go to hell!' roared Calloway.
'Already been,' Neville said and hung up.
1.30 P.M.
There was a loud rumble followed closely by a thunderous crash.
Clouds of dust billowed upwards in a choking cloud.
Stephen Casey stood on the corner of Lower John Street, one corner of Golden Square, and watched as the rubble tumbled down the chute before clattering to rest on the pile already gathered in the large skip to his left.
Casey could see that a Mercedes parked close by had been covered with a thin sheen of brick dust. The vehicle looked as if it was beginning to rust.
The car was legally parked. He knew, he'd already checked it, his inspection of the vehicle accompanied by one or two jeers from the workmen toiling high above him on the scaffolding of the building. Two of them had leaned over the edge of the parapet and called out something to him as he'd checked the meter beside which the Mercedes was parked. He'd also checked the tax disc, which was valid too.
He hadn't heard clearly what the men had shouted, the sound of crashing rubble had drowned their words. He'd only managed to catch the odd word here and there. Something about a ticket. He'd heard the word Hitler. He was sure he had.
He'd been a traffic warden for the last seven years, so it wouldn't have been the first time.
Casey readjusted his cap and crossed to his right, glancing back once again at the building with the skeletal framework of scaffolding before it.
As he reached the other side of Golden Square there was another loud crash as more rubble hurtled down the chute into the skip. More brick dust rose.
A despatch rider cruised into view from the northern end of the square.
He glanced at Casey as he slowed down, wondered whether to leave the bike on the yellow lines outside the building he was delivering to and decided to take the chance.
As he entered the building he held up one gloved finger in the traffic warden's direction, indicating how long he was going to be.
Casey waved back and smiled to himself.
He wouldn't have booked the rider. He wouldn't and neither would any of his colleagues. They weren't that bad, despite what the public thought.
Casey moved across the square, glancing around him.
People were moving through it on either side of the central grass rectangle. Surrounded by iron railings and flower beds, it was a pleasant enough setting. A little piece of greenery enclosed by the vast expanses of concrete and steel which seemed to have sprung up around it.
Casey often sat in the square on one of the benches and ate his sandwiches when he found time for lunch. He'd usually try and work his patrol so that he ended up there when it was time to eat. Workers from nearby offices did likewise in the summer. Some even sunbathed on the grass in hot weather. It was a pleasing little oasis.
There was another almighty crash as more rubble was despatched down the chute.
He glanced in the window of a design shop as he passed, gazing at the two or three mannequins there. They were all dressed in the garish, brightly coloured creations of the shop. Crop tops, wraparound skirts in multicoloured patterns, box jackets with unusually large shoulder pads.
He could see two young women towards the back of the showroom chatting animatedly. Both of them were dressed in black mini-skirts. One wore thick grey tights beneath. It seemed to defeat the object, Casey thought, noticing that they both gazed at him as he passed.
The Metro to his left was illegally parked.
He hurried his pace as he headed towards it, noting that it stood on double yellow lines outside the Ear, Nose and Throat Hospital.