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.