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.'
'I can't,' Julie said falteringly. 'How can I tell her what I just told you? That her father isn't really her father? Jesus Christ, Ken doesn't even know she's his.'
Doyle shook his head slowly.
'Look,' he began. 'I'm not asking you to tell her -or Ken – what you told me, or anything else about this whole fucking mess. Just tell Lisa she's going to see her father… At least the geezer she thinks is her father.'
Julie eyed him furiously.
'Tell her I've got to take her,' Doyle continued. 'Tell her she's going to have to do what I say.' He smiled. 'You can even tell her to trust me.'
5.46 P.M.
'This is crazy,' said DS Colin Mason, pacing the office. 'There must be something else we can do instead of just sitting here and waiting for that fucking headcase to ring.'
'Such as?' Calloway enquired.
'All this sitting around,' Mason continued irritably. 'The waiting. He's doing it on purpose. Neville's playing fucking games with us.'
The harsh metallic sound of an automatic being cocked caused him to spin round.
Doyle held the 92F burst-fire in his hands, examining the sleek lines of the pistol before pushing it back into its shoulder holster.
'If he frisks you, he'll find that,' Calloway pointed out.
'If he gets that close,' Mason added. 'He might just blow your head off from a distance and then take the kid.'
In answer, Doyle pushed down the top of his cowboy boot slightly to reveal the ankle holster.
He tapped the butt of the PD Star then pulled the boot back up.
'He won't find that,' Doyle said with an air of certainty.
'Proper Secret Agent, aren't you, Doyle?' Mason chided.
The counter terrorist fixed Mason in an unwavering stare until the policeman finally turned away and continued pacing.
'All this waiting about,' the DS said. 'It's like-'
'Waiting for a bomb to go off?' Doyle offered.
'That's not funny, Doyle,' Mason growled.
'Did he say what time he was ringing back – he didn't, did he?' Doyle mused.
Calloway shook his head.
'He could keep us sitting here for the next three or four hours if he wanted to,' the DI said.
Doyle glanced at his watch.
'I don't think so,' he murmured. 'He says he's going to let the big one off at eight and I reckon he will.'
'Even if he gets his daughter back?' Calloway said.
'He's stalling,' Doyle continued. 'He could set it off anyway, even if he does get her. We don't know how big the thing is. A hundred, a hundred and fifty pounds. It'd be one hell of a fucking diversion.'
Doyle had said nothing to the two policemen about his talk with Julie Neville. At least she'd agreed to allow her daughter to be taken along by Doyle, but that was all.
They also knew nothing of the counter terrorist's attempts to contact Major John Wetherby.
Twice Doyle had attempted to ring the Army Intelligence officer but, on both occasions, Wetherby had been unavailable, not at his desk or some other bullshit excuse.
Doyle had slammed down the phone the second time.
Wetherby needed to know what was happening. It was as simple as that.
Doyle had decided to check in.
Old habits died hard.
Besides, Doyle had wanted to tell Wetherby that he was closing in on Neville and also warn him that there might well be some more civilian casualties. In particular, an eight-year-old girl.
The phone rang and Calloway grabbed it.
'You took your time, Neville,' he said, switching the phone to speaker.
'Right, just listen,' Neville began. 'Doyle, can you hear me?'
'Get on with it,' the counter terrorist called back.
'I'll keep it simple,' Neville said. 'When I said I wanted Doyle to bring Lisa to me, I meant Doyle. ind Doyle alone. No back-up. No plain-clothes coppers following at a discreet distance. If I even smell a copper there'll be another explosion. Got it? Now this is how we play the game. Doyle, I'm going to give you locations. Each one is a phone box. I'm going to bounce you all over London to make sure you're not being followed. First one phone box, then another, then another, until I'm satisfied. When I am, I'll give you the location to bring Lisa to me. This is how it works. I tell you which phone box to get to, the phone rings five times. If it isn't answered after five rings I'll detonate a bomb. If anyone else other than you answers it I'll detonate a bomb. Got that?'
'Got it.'
'Right, here goes then and, Doyle, you take good care of my little girl,' Neville rasped. 'First phone box is an easy one. Get to the public phones at St James's tube station. Move it. You've got eight minutes.'
The line went dead.
5.51 P.M.
I don't fucking need this.
Doyle slowed his pace slightly, glancing round to see that the little girl was having trouble keeping up with him.
Playing Neville's game alone would be bad enough, but I can do without the kid.
'Come on,' he said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.
That was how you were supposed to sound when you were talking to kids, wasn't it?
Lisa scuttled along beside him, bumping into him when he stopped hurriedly at a corner.
She almost overbalanced but Doyle shot out a hand and pulled her along with him.
'Where are we going?' she asked.
'Didn't your mum tell you? We're going to see your dad.'
The bloke you think is your dad, at any rate.
'Mum said I had to do what you told me.'
'That's right.'
They reached the entrance to St James's tube station.
There were a number of people climbing the steps from below and more than one glanced inquisitively at the man with the long brown hair and the stubble-covered face as he pulled the little girl in the jeans and blue cardigan along with him.
Perhaps a little too roughly sometimes.
Doyle hurried down the steps, Lisa struggling along behind.
Come on, come on.
He helped her down the last two stairs, eyes scanning the concourse for the phones.
To his left.
He strode towards them, Lisa in tow.
Two phones. One was out of order.
Doyle leaned against the working one and pulled cigarettes from his jacket, jamming one between his lips but not lighting it.
'You'll get a cough,' said Lisa, looking up at him.
Doyle looked puzzled.
'If you smoke, you get a cough,' she continued. 'They told us that at school. I told Mum she should give up.'
'Did your teacher tell you that smoking was bad for you?'
Lisa nodded.
'Well, you tell your teacher from me that non-smokers die every day.' He smiled crookedly.
The phone rang.
Doyle snatched it up and pressed the receiver to his ear.
'Yeah,' he said.
'Doyle?'
'You know bloody well it is.'
'Is Lisa with you?' Neville demanded.
'Yes.'
'Let me speak to her.'
'This wasn't part of the plan.'
'Who's making the fucking rules, Doyle? Let me speak to her,' Neville barked.
Doyle pushed the phone towards the child, who had trouble reaching it because the cord was so short.
Doyle lifted her up.
'Is that my princess?' Neville said.
'Dad. Where are you?' Lisa said excitedly.
'I'm waiting for you,' he told her. 'Let me speak to the man who's with you and we'll talk later.'