He didn't give a fuck about the bombs and the lost lives, or how many more would die. This was personal. He'd been ordered to kill Neville and he would.
Are your orders so important?
Doyle looked down at Lisa as they crossed the road.
Will you shoot her father down before her eyes?
The counter terrorist told himself that Neville wasn't even her father.
Who fucking cared?
She wouldn't know that.
As they crossed the road, Doyle found himself slowing his pace slightly. It was as if he wanted to delay the final confrontation as long as possible. He felt no fear. He knew that Neville would not kill him. He'd try but Doyle knew that once he had the expara in his sights there would be only one outcome. And even if he did die, he'd still make fucking sure he took Neville with him.
So why delay?
Perhaps Neville was right. Perhaps they were alike. Mirror images of the same man with the same feelings, the same beliefs. The same needs.
Bollocks.
Doyle slipped a hand inside his jacket and felt the bulk of the Beretta there. As he walked he could feel the. 45 PD Star bumping against his boot, secure in the ankle holster.
'Remember what I told you,' he said, looking down at Lisa. 'Stay close to me. Don't try and run.'
'Am I going to see my dad now?'
Doyle nodded and kept walking, eyes now alert, scanning faces, darting back and forth for the first sight of Neville.
He looked at his watch.
They crossed the road beneath Admiralty Arch and Doyle glanced up the Mall towards Buckingham Palace.
He had no idea from which direction Neville would arrive.
All he knew for sure was that he would come.
It was almost time.
'You've done what?' roared Detective Inspector Vic Calloway, taking a step around the desk, his eyes aflame.
'Neville would have set off those bombs anyway,' DS Mason said, taking a step backwards. 'Doyle won't catch him in time, and even if he does it won't matter. He'll set those fucking bombs off, Vic, I'm telling you.'
'You went behind my back,' Calloway shouted. 'You gave an instruction which could cause dozens of deaths without consulting me. If Neville is killed before we find out the location of the bombs, Christ alone knows how many more people are going to die.'
'I told you, he'll kill anyway. He'll detonate the bombs even if he gets his daughter.'
'You don't know that.'
'Well, I wasn't taking any chances. When he shows up, he's dead.'
'Call the chopper now, cancel the order.'
Calloway was standing only inches from his companion.
'It's too late,' Mason said. 'The chopper was told to break all radio links once it moved in for the final kill. It's doing that now.'
'Where?' Calloway demanded.
'Admiralty Arch,' Mason informed him. 'It's over, Vic.'
'Fucking right it's over.' Calloway snatched up the phone. 'If anyone other than Neville is hurt, I'll have your fucking badge for this.'
7.34 P.M.
The sky was mottled. A collection of bluish-purple clouds like bruises, which signalled not only the creeping onset of evening but also the inexorable approach of rain. Great swollen banks scudded across the heavens.
For Doyle the day had begun in rain-flecked darkness and it was going to end that way.
He glanced at his watch.
It wasn't even a day, was it?
Seven o'clock this morning it had all begun, hadn't it? The cramped waiting in his car.
And now, a little over twelve hours later, that waiting was almost over.
Lisa was standing close to Doyle, so close he could feel the heat from her body against his leg.
He wondered if he should comfort her.
And what will you say? That the man she thinks is her father will soon be dead? That'd be a big fucking comfort, wouldn't it?
He didn't know what to say to her.
If the truth be told he didn't really care.
Georgie would know what to do if she was here. She'd know what to say to the girl to reassure her.
But Georgie wasn't here, was she? And never fucking would be again.
Doyle ran a hand through his hair and sucked in a deep breath. He fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes and lit one, cupping his hand around the lighter as the flame danced in a sudden breeze.
Traffic was moving swiftly up and down the Mall, the noise of the engines filling the evening air. Already most of the street lamps along the thoroughfare were flickering into life.
Doyle saw the Harley Davidson as clearly as if it had been equipped with a beacon.
He saw Neville sitting astride it.
Saw the ex-para swing the Tour Glide out of the traffic and head towards them, easing off the throttle as he drew nearer.
'Dad!' Lisa shouted and moved towards him but Doyle shot out a hand and pulled her back.
'Stand still,' he said, one firm hand gripping her shoulder.
She squirmed in his grip for a moment, wanting to run to her father who was swinging himself off the bike now, pulling his helmet free.
He stood no more than ten feet from Doyle.
'Don't hurt her, Doyle,' Neville said. 'I kept my part of the bargain, didn't I? I'm here.'
'You didn't have any choice,' Doyle reminded him. 'Why did you do it, Neville? Why the bombs here? Why the shootings and bombings over in I reland?'
The ex-para shrugged.
'I didn't know what else to do,' he said. 'It would Itave worked, you know. This peace in Ireland is bullshit anyway. They'll never stop fighting.'
'And you wanted to make sure they didn't?' Doyle said, pulling the Beretta from its holster, levelling the weapon at his opponent.
'Do you think they will then? Do you want them to? You didn't want an end to the fighting any more than I did because you know that, just like me, you're finished without it. What else have you got, Doyle? How long before you go off your head? This peace is no good to you either.'
The counter terrorist held his gaze.
'They might give you a desk job if you're lucky,' Neville continued. 'Is that what you want?'
'You're right, it's finished for both of us,' Doyle said quietly. 'Now drop the guns. Take them out slowly with your left hand.'
'And if I don't?' Neville said.
Doyle pulled back the hammer on the automatic and pressed the barrel lightly against Lisa's right› temple.
'Then I'll kill her.'
Neville reached inside his jacket and first pulled out the. 459 then the. 357. He dropped both on the pavement at his feet.
'Are you going to shoot an unarmed man?'
'It wouldn't be the first time,' Doyle informed him.
'Dad,' Lisa said tearfully and Neville smiled at her, took a step forward.
Doyle held on to the little girl.
'Don't move, Neville,' he said through clenched teeth. 'Now tell me, where's the bomb?'
'It doesn't matter now. It's too late. Even if you kill me it'll still detonate. The others were activated by remote control. This one is on a timer. It goes up at eight o'clock no matter what.' He smiled. 'The big one.'
'How big?' Doyle wanted to know.
'One hundred and thirty pounds,' Neville said. 'Or think of it as fifty car bombs all going off at once. I know you're familiar with car bombs, Doyle.' Again a crooked smile.
'Where is it, Neville?'
'You'd never disarm it even if you found it in time. I've still beaten you.'
'Well, you won't be around to enjoy it, will you?' said Doyle, raising the Beretta so that it was level with Neville's head.
'No!' shrieked Lisa.
'Not in front of my daughter, Doyle.'
'Your daughter,' Doyle taunted, and it was his turn to smile. 'Wrong. She's not your kid, Neville. You should have asked your missus or that good, close, trusted friend of yours, Kenneth Baxter. She's his kid, Neville, not yours.'