Free Knife Edge by Shaun Hutson

protested.
        'If you don't, you're going to be sweeping her up with a fucking dustpan and brush,' Doyle said, nodding towards Julie.
        She looked helplessly at the three men.
        'Even if he kills her, he's still got the kid in there with him,' Doyle reminded them. 'Do you want that on your conscience, Calloway?'
        'Do you?' the DI countered.
        'All I want is Neville,' Doyle told him. 'Now give him a fucking car. Let's get this shit over with.'
        'You've got ten minutes to make up your minds, then I blow her to pieces,' Neville shouted.
        'You haven't got the balls,' Doyle shouted back.
        Julie looked frantically at the counter terrorist.
        'Go on, Neville, spread her all over the street,' Doyle persisted. 'And then what? Kill your kid? If you do, you've got nothing to bargain with. And, as soon as they're gone, I'm coming in after you.'
        'Who the fuck are you anyway?' Neville shouted angrily.
        'Doyle. Counter Terrorist Unit. I know you, Neville. I know how your mind works. I've been where you've been, for what it's worth.'
        'You don't know anything about me, Doyle,' Neville roared back.
        'I know more than your wife. I even know how many times you shake your dick when you've had a piss.'
        'You're full of shit. Now get me that fucking car or I'll kill her,' Neville bellowed. 'You've got nine minutes now.'
        'Even if you get away from here, I'll still find you,' Doyle assured him.
        'Try it.'
        'I'll guarantee it.'
        'Eight minutes,' Neville called.
        Doyle walked away from the gate and looked at Calloway.
        'Give him the car,' he said flatly.
        

10.01 A.M.
        
        Doyle leaned against the door of the Portacabin and sucked hard on his cigarette, watching as Calloway finished his phone conversation.
        'Sorted?' Doyle asked disinterestedly.
        'The Commissioner isn't too happy about this,' Calloway told him. 'Letting Neville go.'
        'You're not letting him go, you're agreeing to his demands in order to protect the lives of hostages, aren't you?'
        'If he gets away…'
        'He won't get away,' Doyle asserted.
        'I wish I was as sure as you,' Calloway answered.
        'He won't get away because hotshot here is going to get him, aren't you?' Mason chided. 'Captain fucking Marvel is going to track him down, isn't that right, Doyle?'
        The counter terrorist looked at the DS contemptuously.
        'You're going to track him down, you're going to hunt him,' Mason continued. 'What do you think this is, a fucking Western?'
        'If it was, you'd be the fat, bungling sheriff, wouldn't you, porky?' Doyle quipped.
        'All right, girls, knock it off,' Calloway said irritably. 'Let's just get on with it. The car's here.'
        'Let me take it to Neville,' Doyle offered.
        'You'll try and kill him as soon as you get near him,' Calloway snapped. 'One of the uniformed boys can do it.'
        'Calloway,' Doyle said, taking a step towards the DI. 'Let me do it.'
        The two men's eyes locked.
        'You'll try to kill him,' the policeman said quietly.
        Doyle shook his head. 'Not until the hostages are safe. You've got my word on that.'
        Still Calloway hesitated. 'Earlier on, when we were outside the house,' the DI said, 'you told Neville you'd been where he'd been. What did you mean?'
        Doyle shrugged. 'He was in Ireland, I was in Ireland,' he explained. 'He'd been wounded there. So was I.'
        'Badly?'
        Doyle smiled.
         If you could see the fucking scars…
        There was a knock on the Portacabin door and a uniformed constable stood there, a set of car keys in his hand.
        Mason took them from him and handed them to Calloway.
        'Let me take the car to him,' Doyle persisted.
        Calloway waited a second, then tossed the keys to the counter