Free Knife Edge by Shaun Hutson Page A

terrorist who nodded and stepped outside.
        The policemen followed, watching as Doyle slid behind the wheel of a dark blue Montego.
        'No fucking heroics,' said Calloway. 'Our concern is the hostages.'
        Doyle nodded. 'He'll ditch it as soon as he can, you know.'
        'I know that,' Calloway told him.
        Doyle started the engine and revved it, exhaust fumes filling the cold air.
        'You tell those fucking snipers to keep their fingers off the triggers,' Doyle said. 'If one of them gets jumpy I don't want him shooting me by mistake.'
        'Yeah, that'd be a tragedy, wouldn't it?' Mason chided.
        Doyle eyed him coldly. 'You know what, fatso?' he said. 'When I finish with Neville, I might just come back for you.'
        He stuck the car in gear and pulled away.
        'Doyle,' Calloway shouted after him. 'Just take it easy. Remember the hostages.'
        Doyle slid a hand inside his jacket and touched the butt of the Beretta.
         Fuck the hostages.
        He drove the Montego up on to the pavement, bringing it close to the front gate of number ten.
        He left the engine running, eyes fixed on the front door.
        Waiting.
        'Come on, Neville,' he said under his breath. 'I've got something for you.'
        The front door remained closed.
        

10.06 A.M.
        
        Doyle was leaning against the bonnet of the Montego when he saw the front door open.
        He had both hands dug deep into the pockets of his leather jacket but, as the door opened a little wider, he slid one hand inside the garment, almost unconsciously touching the butt of the automatic.
        'I hope they've been given their instructions,' Neville called from inside. 'No shooting or I press this fucking detonator.'
        'You're safe,' said Doyle.
         Come out, you fucker.
        'Step away from the car,' Neville ordered, finally stepping into view.
        Doyle saw him for the first time.
        Perhaps if he pulled the Beretta now. He could get off a couple of shots before…
        Before Neville pressed the detonator?
        Before he opened up with the Steyr?
        'Where are the hostages?' Doyle demanded, watching as Neville edged cautiously from the front door, a hold-all gripped in his free hand.
        'They're safe. Inside,' Neville said, motioning with his head. 'Unless someone gets trigger-happy.' He held up the detonator control.
        Smaller than the palm of his hand. A tiny black box with a winking red light on it and a red button. Neville's thumb was poised over that button.
        Neville was walking slowly up the path now, his gaze never leaving Doyle.
        'Why did you do it, Neville?' Doyle asked. 'Why did you kill the IRA men, the Sinn Fein guys, the UVF blokes? Why?'
        'Is that why they sent you?'
        'They want you kept quiet,' Doyle told him.
        Neville chuckled. 'They're scared of me, aren't they? Terrified I'll fuck up their little peace plan.'
        Doyle nodded.
        'How long were you in Ireland?' Neville asked.
        'Five years, six, seven. Who cares?'
        'Undercover?'
        Doyle nodded again.
        Neville opened the passenger-side door of the Montego and tossed the hold-all on to the seat, never allowing the barrel of the Steyr to leave Doyle.
        'You saw what went on out there,' Neville continued. 'Don't you understand why I killed them? Why I don't want peace? I was shot at, screamed at, spat at and fuck knows what else while I was there but as soon as their little peace treaty is signed, they expect us all to forget about it. Bollocks to that.'
        'I understand what you're talking about,' Doyle said quietly.
        'Maybe you do but they don't,' Neville told him, sweeping one arm towards the watching horde of policemen.
        Doyle could see the detonator in his hand.
        'And the fucking army don't understand either, that's why they sent