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at both ends,' said Calloway, then his tone changed. 'Anyway, if you were sitting out here all the time, you must have seen what was going on, you must have heard the shots.'
        Doyle didn't answer.
        'What would you have done on your own, Doyle?' Mason said challengingly. 'Stormed the place?'
        The counter terrorist reached for his cigarettes and lit one, blowing smoke in Mason's direction.
        'So, what do we do now?' Calloway said.
        Doyle perched on one corner of the table, eyes still locked on number ten London Road.
        'We wait,' he murmured.
        

8.31 A.M.
        
        'They're going to kill you, Bob.'
        Robert Neville turned from the window and looked at his wife.
        Julie Neville brushed some strands of blonde hair from her face and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, her eyes never leaving her husband.
        He pulled the.459 Smith and Wesson automatic from his belt and worked the slide, chambering a round.
        Julie swallowed hard as she saw him advancing towards her and, for fleeting seconds, she thought he might strike her.
        Neville leaned close, his face only inches from hers.
        'They're going to kill me, are they?' he said quietly and, as he spoke, she could smell the whisky on his breath.
        She lowered her gaze slightly.
        Neville reached out with his free hand and gently stroked her cheek with his finger.
        God, how smooth her skin felt. Like a marble statue.
        'Do you want them to kill me?' he whispered.
        She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
        'Do you?' he said, more insistently.
        'No,' she snapped, glaring at him. Her expression gradually softened. 'I just want you to let us go,' she finally breathed. 'If not me, then at least let Lisa go, she didn't ask to be a part of all this.'
        'She's happy enough, I haven't harmed her, I'd never harm her,' Neville said. 'I'd rather die first. You and Lisa are all I've got.'
        'Then why are you holding us prisoner here?' Julie asked, attempting to mask the anger in her voice. But it was anger tinged with anxiety.
        And fear?
        'You were the one who wanted to leave,' Neville reminded her. 'You were the one who was going to take Lisa away from me.'
        'It was for her own good, Bob.'
        'Bollocks. I'm her father.'
        'Then why do you hurt her?'
        Neville gripped Julie's jaw in one firm hand, his forehead pressed almost against hers.
        'You tell me when I've ever hurt her,' he rasped. 'I've never laid a fucking finger on her.'
        Julie tried to pull free of his grip, away from the smell of whisky.
        'What about your drinking?' she snapped. 'Or are you too pissed now to remember it?'
        He stepped back.
        'Every time you were home on leave you spent all day and night drunk,' Julie continued. 'Since you left the army it's all you've done. How many bottles a day is it now, Bob?'
        'What the fuck do you expect?'
        She regarded him warily.
        'You talk as if I'm the only one,' he said angrily.
        'You're the only one I'm married to. I don't care how other soldiers cope with it. I don't care how many of them get pissed, fuck other women, get into fights. I only care about you.'
        'Is that why you were going to leave me?' he said softly. 'Leave me and take Lisa with you. Don't tell me you care about me, Julie. Not when you were going to take away the only thing in this miserable, useless fucking life that I ever cared about, that I ever loved.'
        He held her in that unrelenting gaze.
        'Do you still love me?'
        She swallowed hard. 'Yes.'
        'Liar,' Neville rasped, the knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsing angrily.
        'You've changed,' she told him. 'You're not-'
        'Not the man you married?' he hissed. 'Are you surprised I'm different? After what I've seen, is it any wonder? I've