Текст книги "Just Another Day"

Автор книги: Steven Clark

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

A car and a motorcycle swerved and narrowly missed him. Horns sounded, brakes and tyres squealed and screeched. The smell of burning rubber filled the air. There was no sound of tearing metal no screams of pain. Miraculously, there were no accidents, no motorway carnage.

Joe ran unsteadily along the hard shoulder. Each footstep taking him further away from the mayhem behind. He might die from a heart attack, he thought as the exertion took its toll on his body, but at least he wouldn’t die at the hands of the maniac he had escaped from.

‘You fucker, you’re gonna die.’ Shotgun lifted the sawn off to shoulder height and pulled the trigger. As the muzzle erupted, Dave ducked down and fell to the floor of the lorry. The passenger door window behind him shattered and fragments of glass and plastic door trim sprayed out in a wide arc onto the grass embankment of the Motorway hard shoulder.

‘Be advised, shots fired, repeat, shots have been fired. One male, believed to be the driver, out of the vehicle on hard shoulder approximately one hundred metres to the rear of the wagon. Appears unharmed. Casualties inside vehicle not known, repeat, not known if there are any casualties in the vehicle.’

The two control rooms, and the two Armed Response vehicles, now also stopped on the hard shoulder two miles behind the stationary lorry, listened in stunned silence to the calm, matter of fact, commentary of Steve Wilson as he viewed the scene through the camera lens of the helicopter.

‘The male who exited the driver’s side door is a heavy set man of about 55 years; he is now collapsed on the embankment on the safe side of the Armco barrier on the hard shoulder about 300 yards to the rear of the target vehicle.’

The high powered camera zoomed in to its maximum telephoto capacity.

‘A white Vauxhall cavalier motor car, has just pulled up on the hard shoulder. The driver, a male about 30 years of age and a female who looks to be about 25 years appear to be tending him. The male believed to be the lorry driver is making gestures towards the wagon. He is now being helped into the rear of the cavalier by the female who has climbed in alongside him. The other male is getting into the drivers side of the cavalier. The vehicle has rejoined the main carriageway at high speed and has now passed the stationary lorry. I will maintain my position to the rear of the target vehicle. I am not in a position at this time to give any further details regarding the occupants of the cavalier. Hotel Charlie One to control, please acknowledge this information.’

In many respects, there was no requirement for Steve Wilson to have given such a commentary regarding the unfolding drama as the camera footage was being relayed back live to the Incident Room and the Incident Commander and his team were viewing the same scene as Steve. It was merely normal procedure in the event that the camera failed. Steve’s commentary was also being tape recorded for later transcription in the event that it may be required at any future trial proceedings.

He knew the driver of the cavalier would be stopped at some point up the motorway and that the lorry driver would be debriefed and given medical aid. He would later learn that the cavalier driver and his friend were merely good Samaritans who had nothing whatsoever to do with the unfolding drama. They had seen the driver stumble from his wagon and collapse on the grass verge and had stopped to help.

At the moment, his thoughts were diverted elsewhere. He may have sounded calm, but inside, his heart was pounding. Had Dave Watkins survived the blast?

Dave was crouched on the floor of the wagon. His hand was near the radio. The control rooms heard the shots and could hear him screaming at the gunman. Then, silence.

Chapter 6

Dave thought he was shouting at his attacker, but he couldn’t hear his own words. The blast so near to his ears had stunned and momentarily deafened him. The gunman saw Dave’s hand near to the radio. He had fired the two shells in the sawn off intending to take Dave’s head off and had shattered the passenger window instead. Small pieces of shotgun pellets were embedded in the plastic fascia and metal surround of the door where seconds earlier the glass had been.

He saw the blood coming from his victims’ forehead. As Dave was crouching on the floor of the cab, he hammered the stock of the shotgun onto the radio twice and the plastic casing shattered into several pieces. There was no way that radio would ever work again. He raised the gun again, and violently struck Dave a further blow on the top of his head. He lifted the butt of the gun once more intending to smash his victims head to a pulp. He stopped and looked at the broken and bloody figure below him.

Dave was in severe pain. His head was spinning and he slumped further onto the floor. He looked up and could see that the features of his would be assassin had changed. Gone was the contorted rage and bulging eyeballs to be replaced by a calmness that Dave had not seen throughout his ordeal so far. Ordinarily, he would have been thankful for the change of demeanour. Not now! In that instant, he knew he was about to die. They looked into each others eyes. No words were exchanged as the gunman placed his foot on Dave’s chest and pinned him strongly to the floor. With his right leg twisted under his body and the weight of his attacker pushing down on him, he was still too stunned, too weakened to even attempt to get up. He was resigned to his fate. He knew it would be quick. Two twelve bore shotgun cartridges into his face at this range left little to the imagination.

Johnson broke the barrel of the shotgun and the two spent shells ejected automatically. A little wisp of smoke followed the cartridges out of the barrel and Dave watched silently as they tumbled through the air, almost in slow motion, and exited through the open driver’s door to fall to the road surface of the motorway several feet below. The car driver passing the stationary Lorry on the hard shoulder was oblivious to the drama unfolding several feet away from him and dismissed the double ping noise as a bit of motorway debris as the two shells were thrown further up the carriageway by the front bumper of his car only to be crushed flat by the next lorry thundering behind.

Johnson reached into his pocket and without taking his eyes off his prey, slowly and very deliberately, placed two new cartridges into the breech and snapped the barrel shut in a well practised manoeuvre. He levelled the gun at Dave. He said nothing as his fingers tightened on the trigger once more. He didn’t need to tell his victim that he was about to die. He could see the terror in his targets eyes. He smiled slightly. Being the sadistic bastard that he knew himself to be, he liked to see the power he had. It didn’t matter to him whether or not the victim was animal or human. For him, it was the cries of pain and suffering he enjoyed most.

Dave shouted at him.  ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot. I can get us out. I can drive, I can drive.’

Dave stretched his hands out towards the gunman in a futile gesture to deflect the shells as and when the muzzle erupted once more. It was an instinctive action, he knew full well that when he fired, his hands would be ripped off first before the force of the blast continued, taking his head from his shoulders. He felt the pressure of Johnson’s foot ease slightly from his chest. Dave hadn’t realised that he had closed his eyes waiting for the blast which hadn’t come so far. He looked up and saw the gunman look away from him out of the windscreen of the wagon. A sort of distant look as though he was thinking; weighing up his options. The situation had changed dramatically during the last few minutes and he looked around the cab surveying the damage.

Johnson was now fully aware that the police would have been tracking the lorry for some time. It suddenly dawned on him that what he thought were the innocuous comments of a frightened copper when he was making references to ‘Switch Island’ and ‘stopping at the Burtonwood services’ earlier in the journey were nothing of the kind. This clever bastard was actually giving directions to the listening ears as to where they were heading.

The pain in Dave’s chest intensified again as Johnson exerted more pressure with his foot. Plans would have to change he thought. If he killed his captive now, he would surely die as well. He had no doubt that somewhere close by would be a number of firearms officers and marksmen. They probably weren’t in a position yet to take him out as the situation had only just changed, but he knew it wouldn’t take long. They would quickly block off the Motorway, take out the tyres to prevent him moving and take great delight in killing him. Particularly if he had killed one of their own, there was no way, even if he tried to surrender, that they would let him live.

The inquest would surely be told by the firearms officer that I had made a sudden and threatening movement and, even though I had thrown out my shotgun, he believed I was armed with another gun and shot me because, ‘I thought he was about to shoot at me, another officer, or a member of the public and I shot him in order to prevent further loss of life.’

Still, whilst the situation had changed dramatically, he was now quite sure that they wouldn’t be listening any more as he eyed the shattered remnants of the police radio. He looked back at Dave.

‘What d’ya mean you can drive?’

‘I was in the army for six years before joining the police. Before you leave, you can do loads of things so you can get a job in civvy street. I did a resettlement course; they taught me to drive fork lift trucks and lorries. I can drive us out of here. Tell me where you want to go and I’ll get us there.’

The control rooms obviously weren’t aware of any of this conversation as a consequence of the smashed radio. They had watched the live pictures as the lorry driver had stumbled from the cab. They had heard the blast and seen the window explode. They had even seen the two cartridge shells flying through the air as a result of the helicopter’s powerful camera. Nobody knew whether or not he was alive or dead, for the last few minutes, there had been only silence. Only two people were aware that Dave had survived the blast and they were both in the cab of the wagon.

Johnson knew that he had to make himself as small a target as possible. He didn’t know whether or not any one could see into the cab. ‘When I climb onto the bunk, you slide over onto the driver’s seat. If you fuck about, you will die. Understood?’

‘Yes, I understand what you’re saying’ said Dave having noticed the emphasis the gunman had placed on the word ‘will’.

Dave rubbed at his eyes. ‘I can’t see properly with the blood coming down my face. It’s running into my eyes. Can I have a few minutes to sort myself out before we move?’

‘You’ve got five minutes’ said Johnson as he settled back in the bunk and Dave was only too aware that the twin barrels of the shotgun were only inches away, trained on his head. He looked in the driver’s door compartment and amongst the tachograph charts, old delivery papers and general rubbish that all drivers seem to accumulate over time; found a bottle of water, a couple of fairly clean rags and a roll of black insulation tape. He dampened one of the rags and as he looked in the mirror, he saw that he had a jagged almost vertical two inch split on his forehead right between the eyes. With the skin being so thin at this part of the skull, he could clearly see the bone beneath.

That will give me a mean look when it heals, thought Dave as he gently dabbed at the wound. He mentally castigated himself for his stupid thoughts. Even so, he wondered why the mind works in such strange ways. Why was he thinking such utter crap when there was blood everywhere and serious gashes to his face and head and he was getting weaker with every passing minute? At least, he thought again, I’m thinking positively in that I’m going to get out of this in one piece.

Well, almost one piece. As he looked in the mirror again, he suddenly realised just how close he had come to having his head blown off. He saw that part of his right earlobe was missing and the blood was dripping steadily onto his tunic. The right shoulder of the jacket was torn and shredded and the red stain seeping through told him that further injury lay underneath.

‘Can I take this jacket off? I need to check my shoulder. Its bleeding and I need to strap it or patch it up or something before I start driving.’

‘Do it very slowly and remember. The back of your head is only six inches away.’

He took his jacket off and put it on the passenger seat. He could see that the fabric of the right shoulder was all bloody and torn. The epaulette which had his identity number on a few minutes before was completely missing and probably went through the window in the blast. Suddenly, he began to shake. Just a little at first until his whole body began to move uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop his legs from twitching and he went into a violent spasm as his right foot hit the accelerator hard causing the engine to rev loudly.

‘Don’t fuck me about plod. You said you could drive this fucking thing.’

‘It’s OK. I’ll be OK. It’s just shock, give me a minute.’

Johnson began to laugh. He hadn’t had much to smile about since becoming aware of Dave’s transmission. He thought this was a nice little bit of payback and couldn’t resist the temptation to humiliate his captive further. Another little twist of the knife to weaken him more and show that he was stronger than his victim and in complete control.

‘Not such a fucking hero now eh, shit your pants ave yeh.  I thought you fuckin coppers were supposed to be ard. Are yeh sure that’s blood down there on yeh leg and yeh aven’t pissed yehself?’

The weariness began to wash over Dave as the taunting from his captor hit him hard. His mind began to wander, thoughts of his family crept into his subconscious. Try as he might, he could not push them away. He knew he needed to focus on his immediate situation. Sort the now out; everything else could wait. He couldn’t keep them away, the faces of his two innocent, beautiful daughters suddenly flashed into his mind.

He was supposed to be dropping the twins off at school this morning. He hoped to God that they weren’t aware of his ordeal and prayed that his family were only told the very basics of his captivity.

Oh, how they all loved the mornings together when he came home off nights. Breakfast for the four of them was a pleasant ritual and, now that the twins were getting older, they liked to make the toast for Mum and Dad. ‘Burnt is good,’ he would hear himself say with a quick glance to his other half. ‘These black bits are really good for you, honest.’

‘It was your fault Sophie; while I was making the tea, you should’ve been watching the toaster instead of brushing your hair.’

‘Well, if you’d have been quicker in the bathroom, Susan, I wouldn’t have needed to brush my hair now. I could have done it before and if I’d done it before, I could have been watching the toaster now, so it’s not my fault, it’s yours!’

They liked to do some bacon under the grill as well but both Mandy and Dave had decided to wait until they were a little bit older as they had nearly set the kitchen on fire at the last attempt, still, they meant well.

Hugs and kisses at the school gate and then Dad off to bed and Mandy would arrange to pick them up later if there were no after school clubs or other events planned, while Dad had a lay in. Make the most of it thought Dave as it wouldn’t be long before hugs and kisses was a definite no. Then it would be, ‘No Dad, you can’t have a kiss, what will Milly and Sarah think. Dad, you’re just so not cool. Please, just drop us off at the end of the road, we’re too old now. We don’t need you to drop us off right outside. Dad, you’re so embarrassing.’

What would his bosses have told them? Mandy would have been on the ‘phone within half an hour of him not turning up at home wondering if he had been stuck at a job or having to do overtime or something at short notice. What would they all be doing now?

Shit, Dave. Sort yourself out. Don’t let this wanker get the upper hand. His mind began to race. Think, come on, think. The lads are aware of what’s going on. Joe will be able to tell them some of what’s happened when they speak to him, if he hasn’t been taken out by a car further down the road.

Dave’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

‘Right, Dixon of fucking dock green, get yourself patched up and let’s get moving.’

Dave pulled the skin on his forehead together and used the insulation tape wrapped around his head like a bandanna to keep a small pad of the rag in place. A further thick pad on the top of his skull where the second blow had opened up a deep gash was stuck with some more tape. It wouldn’t stay in position for very long but at least it would help to stop the wound from oozing too much. He turned his attention to his ear. Nothing much he could do there as the lobe had been blown away completely. The soft tissue was gone leaving an ugly looking piece of gristle. Fortunately, the blood was beginning to congeal and the dripping had almost stopped.

Another wad and plenty of tape pulled as tight as he could bear it and crisscrossed over his chest should take care of his shoulder. He knew he would have to keep it as tight as possible for when he began steering the wagon. Even though the power steering would help, it would still be very painful. The blood might start to seep through with the extra exertion if he didn’t bind it tight.

Still very weak and shocked, the fact that he had stemmed some of his blood loss helped and he was now beginning to think more clearly. His hands and legs had stopped shaking. He needed to look in the mirror to put the makeshift bandages in place. He instantly wished he hadn’t. He was shocked by the pale and weary face with the sunken eyes staring back at him. A few sips of water, another splash on his face, and he began to feel more awake.

‘OK’ said Dave. ‘What now?’

‘Just start driving and I’ll tell you where to go.’

Dave put the wagon into first gear and slowly let the clutch out.

‘All patrols, all patrols, be advised, target vehicle moving forward and joining main carriageway. No further details at this time regarding condition of PC Watkins.’ The ‘chopper’ began to follow once more as the lorry picked up speed.

Back in the Incident Room, Chief Superintendent Mackay had assumed control as the Gold Commander.

‘Larry, we need to find out what’s happening inside that wagon. We need to know who’s driving. If it’s Johnson, we’ll try and end this at the first opportunity. The longer it goes on, the more chance there is of other people becoming casualties. If Dave Watkins has survived those gunshots, he may well be seriously hurt. I just hope he doesn’t realise who his passenger is. You and I both know Larry, this madman Johnson will take great pleasure in killing him when he’s finished.

Hotel Charlie One from control, can you eyeball the driver of the target vehicle?’

‘That’s a negative control, repeat negative. He may become aware of our presence if we try and I.D. him from the side.’

‘Larry,’ said Chief Superintendent Mackay, ‘we need to get that lorry off the Motorway and to an area that we can control without him realising. Any suggestions?’

Three high powered Motorway Patrol traffic cars, two volvo’s and a Jaguar, joined the M62 at junction 11 heading Eastbound towards Manchester. Each took up a different lane and effectively prevented any vehicles from overtaking them. This was a standard manoeuvre when instigating a rolling road closure and as they reduced speed, the heavy traffic began slowing and it didn’t take long for the three lanes to start tailing back and after about ten minutes, as a result of the normal morning rush hour, vehicles were slowing down, some drivers using their hazard warning lights to warn others of the problems ahead. Slowly but surely, the traffic came to a standstill. One mile further back, Dave slowed his wagon also before grinding to a halt.

‘Bollocks,’ said Johnson from the bunk bed. ‘What the fuck’s happening now?’

Dave activated the window wipers and screen wash once more and wiped some of the condensation from inside the windscreen. ‘Looks like it could be an accident or a breakdown’ said Dave, ‘Nothing much moving for a fair distance. Lots of brake lights and hazards on but it looks pretty static.’