Just Another Day (6 page)

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.

H
otel 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?’

T
hree 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.’

‘
What’s that man doing daddy?’

Fred Jones was really pissed off. Like everyone else crawling along on the motorway. The M62 was always busy at this time of the morning because of the rush hour.  ‘Rush hour’, he thought to himself, it might have lasted an hour a few years ago, now though, it seemed to go on for at least two hours. He needed to be in Manchester in half an hour and as he had to drop his daughter off at school first, he knew he would be late. He still had to travel two more junctions, half a mile more to Sedgley Junior School, drop Chloe off, rejoin the Motorway again for another three miles. Not a cat in hells chance, he thought.

If only his lovely daughter hadn’t forgotten her ballet shoes, they would have been fifteen minutes earlier and in all probability ahead of whatever was causing this latest motorway snarl up. He gave a very quick glance at Chloe. Oh, I do love you sweetheart but you can be a real pain in the arse when you’ve got your head in the clouds, he silently mused.

Another bollocking from the boss. Oh, wouldn’t she love that. She’d be there, pacing up and down at the front door when he went in, high heels and fishnets; mutton dressed as lamb thinking she was still twenty five years of age, making an exaggerated point of looking at her watch with her sarcastic voice,
‘Good morning Frederick, or, should that be good afternoon,’ she would say, ‘so nice of you to join us.’

He hated his full title of Frederick and she well knew it which was precisely why she said it in the first place. She liked to rub it in that she had been promoted above him even though he was much more efficient, knew the system better and had been at the company longer than her.

‘Maybe if I was shagging the MD, I’d have got the promotion.’

‘
What did you say daddy?’ said Chloe and Fred suddenly realised that he’d been thinking out loud.

‘
Oh nothing really love, I was just thinking that Buster was looking a bit shaggy maybe when I took him for his walk this morning. I think we need to make an appointment to get his coat trimmed a bit, don’t you think?’

‘
OK Dad, we’ll take him at the weekend. Maybe we can take him to the park afterwards and I can play on the swings eh?’

‘
Yes love, the weekend; the swings, ok, no problem sweetheart.’ He silently congratulated himself on not having to explain, shagging the MD any further!

‘
So, what do you think he’s doing then?’

Fred turned to look at his daughter in the passenger seat.

‘What’s that my little love,’ he said

‘
Him, that man over there; the one with the black clothes on.’

Fred looked up and to his left.
‘Shit.’ he said and instinctively put his foot on the brake even though they were hardly moving at all. A quick glance in the rear view mirror and a feeble wave of acknowledgement to the driver behind who had no idea why Fred had suddenly stamped on the brake.

‘
Daddy,’ said Chloe in her most precocious voice, she could do precociousness extremely well when it suited her purpose. ‘Did you say the ‘S’ word. Did you say ‘shit’? Wait till I tell mummy you said the ‘S’ word.’

Fred was looking around animatedly for the cameras as he was sure someone must be making a film. It’s got to be candid camera or some reality or daredevil show he thought as he looked in all his mirrors expecting to see a camera vehicle nearby.

A man dressed all in black. Black boots, black overalls and balaclava was running behind a container lorry as it edged forward. He wasn’t running fast, just enough to be steadily gaining on the wagon as it slowly moved forward. He leapt from the roadway onto the rear fender area of the trailer and grabbed hold of the handles of the door of the container. He steadied himself and looked around as if gauging the best way to carry out his next objective. Within seconds, PC Mark Swift, had clambered up the back of the lorry using the various metal projections of the container like steps up a metal wall. He was now on the roof of the container and running forward towards the cab of the wagon.

‘
Swift by name and swift by nature’. What a fucking cliché’ he said to himself while steadying himself as he ran. He loved the excitement and the training exercises when the adrenaline was pumping hard. He took great pride in his physical agility and worked hard to maintain his fitness levels. When he wasn’t training with his colleagues, he would be down at the gym working out.

The adrenaline was pumping a bit more than usual today as he had been listening to the drama unfolding earlier. One of his colleagues was either dead or injured just a few yards away from him and this bastard up front was going nowhere except the nick. He wasn’t being complacent in any way; he knew how dangerous Johnson was.

‘Swifty’ was the joker in the Unit and always wanted to be first through the door or the window; the first to abseil over the side of the building. He wasn’t reckless in any way; he just had a tremendous belief in his own ability. Sometimes, such self belief was taken as arrogance by those who didn’t know him but his infectious smile and boundless energy soon won them over.

When Lee Evans, the skipper of Romeo Victor One had first outlined the plan and briefed the two teams, he had to be the one.

‘Six foot two, blonde hair, blue eyes and superb physique; it’s got to be me boss, do you really have any other choice when you look at this lot?’ Pumped his biceps in his best ‘popeye’ pose.  Mark was grinning hugely as he waved his hands around indicating the various figures in the briefing room. With a knowing smile, Lee agreed; he was the natural choice. He might have pissed them all off from time to time, but they all acknowledged his confidence was well earned.

Nearly at the front of the container, OK, quietly slide down between the back of the cab and the container. No problem, wedge yourself between the air brakes and the trailer locking mechanism, balance yourself, OK, sorted.
Mark was comfortable now and could think ahead to the next task.

He reached into the chest pocket of his standard issue flame retardant overalls and pulled out the small silver coloured disc. Not much bigger than a ten pence piece and about twice as thick, with a small antennae on the side, it never ceased to amaze him at how something so small and insignificant to look at could be such a powerful listening and tracking device.

OK, press the button to activate. Stick it to the back of the cab and Bob’s your Unc!!! The wagon lurched forward as the driver let the clutch out a bit too fiercely. Traffic started to move and Swifty silently cursed.

‘
Oh shite,’ said Mark to himself, ‘Where the fuck has it gone?’

He could hear the impatient voice in his earpiece from his skipper in the ARV.

‘Mark, what are you playing at. The traffic’s starting to move up ahead and you and the wagon will be diverted off the motorway soon.’

‘
Bollocks, the Skipper will fuck me sideways if I make a cock up of this. Where is it?’ He looked down, eyes frantically scanning the steel structure of the wagon. Maybe it’s dropped through onto the road below, he thought. He crouched down further, a silver glint caught his eye, ‘thank fuck it’s magnetic’ he said to himself as he plucked it from the side of the fuel tank and ensured it was fixed securely to the back of the cab and pressed the button.

He heard the voice in his ear once more.

‘Good job Mark, device transmitting correctly, now get your arse off that wagon.’

As Mark stood on the fuel tank he looked across.
Several feet away from him and waving animatedly was Chloe. Chloe’s dad was staring open mouthed at the road ahead and at the black clad figure in equal measures. He still hadn’t managed to locate the film crew.

The speed of the lorry was picking up now and Mark saw Chloe lower the window of the car.

‘Hello mister,’ said Chloe. ‘What are you doing up there, Aren’t you frightened you’ll fall off and hurt yourself?’

Mark could see her mouth moving but he couldn’t understand what she was saying as the engine of the lorry accelerated.
The overhead motorway gantry signs illuminated, ‘Accident ahead, leave motorway at next junction.’

Speed was increasing now to twenty miles an hour as Mark swore quietly to himself.
‘Shit, too late to get off now, I’ll break my fucking neck!’

Chloe was not one to be ignored. She decided that talking was not enough and she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted across the gap.
‘Hello mister, are you playing a game. Can I play too?’ Chloe’s dad was still catching flies driving with his mouth open.

Dave relayed the gantry information to Johnson in the bunk behind him.

‘I’m not fucking blind bollocks, I can see the signs. Just keep driving for the time being.’ The gunman lay back in the bunk pondering his next move after they left the motorway.

‘
Romeo Victor One to Incident room and all patrols, thought you would like to know, Dave Watkins alive and driving the target vehicle. Have no details as to his injuries or otherwise at this time. Re-tune to channel twenty two for audio from the tracking device.’

The two controls rooms had been silent for some time wondering about the fate of their colleague and awaiting information from the chopper or the ground teams
; there was an air of relief that Dave appeared to be OK. He might be injured, they still didn’t know, but if he was able to drive, he must be ok. Bob Chambers breathed a little more easily as he said to himself, ‘Davey, I don’t care how much you’ve got on your plate lad; I’m taking you for an FBI when you get back.’

Most people associated the term FBI with the American law enforcement agency; Federal Bureau of Investigation but, to the lads of Sergeant Chambers Section, it had an altogether different meaning.
One of the officers, at the end of a hot late turn and a few beers at the local hostelry had proclaimed, ‘right you tossers, I’m off for a Fucking Big Indian, who’s coming,’ as he trooped off round the corner to the nearby curry house. Bob was brought back to the present with the voice from the wagon.

‘
You drive like a tart. What’s the matter with yeh?’

‘
Like I said, I learned to drive in the Army so it’s been a while since I’ve driven a HGV. I’ve moved a few wagons around the docks occasionally, but it must be about five years since I’ve driven one properly.’ Dave was feeling a bit groggy as a consequence of the blood loss after the blows to his head.

‘C’mon’
He thought to himself, ‘what did the instructors used to say when I was training? MSM, Manoeuvre, Signal, Mirror. No, no, other way round, Mirror, Signal, manoeu!’... He never got to finish the third word in his head. As he looked in the mirror, he saw her. What the bloody hell is she doing? He silently wondered as he saw the car to the right of him through his drivers’ door mirror. It was moving at the same speed although slightly behind the cab of the wagon. She’s got the window down. Is she talking to someone? He could see her hands resting on the front passenger door and her chin resting on her hands. She appeared to be talking as he could see her mouth opening and closing and her looking across at the side of his wagon.

‘
Why don’t you say something? What’s your name? I’m Chloe.’ She repeated her conversation to the stranger a short distance away. She got no reply. ‘My Dad always says it’s rude not to say hello back when someone says hello to you.’ Still there was no reply to her questions. ‘You are not a very polite man.’ She said indignantly.

This is going rapidly pear shaped, thought Mark as he put his finger to his lips in a gesture that he hoped she would understand.

Chloe made a grand gesture of sitting back in her seat. She folded her arms and screwed up her face in the way that only a nine year old pissed off little girl can. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘He’s not a very nice man is he daddy?’

Daddy, still watching, but not believing what he was seeing, didn’t say a word. He shook his head and stared at the road ahead.

Chloe looked back to the man perched on the petrol tank and gave him the ‘look’. The look was what she reserved mostly for her older brother when she was really, really pissed off with him. She also gave the look to others who displeased her and it would be fair to say, you were left in no doubt whatsoever when Chloe was none too happy with you. So, she thought to herself, arms still folded tightly, chin in the air, and staring straight ahead. What do you think of that then? She remained in this position for a few moments until she was satisfied that
he
would have been well aware that Chloe Jones was most definitely not amused.

As she looked back across the divide at her reluctant, would be playmate crouched on the petrol tank of the lorry, she saw something in his eyes that made her question her own thoughts. She didn’t understand what it was. Whilst she didn’t know what it was, she certainly knew what it wasn’t.  At that instant, she knew it wasn’t bad.

She stopped giving him the look and began to frown. There was something to be worked out here, but she couldn’t quite decide what it was.

Mark took his finger from his lips and she saw a slight smile. He wasn’t a bad man she thought, as she smiled back at him and she began to feel a little annoyed at herself for her feelings of a few minutes before.
She saw his mouth open and his lips began to move.