'We're blocking the B184 north and south so if he makes this he won't make the next one. The helicopter will also be in situ within three minutes.'
Bolt remembered him saying something similar only a few hours earlier with disastrous results, so he wasn't exactly filled with optimism.
Another sharp corner appeared up ahead, and the lorry driver screeched round it, hitting the bank on one side but still managing to keep going.
And then, as Bolt followed him round, thirty yards distant now, he saw the junction up ahead. A single police squad car was parked sideways on in the middle of the road, its lights flashing, blocking the path of traffic both ways. He caught the vaguest glimpse of two figures standing on the other side of it, one with a torch. And then the lorry moved into the middle of the road, blocking his view, and making no attempt to brake as it bore down on the squad car.
'Oh fuck,' said Bolt, tightening his grip on the steering wheel as the two cops with the car dived into the bank, the torch flying into a bush. The lorry hit the patrol car with a huge bang, shunting it into the side of the road, before swerving dangerously to the left as it swung round on to the B184 southbound.
Bolt had to make a split-second decision. Stop and see if the officers were OK, or continue the pursuit. He chose pursuit, knowing there was no way he could let the lorry get away. He braked hard to avoid the stricken squad car, changed down into second gear, drove through the gap between it and the bank on the other side, then slammed his foot to the floor on the accelerator.
The force of the impact had slowed the lorry down and Bolt was rapidly back within twenty yards of it, but soon the road straightened and the lorry quickly picked up speed again.
Then a strange thing happened. The lorry suddenly began to weave wildly on the wet tarmac, and, as Bolt watched, it slewed off the road, knocking over a speed limit sign as it hit the bank and careered along it at a precarious angle, tearing up mud and foliage, until it finally came to a halt, barely twenty yards away. Immediately its reversing lights came on. Bolt knew he only had a few seconds at most to stop it from taking off again. Up ahead he could hear the wail of sirens getting closer, but they were some distance away and there was still no sign of the promised air cover.
Bolt pulled the standard-issue pepper spray from the inside pocket of his jacket and, ignoring Mo's warning shout, leapt from the car and made a dash for the driver's cab, just as the lorry bounced back on to the tarmac.
Sixty-seven
As soon as she realized that the lorry was being chased by the police, Tina knew she had to do something. She hadn't expected them to trace the mobile that fast, and now that they had it was clear to her that the two men in the cab weren't going to come quietly. Their voices were panicked, angry.
'I can't get rid of this fucker!' the driver shouted in frustration.
'There's a fucking cop car in the road!' the other one yelled. 'How the fuck did they find us?'
There was a loud crash as the lorry struck it.
'That'll teach youse!' the driver cried out, laughing. 'Now we sort the other and we're home free!'
That was when Tina summoned up every ounce of strength she had left. Rising up in the back of the cab, she threw the duvet cover over the driver's head, leaning over to hold it in place.
Taken utterly by surprise, he immediately lost control of the vehicle, his cries muffled by the duvet. He lashed out with an elbow, catching Tina in the ribs, but she clung on to him for dear life as the lorry mounted the verge at the side of the road and he swung the wheel wildly, desperately trying to wrest back control.
The passenger, the big shaven-headed guy, turned in his seat with an angry snarl and threw a punch at Tina. She dodged the worst of the blow but the fist still connected with her shoulder and neck, knocking her backwards into the metal grille separating the cab from the rear of the lorry. She twisted her bad foot in the process and screamed out in pain, releasing her grip on the duvet.
The driver yanked it off and braked hard, bringing the lorry to a juddering halt while his passenger leaned over his seat to throw more punches at Tina, who kicked out wildly with her good foot, catching him in the face, adrenalin overcoming the agony the action caused her.
The driver crunched the lorry into reverse gear, and as he accelerated backwards the shaven-headed thug managed to land a blow on Tina, who felt herself growing faint.
Don't pass out now! One last effort!
There was a bang as the wheels landed on the road. The driver turned the steering wheel and struggled to put the lorry into first while his colleague continued to punch Tina, savagely squeezing her bad leg as well. But he was too far away for his punches to tell and she managed to twist round, stick a hand through the gap in the seat, and grab the gearstick.
'Sort the fucking bitch out, Stone!' yelled the driver, tearing her hand away. 'Get in there and sort her out!'
Stone's face darkened with a killing rage that Tina had seen on criminals only a handful of times before. He clambered over the seat as the lorry lurched forward, his body filling her whole field of vision.
She lashed out with her good leg again but there was no strength in the movement and he swatted it aside easily, drawing his fist back to throw the final punch that would surely finish her.
And then, as the lorry began to move down the road, the passenger door was yanked open and a figure jumped inside. He threw an arm around Stone's neck, pulled him backwards and gave him a generous shot of pepper spray in the eyes in the process. Stone fell on to the driver, and it was only then that Tina recognized her rescuer. It was Mike Bolt – the first time she'd clapped eyes on him in a year. She experienced a feeling of complete elation as Bolt leaned over Stone and let the driver have it with the pepper spray too.
But the passenger door was still hanging open, and Stone was still able to lash out. He struck Bolt in the face and knocked him backwards.
Bolt dropped the spray and grabbed the door frame with both hands, but his grip was precarious, and when Stone kicked out again he almost lost it.
'Mike!' yelled Tina.
Sensing that he was about to fall into the road, she scrambled over the seat and launched herself at Stone with teeth and nails. She bit him on the ear and felt, but didn't see, Bolt grab him too. And then she was shoved hard from behind by the driver, and all three were flying through space before smacking on to the tarmac.
Sixty-eight
As they fell from the lorry, Mike Bolt just managed to pull himself away from the shaven-headed thug, so when they ended up on the road it was the thug who landed first. Bolt spun off him and rolled along the tarmac, conscious of the sirens getting ever closer.
He was winded, and tired from his exertions, but he managed to get to his feet faster than the thug, who was flailing about blindly. Out of the corner of his eye Bolt saw that Tina had stopped moving, but there was no time to worry about her now. Instead, he charged forward, headbutted the thug on the bridge of the nose and kicked him to the ground.
Panting, he swung round as the lorry weaved its way forward, already thirty yards ahead, then forty, still not being intercepted by the police cars whose sirens seemed to be coming from everywhere.
Then, as Bolt watched through the steadily increasing rain, an arm shot out of the open passenger door and grabbed for the handle. The next second he was knocked off his feet by a huge shockwave as the rear doors and both sides blew off the lorry, and the cab erupted in flames. Cylinders flew up into the air like confetti before showering down on the road in a cacophony of metallic clangs.
Clambering to his feet, he saw that Mo had picked up Tina and was in the process of putting her over his shoulder. He rushed over and grabbed her legs, easing the load for Mo, and together they took off down the road, yelling at the two uniforms at the junction to do the same.
Mike Bolt had no idea how fast mustard gas travelled, but as he ran through the rain the adrenalin seemed to course through every part of his body. And though he knew his, Mo's and Tina's lives were in danger he had a bizarre yet incredibly intense desire to laugh out loud. He was enjoying this, he truly was. It was like all those dreams of action and adventure he'd had as a young kid. Now, aged forty and banging on the door of middle age, here he was running for his life with the heat of an exploded bomb at his back.
He and Mo ran with Tina for two, three, four hundred metres, it was difficult to tell. He felt a surge of relief when she moved a little and groaned, told her it was going to be OK, and kept going, knowing that if they made it out of this it had to be a good omen for all three of them.
But his legs were getting weaker, and he was slowing down badly. As was Mo, who was panting like an old man, two decades of cigarettes taking their toll. So it was with another burst of relief that Bolt saw the police van approaching slowly, its sirens flashing, and the man in the protective white suit leaning out of the passenger window and motioning for them to get in the back.
He pulled on the rear door handle and he and Mo threw Tina inside before being pulled in themselves by two uniforms.
'Is anyone else down there?' came a voice from the front.
Bolt thought of the thug he'd floored a few minutes earlier. 'No,' he gasped, 'I don't think so.'
Immediately the van turned round and they were driving out of there.
Still lying on the floor, he looked across at Tina. She was bruised, splattered in dried blood, and beautiful, her eyes just about staying open. She managed a weak smile. 'Thanks, Mike,' she whispered. Then her eyes closed.
Bolt smiled across at Mo, who was too busy getting his breath back to notice, then he reached over and took her hand, utterly elated that somehow she'd come out of this alive.
That they were all still alive.
Sixty-nine
Chief Superintendent Ken Canaver of Essex Police was standing on a grassy verge directly opposite the outbuilding he and his officers had been told was the possible headquarters of a terrorist cell, watching as flames gouting thick black smoke lit up the sky over to the west. He'd heard the dull thud of the explosion that had caused the fire and knew that it was the lorry his colleagues were trying to intercept. He also knew what it was supposed to contain. But he had no idea whether in the current weather conditions the gas would spread to where they were now, and until he heard otherwise he and his officers would remain where they were.
Canaver was a solid career copper, only one year short of his thirty years' service, and he liked to do things methodically and by the book, because he knew that, ultimately, that was the best way. In all his time in the police he'd never had to make a life-or-death decision, and he was truly hoping that this wasn't going to change now. As well as a fleet of ambulances, Canaver had some forty officers on the scene, a dozen of whom were armed. As he'd already announced to the building's occupants on the megaphone several times in the last ten minutes, he had the place surrounded. Neither the hostage negotiation team nor the big guns from Counter Terrorism Command and SOCA were yet at the scene, but the sooner they were, the happier he'd be. In the meantime he'd carry on repeating his request every three minutes for whoever was inside to give him or herself up. So far he'd received absolutely no response, although there were several lights on inside, so he and his people continued to stand silently in the pouring rain using a line of squad cars as cover, waiting to be relieved.
Behind him he heard several of the other officers whispering urgently to one another. The explosion had made everyone jumpy. Luckily, none of them knew its ramifications. The only people within the Essex police force who'd been informed that the lorry was carrying poison gas were the chief constable, his assistant, and Canaver himself.
Canaver fingered his mobile phone nervously, wondering if he was going to get a call to evacuate. As well as terrorists, he'd been told that the building might also contain a kidnap victim, although whether she was alive or not was still unclear. There was definitely someone alive inside though: two of his officers had seen movement in one of the upstairs windows a few minutes earlier. He didn't like the idea of abandoning a potential victim of crime, or letting the criminals holding her get away, but he had to admit that he'd be more than happy to leave this scene and its heavy responsibilities behind.
'I didn't expect an evening like this when I came on duty today,' said DCI Nigel Teasdale, the head of Essex CID and a colleague of Canaver's for more than ten years now.
