The acrid stench of burning rubber filled the night air as the Omega gave chase. It was, Jack thought grimly, a trail of carnage that even a blind man could follow. Looking back out of the rear window, Tyler was aware of his officers getting up and running towards Colin Franklin. The scene appeared surreal to him. He knew that they would perform whatever Emergency Life Support they could until the experts arrived, but would it be enough?
Jack was furious with himself for not having anticipated this. His lack of foresight had endangered one of his best men. He shook his head, attempting to dispel his anger and focus his thoughts. There would be plenty of time for recrimination later. Right now, all that mattered was catching Winston before he escaped or, worse, harmed someone else.
◆◆◆
The BMW skidded through the stop line at the junction with Commercial Street, colliding heavily with the side of a London taxicab. The shocked cabby, screaming obscenities at Winston, was forced onto the pavement by the impact, scattering a small group of horrified pedestrians unfortunate enough to be in his path.
Winston’s gaze darted nervously towards the rear-view mirror as he struggled to control the rear end of his car, which was still fishtailing violently. As the BMW settled, he slapped the steering wheel in frustration. “Shit, shit, shit! What the fuck have I done?” he screamed, breathlessly.
He didn’t fully understand what had happened back there. All he knew was that one moment everything was going according to plan and then, without the slightest warning, he was being raided. They had materialised out of thin air as if by magic, and it had taken him by complete surprise. He doubted that David Copperfield could have done a better job.
Surrounding him quickly, their triumphant smirks openly mocked him as they advanced on the stationary BMW like a pack of starving hounds baying for his blood.
He had weighed up his options in an instant. Carrying a loaded firearm would automatically guarantee him a five stretch at one of Her Majesties less salubrious establishments, maybe more given his form. And he could expect his sentence to be increased considerably when they found the drug stash in his flat, if they hadn’t already.
Those drug squad bastards had been trying to cultivate a snitch inside his network for ages, and it looked like they had finally succeeded. It was too much of a coincidence to believe they had randomly chosen tonight of all nights, when he had a small fortune in raw cocaine hidden inside his flat, to come after him in earnest. Well, they had caught him with his pants down, he’d give them that, but they had severely underestimated him if they expected him to come quietly. Surrender was not in his nature; he would escape or die trying.
Shooting the damn cop had been stupid, but he just hadn’t been able to stop himself. His hatred for them was so deep-rooted and malignant, like a living thing eating away at his insides. It had completely overwhelmed him as they surged forward to effect the arrest.
And he didn’t regret it, even though he was now potentially facing a murder charge. No matter what the personal cost, he had shown them that messing with him was a fucking big mistake.
An unmarked police car appeared behind him; blue lights flashing, siren wailing. Winston dropped a gear and floored the accelerator. Ignoring the protests from his screaming engine, he overtook two cars on a straight section of road, but just as he started to put some distance between himself and the cop car, he found himself stuck behind a double-decker that was only doing thirty. Cursing profusely, he gunned the gas pedal and went for the blind overtake.
As he pulled out, he was dazzled by the flashing headlights of a large Ford van coming the other way.
There was nowhere for Winston to go; he was already level with the bus and he was travelling way too fast to stop. Convinced he was about to die, he instinctively swerved to his left, crashing into the side of the Route Master. The driver of the Ford Transit, reaching the same conclusion, also swerved to his left, scrapping the nearside of his vehicle along a row of parked cars. Somehow, the seemingly inevitable head-on collision was avoided, but Winston’s car suffered terribly as it was violently buffeted between the side of the bus and the van. Sparks flew everywhere. Both of his wing mirrors were ripped off. The sound of metal distorting and shearing was horrific.
And then the BMW had torn itself free. Marvelling that the Beamer was still drivable after what it had just been through, Winston lost no time in building up speed. He had left a trail of destruction behind, and with any luck, this would prevent the pursuing police vehicle from getting through.
◆◆◆
The Omega had indeed been forced to stop, but only for as long as it took to make sure that no one was seriously injured and to tell everyone to stay exactly where they were as help was on the way. The BMW was still in their sights as Bull carefully manoeuvred his way through the debris. “Some poor sod’s going to be doing paperwork for a week, writing this mess up,” he told his passengers.
“Never mind that,” Dillon told him. “You just concentrate on getting us back in the chase.”
“Consider it done,” Bull promised.
◆◆◆
Winston glanced down at the speedometer and saw he was touching seventy. A major intersection was looming towards him, and to his horror the lights were red. Braking heavily, he swerved onto the wrong side of the road and zoomed past a line of vehicles that were waiting for the lights to turn green. He was still doing fifty when he launched the car into the four-lane junction, cutting through a stream of cars, trucks, and buses criss-crossing his path. Claude Winston screwed his eyes tightly shut and waited for the terrible impact that must
