A moment later, the cab stopped with its nose straddling the white line, and Susie coasted to a halt just behind it. “Make sure he can’t see you using the radio,” she warned Murray.
“What a good idea,” he said, acerbically.
Traffic from Cotton Street, which was off to their right, was now filtering its way through the yellow box junction in front of them. Because of the light phasing up ahead, there was already a bit of a tailback, even though East India Dock Road, from this point onwards, widened from two to four lanes.
The Main-Set suddenly crackled into life. “MP from Trojan Five-Oh-Three, can I have a quick talk through with Metro Sierra Nine-Three, please?” It was one of the approaching Trojan units, asking to speak directly to them.
“Trojan unit, make it brief, MP over,” the IR operator responded.
“Metro Sierra Nine-Three from Trojan Five-Oh-Three, we’re only thirty seconds away. Can you punch up so that your car is literally almost touching the back of the cab? If the lights don’t change, we’re going to put in the hard stop where you are now.”
Susie’s eyes immediately shot to her offside wing mirror. Sure enough, the trio of Trojan units was zooming along the outside of the traffic, and they were mere seconds away. Although their headlights and blue lights were flashing, their sirens were switched off for a silent approach. There was something predatory about the sight; it was like watching three big white sharks clearing a path through a shoal of smaller fish.
Murray glanced at Susie apprehensively and was rewarded with a decisive nod.
He pressed the PTT. “Received by Metro Sierra Nine-Three. Moving up now.”
As he spoke, Susie gently allowed the clutch pedal to rise, letting the clunking Astra creep forward until it was virtually kissing the cab’s rear bumper. “Stand by for the fireworks to start,” she said quietly.
Murray gave his latest update. “MP from Metro Sierra Nine-Three, the suspect’s still stationary in lane one at red ATS, with us directly behind. Lane two is still clear. We have Trojan units inbound and we’re handing commentary over to them.”
“Metro Sierra Nine-Three from MP, that’s all received. Stand by. Trojan Five-Oh-Three, Trojan Five-Oh-Three, what is your ETA, MP over…?”
“MP from Trojan Five-Oh-Three, we’re just arriving on scene, and we’re moving straight in to execute the hard stop. AMIP unit, remain in your vehicle until we call you forward.”
“Received,”Murray acknowledged and then turned to look at the others. “Like they even needed to say that,” he said.
Things quickly got interesting from that point onwards.
The first Trojan vehicle, a marked Vauxhall Omega, shot down the outside and swerved across the front of the stationary Taxi, blocking its path. The timing was perfect as a second later, the lights started to change. Three SO19 officers alighted quickly and immediately brought their weapons to bear. The driver brandishing a Glock 17 Self Loading Pistol, nimbly moved around the ARV’s bonnet, kneeling down and using it for cover. From that position, he could cover the front of the target car, and he had a clear shot at the suspect through his windscreen.
The front and rear passengers were each carrying Heckler and Koch G36C carbines, a short-barrelled semi-automatic weapon chambered to fire the powerful 5.65 rifle round. As they thumbed the selector switches from ‘safety’ to ‘fire’, both were shouting, “ARMED POLICE, SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!” repeatedly as they closed in on the driver, positioning themselves so that they wouldn’t get caught in a crossfire if the situation deteriorated into a firefight.
The second ARV, a liveried Eight Series Rover, pulled up level with the Taxi, and again the two nearside passengers were out of the vehicle in an instant, drawing down on the suspect with their carbines before he could react. More shouts of “ARMED POLICE, SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!” filled the air.
The final ARV, another Omega, stopped behind the AMIP Astra, slewing diagonally across the two lanes in order to stop any vehicles following behind them from accidentally straying into the sterile area around the hard stop. While the driver turned to face oncoming traffic, his two compatriots rushed forward to provide additional firepower to their colleagues.
Two local Panda cars had also attended via Cotton Street, and they now closed off the junction, effectively creating an exclusion zone around the armed interdiction.
Chapter 11
As Tyler and Flowers crossed the road, they spotted Colin Franklin and Dick Jarvis standing outside the RCJ’s main entrance. Colin rushed forward to meet him as he ascended the steps that led up to the court.
“Boss, have you spoken to Mr Dillon yet?” he asked, and there was an underlying sense of urgency in his voice.
“No,” Jack said, “not since this morning. Why?”
Franklin’s expression was unusually serious, and Tyler started to feel concerned. Had something bad happened?
“He’s been trying to call you for ages,” Franklin said. “Apparently, it’s all gone pear shaped at the hospital and Claude Winston has escaped.”
Tyler felt his jaw drop open. “He’s done what?” he demanded.
“You need to phone Mr Dillon,” Franklin said. “It’s really bad. One of the local officers guarding him was shot and killed during the breakout.”
“Oh, my God,” Kelly said. “Is it anyone we might know?”
Franklin shook his head. “The name’s not been released yet,” he said. “Mr Quinlan’s team has taken the job.”
Jack’s face darkened. “Colin, you and Dick go inside and find our Treasury Counsel. Tell him that I’m outside if he needs me. Explain that a job has just broken and that I’ll join you all as soon as I can.” He turned to Kelly. “You’d better go in and find the victim’s mum. I don’t want her being left in the lurch.” Kelly was the Family Liaison Officer for the case they were here for, and she had made arrangements to chaperone the victim’s mother, who had insisted on being present during the appeal. Kelly had done her best to deter her, explaining that it was just legal
