“We’re heading east on Bilton Road, heading towards the A4005. Repeat, heading towards the A4005 at Bilton Road. Need assistance. Under attack. Assailants armed with automatic weapons.”
She apologised to Mrs Edwards, whose pallid face told her how petrified she was. “We’ll be fine, you’ll see. Keep as low as you can, and if I say duck, get your head down, do you understand?” They were approaching Piggery Bridge going over the Grand Union Canal, which meant they weren’t far from their turning onto the A4005.
67
Walker sat behind the wheel of the BMW, waiting for Sarge and Vodicka to get back with their evening meal, which would consist of sandwiches from a Tesco Express they’d found. He gave Vodicka his order of a tuna sandwich, and a bottle of Diet Coke. She’d accepted it with her evil eyes glaring at him. He figured then that she would make a terrible poker player, unable to mask her feelings.
He was beginning to regret not complaining about his team to the IOPC. Had he gone through with it, the organisation would have had them off the streets inside an hour. He would be on suspension, but he didn’t want that. Hell, with his job, every day carried its fair share of risk of suspension. As soon as they fired their weapons, in fact. Life as a firearms cop wasn’t like in the movies: if he shot a person, he would be suspended pending an inquiry. If his act was seen as lawful, he would be reinstated, but only after a battery of psychological testing. “Come on, Sarge.”
There was no denying the atmosphere in the car, or the fact that he was the main recipient of their hostility. All day he’d felt Vodicka’s stare. At one point, he was ready to turn around and ask if she had a problem. Not that it mattered. He knew what her problem was: him. Walker was the only one who risked exposure.
And there they were, the Sarge and Vodicka, carrying plastic bags filled with goodies. The Sarge sat next to him. Voddy sat behind him. He accepted his sandwich, as the radio crackled to life. “Hey, that’s Rachel!”
“Repeat, heading towards the A4005 at Bilton Road. Need assistance. We’re under attack. Unknown amount of assailants armed with automatic weapons.”
“What’re you waiting for, permission?” Sarge took out his sandwich. “Let’s go rescue your girlfriend.”
68
Hayes held her breath as the BMW in front of her swerved to her right, on the opposite side of the road, then slammed on its brakes, as she surged ahead. In her mirror she saw it move again, only after the armoured van had whooshed past them. “Looks like a van sandwich to me,” she muttered to herself.
Charlotte stared at her. “Huh?”
“Nothing, don’t worry.” It swerved onto their side of the road before a car slammed into them on the other. “That van has an armed car in front and behind it. It’s game over for them.” When she looked in her mirror again, she swore when a second armoured van exactly the same as the other one appeared. “We’re in trouble.”
She took an exit right, leading to a big roundabout at Barham Park. Once she was over it, in the distance she saw one of her armed escorts roll, with all three occupants inside. At the roundabout it rolled at least five times, leaving a mess of metal. “We’ve only one armed escort left, but two vans.”
“Do something, then. You’re the cop. Get us out of this!”
“Charlotte, yelling at me won’t help. In fact, it’ll do quite the opposite. Bottom line is, we’re in the safest place we could be right now. We’re in the one car that doesn’t need to refuel. Everyone behind us will, so if we can stay ahead of them, we’re safe, okay? And they want this car. They’re not going to harm it.” She checked the petrol gauge, which said they were almost out of power. “Please work!”
“What? What’s wrong?” Charlotte stared at her, waiting to put her mind at ease. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“In any other car, Charlotte, I’d be worried at the petrol dash,” she said, still praying the empty cell would click over to the full one. “We’re running on empty, but you could say this is a field test. Let’s hope your brother’s battery works.”
Behind them, one of the vans tried overtaking the last remaining armed Beamer. They passed Sudbury and were heading for North Wembley. There was a clunk, and the petrol gauge flicked back to full. Hayes whooped, ecstatic that their Fiesta hadn’t conked out on them. “It worked! You know what this means? We just need to outrun them.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we just lost our second escort,” Charlotte confessed, pointing out of the rear window. “Look, they’re right on us!”
Hayes saw that Miller’s Peugeot was outnumbered two to one. The furthest armoured van accelerated, sped past its partner, and pulled up alongside the Peugeot. “No! Miller!” Hayes shouted.
“There’s another armed police car!” Charlotte pointed it out.
In her mirror she saw the van next to the Peugeot slam on its brakes, before getting in line. The armoured police car did a skid, a handbrake turn and joined the convoy behind the last armoured van. “Where did they come from?”
“What does it matter? So long as they’re here to help.”
Charlotte was right. Whoever they were, she was grateful for having their assistance. The police BMW kept trying to overtake the vans. Hayes thought she saw one of her colleagues leaning out of their window, carbine in hand. “Take them out, would you!”
One of the vans pulled alongside Miller’s car again. Miller steered sharply into it, smashing the side of the van. All Hayes could do was keep driving. She didn’t know how this was going to end, and it bothered her. She liked to be in control of her destiny, not have it dictated to by a
