Just Another Day - Clark Steven - Страница 14
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- 14/49
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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 cliche’ 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.
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