What would his bosses have told them? Mandy would have been on the ‘phone within half an hour of him not turning up at home wondering if he had been stuck at a job or having to do overtime or something at short notice. What would they all be doing now?

Shit, Dave. Sort yourself out. Don’t let this wanker get the upper hand. His mind began to race. Think, come on, think. The lads are aware of what’s going on. Joe will be able to tell them some of what’s happened when they speak to him, if he hasn’t been taken out by a car further down the road.

Dave’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

‘Right, Dixon of fucking dock green, get yourself patched up and let’s get moving.’

Dave pulled the skin on his forehead together and used the insulation tape wrapped around his head like a bandanna to keep a small pad of the rag in place. A further thick pad on the top of his skull where the second blow had opened up a deep gash was stuck with some more tape. It wouldn’t stay in position for very long but at least it would help to stop the wound from oozing too much. He turned his attention to his ear. Nothing much he could do there as the lobe had been blown away completely. The soft tissue was gone leaving an ugly looking piece of gristle. Fortunately, the blood was beginning to congeal and the dripping had almost stopped.

Another wad and plenty of tape pulled as tight as he could bear it and crisscrossed over his chest should take care of his shoulder. He knew he would have to keep it as tight as possible for when he began steering the wagon. Even though the power steering would help, it would still be very painful. The blood might start to seep through with the extra exertion if he didn’t bind it tight.

Still very weak and shocked, the fact that he had stemmed some of his blood loss helped and he was now beginning to think more clearly. His hands and legs had stopped shaking. He needed to look in the mirror to put the makeshift bandages in place. He instantly wished he hadn’t. He was shocked by the pale and weary face with the sunken eyes staring back at him. A few sips of water, another splash on his face, and he began to feel more awake.

‘OK’ said Dave. ‘What now?’

‘Just start driving and I’ll tell you where to go.’

Dave put the wagon into first gear and slowly let the clutch out.

‘All patrols, all patrols, be advised, target vehicle moving forward and joining main carriageway. No further details at this time regarding condition of PC Watkins.’ The ‘chopper’ began to follow once more as the lorry picked up speed.

Back in the Incident Room, Chief Superintendent Mackay had assumed control as the Gold Commander.

‘Larry, we need to find out what’s happening inside that wagon. We need to know who’s driving. If it’s Johnson, we’ll try and end this at the first opportunity. The longer it goes on, the more chance there is of other people becoming casualties. If Dave Watkins has survived those gunshots, he may well be seriously hurt. I just hope he doesn’t realise who his passenger is. You and I both know Larry, this madman Johnson will take great pleasure in killing him when he’s finished.

Hotel Charlie One from control, can you eyeball the driver of the target vehicle?’

‘That’s a negative control, repeat negative. He may become aware of our presence if we try and I.D. him from the side.’

‘Larry,’ said Chief Superintendent Mackay, ‘we need to get that lorry off the Motorway and to an area that we can control without him realising. Any suggestions?’

Three high powered Motorway Patrol traffic cars, two volvo’s and a Jaguar, joined the M62 at junction 11 heading Eastbound towards Manchester. Each took up a different lane and effectively prevented any vehicles from overtaking them. This was a standard manoeuvre when instigating a rolling road closure and as they reduced speed, the heavy traffic began slowing and it didn’t take long for the three lanes to start tailing back and after about ten minutes, as a result of the normal morning rush hour, vehicles were slowing down, some drivers using their hazard warning lights to warn others of the problems ahead. Slowly but surely, the traffic came to a standstill. One mile further back, Dave slowed his wagon also before grinding to a halt.

‘Bollocks,’ said Johnson from the bunk bed. ‘What the fuck’s happening now?’

Dave activated the window wipers and screen wash once more and wiped some of the condensation from inside the windscreen. ‘Looks like it could be an accident or a breakdown’ said Dave, ‘Nothing much moving for a fair distance. Lots of brake lights and hazards on but it looks pretty static.’

Chapter 7

‘What’s that man doing daddy?’

Fred Jones was really pissed off. Like everyone else crawling along on the motorway. The M62 was always busy at this time of the morning because of the rush hour.  ‘Rush hour’, he thought to himself, it might have lasted an hour a few years ago, now though, it seemed to go on for at least two hours. He needed to be in Manchester in half an hour and as he had to drop his daughter off at school first, he knew he would be late. He still had to travel two more junctions, half a mile more to Sedgley Junior School, drop Chloe off, rejoin the Motorway again for another three miles. Not a cat in hells chance, he thought.

If only his lovely daughter hadn’t forgotten her ballet shoes, they would have been fifteen minutes earlier and in all probability ahead of whatever was causing this latest motorway snarl up. He gave a very quick glance at Chloe. Oh, I do love you sweetheart but you can be a real pain in the arse when you’ve got your head in the clouds, he silently mused.

Another bollocking from the boss. Oh, wouldn’t she love that. She’d be there, pacing up and down at the front door when he went in, high heels and fishnets; mutton dressed as lamb thinking she was still twenty five years of age, making an exaggerated point of looking at her watch with her sarcastic voice, ‘Good morning Frederick, or, should that be good afternoon,’ she would say, ‘so nice of you to join us.’

He hated his full title of Frederick and she well knew it which was precisely why she said it in the first place. She liked to rub it in that she had been promoted above him even though he was much more efficient, knew the system better and had been at the company longer than her.

‘Maybe if I was shagging the MD, I’d have got the promotion.’

‘What did you say daddy?’ said Chloe and Fred suddenly realised that he’d been thinking out loud.

‘Oh nothing really love, I was just thinking that Buster was looking a bit shaggy maybe when I took him for his walk this morning. I think we need to make an appointment to get his coat trimmed a bit, don’t you think?’

‘OK Dad, we’ll take him at the weekend. Maybe we can take him to the park afterwards and I can play on the swings eh?’

‘Yes love, the weekend; the swings, ok, no problem sweetheart.’ He silently congratulated himself on not having to explain, shagging the MD any further!

‘So, what do you think he’s doing then?’

Fred turned to look at his daughter in the passenger seat.

‘What’s that my little love,’ he said

‘Him, that man over there; the one with the black clothes on.’

Fred looked up and to his left. ‘Shit.’ he said and instinctively put his foot on the brake even though they were hardly moving at all. A quick glance in the rear view mirror and a feeble wave of acknowledgement to the driver behind who had no idea why Fred had suddenly stamped on the brake.

‘Daddy,’ said Chloe in her most precocious voice, she could do precociousness extremely well when it suited her purpose. ‘Did you say the ‘S’ word. Did you say ‘shit’? Wait till I tell mummy you said the ‘S’ word.’

Fred was looking around animatedly for the cameras as he was sure someone must be making a film. It’s got to be candid camera or some reality or daredevil show he thought as he looked in all his mirrors expecting to see a camera vehicle nearby.