Michael Fowler - Cold Death

He faltered with his reply. He’d already had a similar hushed conversation with his wife. Finally he said, “practically the same as you.” He felt a lump emerge in his throat.

“Well there you are then. Listen to her. I don’t know what you men would do without us women. For god’s sake take him out for a beer and clear the air.”

Suddenly static over their radios broke into their conversation.

He, Grace, and the majority of the MIT team had been on plot since seven am that morning, their unmarked cars at various locations dotted around Parkhill Flats in Sheffield lying in wait for Ari and Pervez Arshad.

Excitedly, they pushed themselves up from their lounging positions.

Grace yanked across her seatbelt.

Hunter started the car and strained his ears to listen to the report coming over the police radio net.

The information he was listening to spirited his thoughts away from the problems of his father and conjured up fresh images, specifically the ones he had seen in the office the previous afternoon, after Superintendent Robshaw had bounded into the office, excitedly announcing to the squad that they had found the hiding place of Samia’s killers. Drug Squad had contacted him, he had lauded. One of their informants had given an approximate location of Ari and Pervez. They had a flat somewhere in the huge complex, which the team were currently staking out. He added that the pair had acquired false passports and were making plans to leave the country in the next few days. Hunter had watched the whole squads faces light up with looks of jubilation.

“They should be coming into view in the next minute or so,” Grace exclaimed out loud, ear close to her personal radio.

Hunter was listening to the same transmission. DS Mark Gamble and DC Paula Clarke were on foot and had Ari and Pervez in their sights. They were passing out the targets’ descriptions and present location.

He had parked on an elevated section of road overlooking the concrete monoliths, which he had read somewhere were now an icon of sixties architecture. He could see for himself that many of the blocks were in the throes of refurbishment and their frontages had a vibrant colour scheme mix of red, blue and yellow in an attempt to hide the drab greyness of the structures.

Within thirty seconds Hunter had the targets in his vision.

He followed the two Asians’ movements. They appeared to be in no hurry. They were sauntering across a grassy slope a hundred and fifty metres below. The pair dressed identically in dark hoodies and baggy jeans and he could make out, thanks to the glint on gold from the bright mid-morning sunshine, that both of them had a number of lengthy chains hanging around their necks dangling to mid chest. They were huddled together and appeared in deep conversation.

Hunter hunched himself forward, to keep them in his sights.

Within seconds the pair made a surprise sharp movement. They stopped in mid-step and spun around to get a look behind.

Something had spooked them guessed Hunter.

He was right.

A split second later the brothers were off and running, and coming into view he spotted DS Mark Gamble scrambling after them. His voice was screaming over the airwaves letting everyone know that the foot surveillance had been compromised.

Hunter hung on to the two fleeing figures watching where they were heading before he made a move. He gripped the handbrake with his left hand and lightly touched the accelerator with his right foot. He felt the engine surge. He was ready for a quick getaway.

The pair dropped out of view, disappearing into a line of trees at the edge of the estate, but Hunter knew they were making for the road.

Hunter could hear that Mark Gamble was doing his best to keep the commentary going, his voice trailing off now and again breathlessly, as he tried to make ground. Within seconds his excited tone was alerting the team.

“They’re getting into a new shaped silver Astra!”

Hunter craned his neck scouring the road system beyond the line of trees. He heard the Vauxhall before he saw it as the rubber of the tyres screeched on the tarmac. Then it sped into his sightline, heading away from the estate in the general direction of the suburbs of Halfway. Hunter locked the steering wheel sharply and pulled away from the kerb. Whipping through the gears quickly he soon made the end of the road and he guessed he would be a fraction in front of the speeding Astra. He could hear over the radio that two other unmarked cars were in hot pursuit but trailing.

Hunter reached the junction in a matter of seconds and slung his car at an angle to stop the Vauxhall turning in preventing any costly u-turn. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and braced himself.

Ten seconds later the Astra gunned into view rocking out of a right hand bend and veering towards them.

Hunter gritted his teeth and in one swift movement spun the steering wheel sharply, hitting the accelerator and the brake almost simultaneously. The result was that his car jumped forward into the carriageway giving the impression he was going to deliberately collide.

The action had the desired effect. There was a long screech as the Astra tyres crabbed across the road surface. It slewed sideways, the nearside wheels smashing into the opposite kerb edge.

Hunter could see Ari, the driver, fight with the wheel, trying to straighten out the car as it bounced back into the centre of the road. His actions were in vain. It bucked and scythed violently, whipping into a screaming 180-degree turn before smashing its back end against a concrete lamp stanchion.

Hunter threw open his door, smacked the release button of his seat belt and flung himself out of the car. He instinctively knew Grace would be following.

Ari was as quick in his movement, kicking open his door. It smacked Hunter’s legs and spun him sideways. It gave Ari the few seconds break that he needed and he was out of the blocks like a sprinter on a running track.

Catching his balance Hunter momentarily winced at the pain to his right thigh, but then the adrenaline kicked in and he set off in pursuit.

Ari had gained ten yards on him. Hunter could make out the word SEMTEX in large white letters across the back of his black designer hooded top and couldn’t help think how much he’d like to demolish him once he got hold of him.

Within moments his chest was pumping in and out in rhythm with his arms and legs. His lungs clawed for air as he put in that extra burst. In less than fifty yards Hunter was in grabbing distance and he lashed out with a swift kick. It connected, banging one leg into the other, sending him sprawling into a heap. Hunter was on top of him and wrestling an arm up his back before he had any time to react.

He let out a loud scream as Hunter yanked his shoulder joint against its socket.

“You’re breaking my fucking arm!”

“Think yourself lucky it’s not your neck.” Hunter snarled. “You’re nicked!”

As he turned round to drag his prisoner back he saw for the first time the chaos behind him. Uniform and CID cars were strewn everywhere and Grace was snapping handcuffs on a dishevelled Pervez’s wrists; he was being restrained by Tony Bullars who had been the lead car in the chase prior to the crash.

As Hunter neared, still jamming Ari’s arm up his back, forcing him to walk on his tip-toes, he could see Pervez doubled up, frantically rubbing at his face and moaning loudly.

“What’s the matter with him?” he asked, releasing his prisoner to Mike Sampson who was waiting with snap-on cuffs.

Pervez snapped up his head.

Hunter could see that tears were streaming down his face and that he was having difficulty opening his eyes.

“That fucking bitch has CS’d me,” Pervez moaned.