Von Joel moved very fast. He jerked up his left hand, handcuffed to Larry’s right, and brought it down over the driver’s head, laying the chain of the cuffs across his throat.
“Keep driving!” he yelled. His right hand came forward, holding a small vegetable knife. He pressed the point against the side of the driver’s neck. “Pass the key of the cuffs to Jackson.”
The driver began to struggle. Von Joel’s eyes swiveled aside.
“Tell him to do it, Larry!”
In that position, his right arm extended over the front seat, Larry was helpless.
“Give me the key, Tom,” he said.
The driver looked panicky as the pressure of the chain increased and the knife point threatened to puncture his neck. He fumbled in his pocket and got out the key. The car swerved as he passed it back to Larry.
“Keep driving straight on,” Von Joel said, “and don’t try to be a hero. Chuck your radio handset on the floor. Come on! Now flick on your radio control. Good man!”
Larry unlocked the cuffs and Von Joel eased his hand free. He flexed his fingers, keeping his eyes on the road. “Now I want you to stop the car.” He pressed the point of the knife deeper into the driver’s yielding skin. “Quickly!”
The car swerved to a stop, the tires screeching. Following Von Joel’s orders, Larry got out and opened the front passenger door.
“Now listen carefully,” Von Joel said, still gripping the driver’s shoulders. “You slide across the seat, son. Facedown. Then you crawl out of the car. Wait...” He reached inside the driver’s jacket and pulled out his personal radio. “I’ll take that. Right. Stand well back on the pavement, Larry!”
The driver crawled across the seat facedown, as he was told, and lowered himself headfirst out onto the pavement. Von Joel scrambled over into the front seat and got behind the wheel.
“You in or out, Larry?” he barked. “You’ve got three seconds.”
Larry jumped in beside Von Joel. He threw the engine into gear and the car leapt forward. Behind them, far enough back to be inconspicuous, an unmarked police car took up pursuit and passed a radio message to the surveillance flat opposite the safe house. As soon as the message was passed to DI Shrapnel he came running out of the apartment block and headed for a patrol car parked at the roadside. He was shouting into his portable radio as he yanked open the car door.
“It’s going down! It’s on! We’ve got him halfway around Regent’s Park Inner Circle! Move! Car four is on him right now! Yes!”
Von Joel was driving with his foot near the floor.
“Where’s the siren?”
“Eddie, this is crazy,” Larry said. “Why go into Baker Street? You’ll smash into somebody.”
Von Joel got the siren howling and a second later the blue light started flashing.
“You’ve got five seconds, Larry. Get your wire off.” He jabbed Larry in the ribs. “Do it!”
Two minutes later, as Shrapnel’s car got on the tail of Von Joel, Shrapnel called to DCI McKinnes.
“Mac? We’re keeping off the car radios. He’s ditched the driver, he’s got Jackson with him. Looks like they’re going for the Baker Street exit from the park. Over.”
Seconds later McKinnes and three plainclothes officers came running out into the car park at St. John’s Row. McKinnes was yelling orders as they went to their separate cars.
“Maintain patrol radio silence! All units switch to scramble position yellow! He’s in Baker Street, we’ve got Jackson’s wire. He’s feeding us the route.” He paused with his car door open. “The bastard will be changing cars somewhere close to Baker Street. Warn all cars — stand by. Do not — not — apprehend. Stay well back!” He threw himself into the car. “Got the prick!” he snarled.
Von Joel drove the patrol car down the middle of Baker Street, siren blaring and light flashing. Other traffic cleared a way as he screamed south. He cut the siren and the light as he swung left into Paddington Street, nearly overturning the car. Along Paddington Street he slowed down, turned into the NCP parking lot entrance, stopped at the barrier, and took a ticket. He drove to the third level and parked the car.
“Right, Larry — out!”
As they left the car two unmarked patrol cars drove along Paddington Street and past the parking lot, heading on into Marylebone High Street.
Von Joel stepped up close to Larry and roughly slapped at his chest. He pulled out the wire, dropped it on the ground and crushed it under his foot. He patted Larry’s cheek.
“Okay. You in or out, Larry? Five hundred grand?”
“I’m in, Eddie.”
“Good. Follow me.”
They crossed to the opposite side of the parking level. Von Joel stopped by a parked red Granada with the parking slip stuck on the inside of the windshield. He bent down and felt under the front nearside wheel arch. A moment later he held up a bunch of keys with an alarm control attached. He opened the driver’s door.
“Let’s go.”
He drove smoothly down the ramp to the pay kiosk and stopped. As he leaned out the window to settle with the attendant, Larry took a coin-sized bumper beeper from his pocket and stuck it under his end of the dashboard. Von Joel told the attendant to keep the change. When the barrier went up he drove out and turned right onto Paddington Street.
Two minutes later, a radio controller was reporting to DCI McKinnes that Von Joel’s progress was now being plotted on the Central London grid. Meanwhile DI Shrapnel was inside the NCP parking lot on Paddington Street, where the parked patrol car had been reported.
Shrapnel got on the radio. “He’s ditched the car. He’s still got Jackson, and we’ve got the remains of his wire.”
DI Falcon came running across the tarmac.
“It’s a red Ford Granada,” he panted. “Registration number.” He had to gulp for air. “Last three letters ATK.”
Shrapnel was meanwhile receiving a message through his earpiece. “Great!” he turned to Falcon. “We’ve got a bleeper. Jackson’s doing his stuff.”
McKinnes issued a message from his car. “Okay, we can now open radio channels. Get that car number out, let nobody touch it, or go near it, or tip the bastard off. I’m heading for the City. Get everything set up, over.”
The radio controller’s latest bulletin went out as McKinnes ended his message.
“Target car crossing into Grosvenor Square. Red Granada, two occupants. We have the registration number, feeding back to grid. Myers wearing a red tracksuit, Jackson wearing dark blue tracksuit, over.”
At that moment Von Joel was steering the Granada into a small mews turning adjacent to the Connaught Hotel. He took a sharp right and drove down into a multilevel parking lot. The maneuver was noted by the driver of a pursuing patrol car who transmitted the information back to radio control. Von Joel parked the car and got out, waving for Larry to follow him. He ran toward the lifts but bypassed them and led the way down the stairs to the next level.
He stopped and looked along the rows of parked cars. Beside him Larry did the same, realizing that since they stopped running in the park and jumped into the patrol car, there hadn’t been one reflective thought in his head. It had been pure reaction every inch of the way. He hadn’t even felt concerned for his safety as they tore through the traffic, he had been too fiercely ensnared in the unfolding events. Von Joel took out the bunch of keys that had been left with the Granada. He flicked the alarm access switch and waited. Nothing happened. He looked about him sharply, turning, moving from foot to foot.
“Are you going to nick a car?” Larry said.
“Do you think I m a thief?” Von Joel walked past a few cars and stopped. “This is the lower basement, isn’t it?” He flicked the alarm access switch again. Ten yards away the headlights of a green Jaguar sports car blinked. “Oh, very nice...”