“Subject continuing south on the A6,” the pilot said, “just past the split with the A10. Maintaining coverage, will report again in five minutes unless a change of course.”
The dispatcher repeated the information then signed off.
“How far back are we?” Hugo asked.
“It’s twenty minutes or so to where she is now.”
“What is she driving?” Hugo asked.
“She has a black VW Golf. It’s a 1998 but it’s a GTI, so it’ll be quick if we have to chase.”
“Do you have a plan for when we catch up to her?”
“No, Hugo, I’m making this shit up as I go along and I’ve simply no idea how to stop a bad guy in a moving car.”
Hugo held up a hand in surrender, or apology. “I wasn’t questioning, I was asking.”
Lerens took a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. As you might guess, this is about as high profile as it gets — Alexandra Tourville is a cop killer, maybe a serial murderer, and on the run. I have a lot of eyes on me and a fair few of them wouldn’t weep if I screwed up.”
“No need to apologize. Looks to me like you’re doing everything right so far.”
“Thanks. And to answer your question, once we get close I’m going to have local units shut down the road behind her to give us some space, then the three of us will do the stop. I’d considered having some more units line up in front but if she sees them she might run. I’m going for the element of surprise, but we’ll have local police mobilized in case she doesn’t stop. Suggestions?”
“Nope. Sounds like a good plan.”
They feel silent as the radio hissed again.
“Air One.”
“Go ahead, Air One.”
“Subject is stopping for fuel. I don’t have a visual, there’s a roof over the pumps but I’ll see when she leaves.”
After the dispatcher had confirmed the message, Lerens said: “That’ll get us pretty close to her. We’ll give it five more minutes then turn lights and sirens off.”
A minute later the pilot came back on, urgency in his voice. “Air One.”
“Go ahead,” the dispatcher said.
“Something happened down there, I can’t tell what. She just took off from the pumps and a couple of people ran from the main building to where she’d been. If I had to guess, I’d say she drove off without paying.”
“Merde.” Lerens picked up her handset. “Thanks Air One. Which direction did she go?”
“Back on the autoroute, same direction, south.”
“Got it. Dispatch, please notify local law enforcement not to engage if someone calls police.” She dropped the handset in her lap and pulled a map from the side pocket of the car. “Here, see if this is any use.”
Hugo studied the map, though the one on his phone would have been as useful and probably more up to date. “Fuel stops are all marked, I see the one she was at.” He looked out of the window and saw a sign for the east — west A86, then checked the map again. “We’re getting close to the split, might want to kill the sights and sounds.”
“‘Sights and sounds,’” Lerens smiled. “I like that.” She hit two buttons on a panel beside the rearview mirror and in seconds the cars in front and behind followed suit. They remained, however, at a steady ninety miles-per-hour. She picked up the radio again. “Dispatch, please contact the rolling block, have them move onto the highway. I want to pass them any minute and when I do, they need to be ready.”
“Will do.”
Lerens swore, tapping the brakes as the forward car suddenly slowed, then honked at a camper that was in the fast lane and shouldn’t have been. It eased over and the trio sped up.
“There,” said Hugo, pointing forward. Four police cars were entering the highway, nose-to-tail on the hard shoulder and doing no more than twenty miles an hour.
“Perfect,” Lerens said, picking up the handset: “Lerens here. We’re passing the road block, have them take up position.”
Hugo turned and saw the cars move into the slow lane, then fan slowly across the highway. They’d maintain a sped of fifty or so, their roof lights alerting the traffic speeding up on them, then after five minutes they’d slow everyone down to a crawl, and then a stop, creating a safe zone between the public and her team as they pulled over Alexie Tourville. That, at least, was the theory.
The police car in front of them moved to the center lane, letting Lerens take the lead before moving in behind.
“A black Golf GTI,” Lerens said — to herself, it seemed. Trucks dotted the road in front of them, blocking much of their view and she leaned forward as if by doing so she could see past them.
“You drive, I’ll watch for it,” Hugo said.
“Not a chance.”
They sped past a double-decker coach in the center lane and almost missed the Golf. Hugo spotted it as it disappeared behind the smoked glass and shining body of the huge passenger vehicle.
“There, let the coach get ahead, she’s in the slow lane.”
Lerens tapped the brakes and used the speeding behemoth as cover. She picked up the radio handset, her message for the drivers behind them, but heard by the entire team.
“Visual confirmation of the suspect. She’s in the slow lane. I’ll get right behind her, Cabret stay to my left, Sorelle use the shoulder in case she dumps and runs.”
They drifted out from behind the coach like fighter planes, swinging across the road to position themselves behind the enemy. They cheated left a little, ignoring the white lines of the road to cover it more fully and making sure the car with two wheels on the shoulder wasn’t too close to the retaining wall. Lerens clenched her jaw in concentration, one hand on the wheel and the other on the radio, ready to give the order. Hugo squinted as he saw movement in the black car that was thirty yards ahead.
“Looks like two people inside,” he said.
Lerens grunted acknowledgment, then glanced at her wingmen. She held down the call button and said, “Two suspects in the target vehicle. We’re going now.”
She dropped the handset and pressed a button on the overhead panel, the car’s siren beginning its insistent wail, joined immediately by those either side.
Thirty-Three
The brake lights on the Golf flared red for a second and the car jigged left, as if the driver had twitched involuntarily. Hugo could see the two people in the front of the car turning to look behind, then ahead again.
“Looks like she cut her hair,” Hugo said, though it was hard to be sure. The rear window had a dark tint to it and it may just have been a hat or even a pony tail changing her profile.
“I would, too,” Lerens said, “but then I’d also ditch my phone and use someone else’s car. Maybe she didn’t have time for all three.” They both stiffened as the car signaled an intent to pull to the shoulder on the right. “Here we go.”
All four vehicles slowed in unison, the VW sliding to the hard shoulder.
“They’re planning to run,” Hugo said. Lerens glanced at him, inviting an explanation. “They undid their seat belts already,” he explained.
Hugo looked left and right, gauging the terrain. Open fields lay to both sides, so either they’d come to their senses or he was in for a long, muddy run. As the cars came to a halt, Lerens killed the siren and the two either side of them did the same. The steady beat of the police helicopter was audible, now, and getting louder. Hugo leaned forward and looked up. The chopper swung overhead, no more than a hundred feet from the ground, wheeling in the air so its nose pointed down at them like a bird of prey waiting to swoop down on its meal. Hugo hoped its sudden appearance would be added deterrence for Alexie and her partner, the final assurance that running would be futile.