Get a hold of yourself, Sean said aloud. “You want to live another day. He looked in his rear view mirror, then back to the man with the gun. Sean saw his chance with an opening in the traffic, applying his foot full force on the accelerator, his trucks rear wheels spinning in response, swaying towards the side of the road. When his trucks wheels finally caught the asphalt, he narrowly merged between a semi and a school bus.
Realizing he lost any chance for a clear shot, Peter ran along the grass strip still trying to aim his 9mm at the escaping flatbed. When the flatbed appeared once again in his gun’s sight, a large semi-truck blared its horn due to Sean merging his truck a little too close to his own.
This one action saved Sean’s life as Peter glanced away momentarily, allowing Sean to move out of range of the 9mm.
Seeing he was free, Sean once again merged his truck to the outer lanes in order to escape the mad man. What in the hell did I do? Sean thought as he fumbled for his CB radio.
“Come in Action Jackson base,” he screamed into the CB radio’s mike, looking in his rear view mirror for the nutcase to suddenly pull up behind him somewhere. “Damn it Sissy, come in,” Sean yelled again into the mike.
Sissy had just exited the bathroom when Sean’s first request came across. She hurried back to the receiver in time for his second appeal. “Sean, this is Sissy. What’s the problem baby?” She said slowly and deliberately.
“Some nut case just pulled a weapon on me! Can you believe that? He wanted to shoot me because I only wanted to help him! What’s this world coming too?”
“It’s okay, baby,” Sissy said slowly, trying to calm him down. “Was this the same vehicle you provided me the plates only 5 minutes ago?”
That’s right! He forgot about that. He could call the plate into the State Police and get this guy pulled over. “Sissy, I want you to call the State Police and tell them what happened. I want you to tell them it was a black, Ford F-150; you have the plates. It happened at mile marker 25 heading west on 50. The man was dark skinned, middle-eastern I think.”
“Okay, I’m going to call it in right now.” She realized he was too upset to realize he could call it in himself over channel nine on his CB, the police emergency channel. “I want you to promise me that you will be back here as soon as possible. No more runs today; do you hear me? Turn that rig around and return to base!”
Sean couldn’t agree more. This being the first time anybody had ever pulled a gun on him. “I couldn’t agree with you more baby. I’m on my way home.”
One mile back, Peter still stood by the side of the road, eying the passing vehicles before realizing he still held his weapon in clear sight for all to see. He quickly tucked the weapon back into his pants waistband before jumping back into his truck. As he did, Peter noticed the vehicle’s CB radio mounted on the side of its dashboard. This might come in handy. He knew from his briefings in Syria that the American CB radios also operate a police frequency. Another possible weapon to throw the police off his trail.
Seeing an opening in the traffic, Peter carefully merged his truck onto the highway, proceeding to Washington D.C. and immortality.
Officer Mark Lipatree of the Maryland State Police sat in an unmarked police cruiser west of the Routes 495 and 50 interchange, pulling speed checks. It was one of the two uninspiring necessities of police work, the other being testimony in court. He couldn’t complain, it was only his 2nd time in almost 30 days of “pulling speed” as his brethren would refer to it. Mark didn’t mind the routine duty, even thought he preferred to be on patrol or street assignment. That’s where the real action lay, catching the criminals and not your typical Joes who casually sped a few miles over the limit.
The mere presence of his vehicle provided enough of a deterrent for the speeders to slow down. At least until they passed him. No matter, this was downtime to him. It provided him with a few extra hours of time to study his computer programming course work. With only 4 years left until retirement, he hoped to have his degree in hand on the day he left the force.
Sitting in his unmarked car, he would occasionally look up to give the appearance of performing his civil duty. Sometimes even resetting the roof mounted radar unit to “shoot” a car or two. Only someone stupid enough to cruise by at ten miles or more per hour over the speed limit would find him giving chase. Most of the day would find him with a calculator in one hand and a well-used pencil in the other, trying to figure out his Advanced Calculus workload for his next class.
“Baker 12, Baker 12, we have a report of a man with a weapon,” the women dispatcher stated in a mono-tone voice. “He is at Route 50, mile marker 25, now proceeding west. It’s a black Ford F-150 pick-up, New Jersey Tags # five, nine, eight, zero, one. He should be considered armed and dangerous. Confirm please.”
Mark placed his books on the passenger side of the cruiser, reaching for his radio mike mounted to a shoulder harness, having replaced the old, bulky dashboard mounted radios of past. “Rodger Annapolis Center, Baker 12 will check out and report.”
He expertly unsnapped the radar gun from the roof, tossing it beside him. As he shifted from park, a truck matching the description sped by.
As he eased out into the highway, the traffic mysteriously parted to accommodate his police vehicle. Driving an unmarked car, the driver of the pick-up would have a hard time identifying his vehicle, using all 8 cylinders of his specially outfitted Detroit cruiser to gain position. Mark fluidly weaved in and out of the traffic pattern, careful not to be seen.
“Annapolis Center this is Baker 12, I have the suspected Black F-150 under surveillance. The vehicles plate matches your numbers provided. I will attempt to pull over it over at Mile marker 30. Back-up would be nice with this one.”
“Rodger that, Baker 12. Will attempt to have back-up available,” the distant, unseen female voice replied.
Slowing his police cruiser in order to position his vehicle behind the suspect’s pick-up, Mark turned on the siren.
Having figured out the basics for operating the CB, Peter selected the random mode. This allowed the CB scanner to randomly search channels, picking up any transmissions that were made within its limited range. The first channel it stopped on picked up a conversation between two truckers whose accents placed them well below the Mason\Dixon line; they were discussing the high price of diesel fuel. On the second attempt, he found what he was searching for, a transmission between a base station and a police cruiser. Listening carefully to the discussion, Peter overheard them discussing a black pick-up truck. He looked from side-to-side for any sign of a marked police car. Seeing none, he continued to listen to the conversation, losing the transmission briefly as he passed under the Route 495 overpass. As the transmission resumed, he saw a black car parked diagonally to the road off to his right, obviously a police car from its positioning.
In his rear view mirror, Peter saw the car quickly merge onto the highway and gradually ease its way up to his position, just slightly behind his truck, off to the right. No doubt the police officer wanted to be absolutely positive it was the right vehicle. Listening further, Peter determined the police were going to attempt to pull him over at mile marker 30. Peter waited patiently until the next marker appeared. At that point, the car to his right moved into a position behind him, turning on his siren and lights.
Peter closed his eyes for a few seconds, appealing to Allah to intercede. The unsuspecting police officer attempting to pull him over would be just another statistic in a few minutes.