Bridging the Gulf (Aka Engulfed)

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  David King drove this same route daily. Promotion with ICI had taken him from the Agro-chemicals division based in Huddersfield, to Blakeley in Manchester for part of the week. He had worked with the company abroad, once in Japan and for three months in Holland. He loved his job. Fortunately, his home in Stainland was ideally placed for commuting either to Manchester or Huddersfield. He preferred Huddersfield but every Wednesday and Friday he had meetings in Blakeley. He liked to be in work as early as possible and could have taken any number of routes to Manchester. A friend had told him that although the motorway was down to single lanes, the traffic was lighter than expected, the other roads taking the traffic. It had been a toss-up between the A58 and the motorway; the motorway won. He had never played Russian roulette before and he never would again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Roy was awake early and out running, the mornings were noticeably colder of late and he wore a full tracksuit. He ran down towards Peel Park. Turning in at the gates brought him to the boating lake, deserted and eerie. A few roosting fowl splashed and scooted hurriedly across the mirror-like pond. He ran round passing the toilets and up the hill towards the bowling green. A fellow runner approached from the opposite direction, hot breath clouding in lungfuls from his mouth. He lifted his hand and bid Roy good morning. Ahead of Roy were some stone steps that took him onto the tarmac driveway. He took them two at a time. He checked his watch. 07.25.

  ***

  David reversed the Audi A4 out of the garage and pressed the control on the dashboard; the garage door began to close. He had purchased the automatic doors not as a sign of ostentation but to keep his wife safe. There were few streetlights in the village and he was concerned about her leaving the car in the dark to open the garage door. He had realised its worth during a bad storm when normally he would end up fumbling with the lock and getting soaked, now a press of a button ended that misery.

  He joined the motorway at junction 23 and to his surprise the traffic, now two lanes, was moving slowly west, but it was moving. He flicked on the radio. It was 07.30. The flashing blue lights ahead warned that traffic would be filtering into one lane and although there was a slowing, the filter process was very efficient and the traffic crawled on. On descending the hill, Scammonden Dam came into view, almost empty after a dry summer. The Yorkshire Water Authority still imposed water limits to customers in the form of hose pipe bans, and a number of local people felt that the Authority kept this reservoir unnaturally low to justify their bans. Many of the other reservoirs out of the general public's view were brimming over. He smiled and nodded to himself as he viewed the extended slipways that ran to the dregs of water in the hollow just out of view. There would be no sailing here for some time. His phone rang.

  "How is it?" a sleepy voice asked. It was his wife who had been woken as he left but who had curled back under the warmth of the quilt.

  "It's fine darling. Slight mist but nothing serious. Just by the reservoir. Traffic's slow but we're still moving. I'll ring you when I'm in work. Don't go back to bed." He joked with her and pulled her leg. They had been married for six years, there were no children. "Love you."

  He switched off the phone and threw it on the leather passenger seat. The traffic moved like a giant red eel up out of the gorge and onto the exposed part of the moor. Mist hung in tendrils from a heavy sky, broken by the orange motorway lights. It was there that the motorway separated to miss a solitary farmhouse before joining again at the top of the hill. It was there too that the bomb waited, biding its time, electronically ticking ... waiting.

  ***

  Roy rounded the bandstand and carried on up the hill, his breathing was unsteady and he felt positively unwell. His head began to swim and he stopped, propping himself against a lamppost. He inhaled deeply, trying to control his erratic gasping. "Overdone things this time,” he muttered out loud between gasps. He flopped forwards, putting his hands on his knees before stretching up again. He had a stitch in his side. The time was 07.46. He started walking, gently at first until he felt he was more in control of his breathing then picked up the pace, he was now simply walking rather than running. "You're gonna have to slow down, stop this foolish running, my lad," he chastised himself. He never did like the cold. Soon this would be behind him and the warmth of the Mediterranean would be his.

  ***

  David saw the foot of the giant telecommunications mast appear out of the mist to his left. He knew he only had a mile of crawling left before the motorway would open again to three lanes. The red fog hazard light of the vehicle in front was bright and dazzling but essential in this weather. The car in front stopped. Above he could see the footbridge swathed in the mist. The middle of the span from the centre of the motorway was about twenty metres high. He was not directly under it. Suddenly there was a large white flash and an instantaneous bang which seemed to shake the car, followed by a second from the other side, then a third and a fourth. The brightness cut through the mist like a flashing blade and caused David to turn away. Small pieces of concrete rattled the bonnet of the car, cracking the windscreen. He shook his head and blinked, trying to clear the flash from his eyes.

  ***

  Roy slowed again, his heart was beating in an irregular pattern and he began to sweat profusely. He staggered to the gate, the back entrance to the park. He gasped for air and held his chest. Pain tore through his chest wall and everything went black.

  ***

  The span had been detached by the series of timed explosions at either side, and the arch turned onto its side and hung in the air, tethered by three reinforcement bars that were attached to one side and two to the other. They were no match for the huge weight of the bridge, they simply turned like florists’ wire, twisting around themselves before snapping as the tumbling concrete span crashed onto the vehicles below, crushing them with ease. The only visible part of the Audi was the boot which stuck into the air. Strangely its rear lights were still on. The bonnet and front seats were totally flattened. David never felt a thing; one minute he was alive rubbing his eyes, the next minute crushed and lifeless. His phone, trapped between the backrest and the seat started to ring and ring. It would never be answered. It was 07.52.

  ***

  It was an old lady who found Roy; she had been exercising her dog in the park as she always did. At first she thought it was a tramp until she noticed his running shoes and watch. She bent near, not touching him and spoke.

  "Are you all right? Hello." She bravely moved her hand to his shoulder and gently shook him. He collapsed sideways giving out a breath as he did so. The lady jumped and her dog barked as it darted away to hide behind her legs, more timid than its owner. Quickly she moved out of the park and onto the road. The first few cars ignored her frantic attention seeking but a lorry driver stopped. He dashed round to Roy and felt for a pulse on his neck. There it was.

  "He's not dead, probably overdone his running, silly sod, looks like a heart problem."

  The driver ran back to his lorry and dialled 999 on his mobile. By now a group of people had gathered round but the old lady was having none of it.

  "There's nothing to see, clear off or I'll set the dog on ya. He's going to be alright, we've phoned for an ambulance". The dog barked more out of fear and uncertainty than aggression.

  ***

  The A&E unit of the Bradford Royal Infirmary was quiet at that time of the morning. Roy had come round in the ambulance and was breathing oxygen. The casualty doctor wired up the ECG and monitored the results. Owing to his age he would be taken to coronary care for twenty-four-hour observation. Roy still felt tightness in his chest as the doctor worked around him.

  "Run far?"

  "My usual distance but a new route. I feel bloody awful." He spoke, removing the oxygen mask briefly.

  "What’s your name and address, please?" A nurse wrote down the details and left to check them on file.

  Roy had to think for a minute and then answered. "I've been out of sorts really, probably getting to
o cocky and pushing the hills a bit much."

  The doctor carried on taking his blood pressure and tried again with the ECG. "Has anything like this happened to you before?"

  "No, but I’ve had trouble since returning from the Gulf War. I've had all the tests but they say there's nothing traceable, probably psychosomatic."

  The doctor looked at Roy's hand. "This, a souvenir of the conflict?" Their eyes met and Roy nodded.

  "I was the lucky one. Everyone else paid the ultimate price of freedom."

  "I want the Registrar to take a look at you and we’re going to find you a bed, just so we can monitor things for twenty-four hours. I believe it to be a muscle pain and we can treat that with drugs. Who can we call to say you're here?" Roy gave the doctor his home number. Roy was exactly where he wanted to be. He was a better actor than he thought.

  ***

  The emergency services took no time at all to arrive at the scene of devastation. The closed lanes allowed swift travel. Luckily there were only two vehicles that took a direct hit from the collapsing span: the Audi, now only partly visible and a Transit van. The van had been crushed directly behind the cab and luckily the driver and passenger had only been treated for shock. The dilemma was the Audi. The front of the vehicle was totally hidden under the structure and the police had no way of knowing how many people were in the car. The traffic police requested computer details from the car registration number to find the owner. The vehicle was registered to ICI. It was some time before they received the driver's details and a call could be made to his house in Stainland.

  ***

  The police vehicle pulled up outside the house an hour after the explosion. The curtains were still closed. Penny, David's wife, had taken his advice and left the comfort of the quilt, showered and was just about to tidy away the breakfast things. She had been concerned about David and had telephoned again to say she was up, but he had not answered her call. She waited for his response from the office with growing anxiety. The doorbell rang, instinctively she moved to the phone before realising the error.

  She was surprised to find the police at the door and her face registered that surprise rather than shock. WPC Higginson had been in the force some years and this was not the first bad news call she had made in that time. She introduced herself and her colleague and showed her their ID.

  "May we come in Mrs King?" The way the question was asked gave her little time to dawdle, the two officers were moving forwards. She instinctively showed them to the lounge. "Mrs King please sit down. We need some information about your husband, David."

  Penny put her hands to her head and tears grew in her eyes that were wide and staring. "Is he all right? Has there been an accident? He didn't answer the phone. I knew there was something wrong, I just knew it. What's happened?"

  The WPC nodded to her male colleague to put the kettle on as she moved across to the settee and put a comforting arm around the now weeping woman. "There's been an accident but I'm afraid we can't get to the driver in the car. Mrs King, was your husband alone this morning, driving to work?" She simply nodded. “The emergency services are there at present but I'm sorry to say they feel there is little hope of finding David alive."

  Penny let out a wail like an injured animal and beat at the chest of the officer until she grew weak. "It can't be David, it can't be. Please God no, not David.” She broke down and began to cry.

  The officer in the kitchen had heard everything and called control to inform those at the scene that there was only one person in the vehicle. It would be eight hours before the body was freed and eighteen before the motorway was running again.

  ***

  Joan was just leaving the house when the phone rang. She dashed to it thinking it was Roy. She had been worried. He was never usually so long on his runs. The hospital explained the situation and she put the phone down before lifting it to ring school. She would not be in for a couple of days.

  ***

  The news of the blast had sent shock waves throughout all participating police authorities and the ripples did not stop until they were knocking on the door of Number 10. The Home Secretary wanted urgent clarification of the situation after the securing of the agreement to meet the demands. There was total confusion as to whether this was one of GULF’S or whether copycat bombings were starting. They needed to convene urgently.

  The Assistant Commissioner, Special Operations (ACSO), The Director General of the Security Services, Robin Carey and Alexander Smythe Commander of the Anti-terrorist Branch of Scotland Yard met with the Home Secretary to discuss the future planning and to assess their position in the ever-changing game.

  "Just what on earth is going on? I thought that agreement would be posted in the 'Telegraph' to meet the needs of GULF, only to find that another bridge has been targeted and the newspapers are making a total meal of the situation. This is not good. I thought we had this thing sewn up tightly."

  "My guess is he's playing with us letting us know that we can't relax with him. He wants us to know he's in control and not, as we thought, the other way round." Alexander Smythe's, assumption was right. GULF didn't want them to think it would be over so easily.

  "The press are baying at our doors wanting to know what's going on and they are prepared to play along, providing the latest on the M62 bomb is released."

  "Right," frowned the Home Secretary. “Arrange a news conference for tomorrow. I want a story for them. I want it clearly understood that on no account must payment be mentioned, only that very positive steps have been made and an end to the problem is imminent. I want it as open as that, seeing this character is as unpredictable as a cornered rat."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The seven words were clearly printed in the personal column as arranged but Roy was having difficulty in getting a copy. He had made a number of requests but there was little response as other nursing tasks were the priority. At last the news trolley came into the ward and Roy eagerly requested a copy to find that he had no money; he never ran with any. The sister, however, seeing his great eagerness for a paper, thought unless she bought it for him his blood pressure would rise. There it was, clear as day. He smiled and sank back into the pillows letting the paper rest on the bed. "Yes!" he said triumphantly to himself. His thoughts were disturbed by talk of another bomb; a number of nurses had seen it on the morning news.

  "Nurse!" he shouted. "What's this about another bombing?" He knew all the details but he had no idea of whether it had been a success.

  The nurse told Roy all she had seen on the news and cursed the callousness and cowardly actions of these people. Roy made all the right sounds, agreeing with her character assassination. From the corner of his eye he saw Joan appearing through the doors at the bottom of the ward. She was obviously flustered. The sister intercepted her and informed her of his condition. She pointed to him and walked with her up the ward.

  "Visitor for you, Roy." She quickly noted the responses on the electronic wizardry that were placed on either side of the bed before turning to Joan. "You may be able to collect him tomorrow if all proves well. Will you be calling in this afternoon or tonight?"

  "Both, I hope. Thank you for looking after him," she said as the sister moved away. "Brought you some water and some grapes but I really didn't know what to expect." She bent over the bed and kissed him. "Watch my blood pressure. We don't want to give any false readings do we now? It's good to see you. I really must pack this jogging game in and accept that I'm not as fit as I used to be."

  "The sister tells me they think it's some kind of muscle problem and drugs should see you out of here by tomorrow. Let's hope the Registrar thinks so when he sees you later this morning." She looked up at the monitors and the wires leading to various parts of his anatomy. "Do you need anything?"

  The sister moved towards the bed and asked Joan to leave as the doctor would be commencing his rounds shortly.

  She left money and his wallet before leaving. She was going to call into school to have a word
with the Head to organise some time to be with Roy on his release.

  The Registrar agreed with the original diagnosis and cleared it so that Roy would leave the following morning after his rounds. Roy settled back with his paper and read. He kept retuning to the personal ads, reading the seven words over and over again, ‘The GULF is bridged, cross when ready’. He was winning the battle, but could he win the war?

  ***

  The mist hung in mourning as the rescue crews struggled with the wreckage of bridge and vehicles. The police were fortunate to be in a position to divert all the westbound traffic away from the scene, but the east bound were not so lucky as the bridge had blocked their route to the exit lane. The closing of the three lanes into one allowed the vehicles trapped within the single lane system between the last turn off and the broken bridge, a distance of some three and a half miles, to negotiate an escape route. They simply turned and ran down the fast lane in the wrong direction, eventually turning along the slip road that usually fed cars onto the motorway, only to become snarled up in the traffic leaving down the other. It was clearly chaotic but it was the best they could do under the circumstances. The only vehicles directed towards the bridge were the number of heavy lift cranes and wagons needed to remove it, a task that proved difficult and frustrating for all concerned.

  It was amazing too how the press could get where dirt could not, and despite the misty conditions, helicopters hovered photographing what they could of the tragedy. From the direction of Manchester drove a white Land Rover Discovery, headed by a police motorcycle. It cut through the traffic using the hard shoulder before squeezing through the queuing lines. Once clear it picked up speed heading for the summit of the hill and the fallen bridge. Inside were Carl Howarth and two colleagues from the Forensic Team. In his mind he hoped that this bomb would reveal the same hallmark of GULF, it would then allay fears of copycat bombings.