East of Hounslow: A funny, clever and addictive spy thriller, shortlisted for a CWA Dagger 2018. Khurrum Rahman
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give the uniform the slightest of nods as the traffic lights turned green and the patrol car turned towards the police station. And we went in the opposite direction.
I waited a minute‚ thinking maybe there was another car park for unmarked police cars. When that didn’t materialise my mind went into overdrive. I couldn’t think of one rational reason why they wouldn’t have taken me to Hounslow Nick and then with a jolt I realised that when they had arrested me‚ they hadn’t read out my rights or my charges.
I started to see signs for Isleworth and then Brentford and the next thing I knew we were on the fucking motorway.
‘Where we going?’ I was frightened as to what the response might be. And they gave me the most unnerving response possible.
Silence.
I looked at the back of their heads. I could see their side profiles and they carried no-nonsense‚ business-like expressions on their faces.
They definitely weren’t the police and this was definitely not an arrest.
Was I was getting kidnapped? I know how that sounded‚ but I couldn’t think of any other explanation. Could this be Silas’ doing? He had always been one for the dramatics but I still had two days left before my deadline.
I positioned myself so I had my back towards the door and I could just about grip the handle. But then what? Even if they hadn’t locked me in‚ what was I going to do? Jump out onto the motorway with the car doing north of seventy? I glanced around the car‚ desperately searching for other options. A boot to the side of the driver’s face would cause the car to veer‚ leading to a possible distraction. But at this speed‚ on the motorway‚ with a Heavy Goods Vehicle in the next lane‚ there was every chance that I could end up in a far worse situation than I was in already.
My shoulders ached because of the unnatural position my chained hands were in. If shit kicked off and I had to defend myself‚ I would have no chance with my hands trapped behind my back. I had to try and bring them to my front. I pushed my shoulders back as far as they could go and tried to slide my hands from underneath. It was a tricky manoeuvre and I almost popped my shoulder at one point. Hollywood made everything look so easy. I was seriously out of breath and my hands were now trapped under my arse. Every muscle in my upper body screamed to give up. So I did.
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