Snake Eyes

29.

Without hesitation I make the hard right onto the side street, trusting that Drysdale has already determined the risky move to be a necessary navigational tactic. He tells me to take a left at the next street and then a quick right. This maneuvering should put us in a position to meet the ambulance as it passes in about thirty seconds. Quickly I confirm their current position from our eyes in the sky. We are a go. We will intercept. 

We will have to take a few chances, make an assumption, and then roll the dice hoping like hell to get lucky. I ask traffic control to send local police backup to the intended intercept location, pull the rig into a blocking position in the middle of the road and flip on the Christmas lights. Drysdale, weapon out and up, starts walking in the direction of the ambulance, the only vehicle on the road and approaching fast. I do likewise, a few seconds behind and to his right. 

This could get ugly I think scanning for an exit strategy should the ambulance make a run for it. The ambulance is on us and brakes to a halt. In addition to the driver we can see one other person. Drysdale goes to the passenger side and I to the drivers. With my Glock making the official statement of intent I command them to put their hands on top of their heads and not to move a muscle. Carefully I open the door, make a quick visual assessment and pull the driver from the vehicle. I force him to the pavement and immobilize his hands with the plastic snap-ties. Drysdale has done likewise with the other and is walking him to where the driver lies kissing the asphalt. I tell Drysdale to stay put and watch the two as I inch towards the rear of the ambulance. 

“Come out of the rear door with your hands high,” I yell. 

Nothing. Nada. No sound. 

A local black and white screeches to a stop in front of our rig, essentially blocking traffic from both directions. The officers hustle to where Drysdale stands and assume secure positions acting as cover for my next move. 

“There isn’t anyone in there.” The driver yells. 

I look at him and consider if he might be lying. “You’re alone?” I ask.

“Yes” 

“Where was your last stop?”

“We were headed to Community General but called away at the last minute, and then re-routed to a pick up in Chester.”

I reach to open the dual rear-doors of the ambulance already knowing what I am about to find. 

No patient, no wheel-chair and definitely no Saunders. 

Snake Eyes.