The traffic lights were wirelessly connected to the wider Manchester network. The components were simple: each light had a sensor that detected oncoming cars and was connected to traffic controllers that read the sensor’s inputs and controlled the colour of the lights. The controllers for this junction were located in a metal cabinet next to the footbridge, and they communicated with themselves and the central server by way of radios operating at 5.8 GHz. Ziggy had opened the box and found a debug port that had been left open for testing purposes. He had plugged in a small homemade radio receiver. Now, as the controllers received his message, they switched over to the script that he had prepared: the lights on the east and westbound A580 went red.

Ziggy looked over at the feed from the camera on the bridge and zoomed in once until he could make out the distinctive shape of the Bentley Continental. He was about to radio the information to the others, but Milton got there first.

“This is Milton. Jackson is the third car in line. Repeat: the Bentley is the third car.”

“This is Ziggy. Confirming that. Ready, Chase?”

“This is Chase. Do it.”

Ziggy moused down to the second open command box and hit return.

“Switching lights to green.”

28

Milton waited at the pedestrian crossing. He could see Chase inside the Mondeo: he was watching the lights.

All of the lights that governed the junction were red; then, all at once, they changed.

Red and orange.

Green.

The first car to cross the junction was a VW Golf.

Chase held his position.

The second was a Range Rover Sport.

The third car, just behind the Range Rover, was a Bentley Continental.

The Golf rolled out.

The Range Rover followed.

Chase pressed down on the accelerator and the Mondeo lurched ahead. The impact looked unavoidable. The Mondeo struck the offside-front wheel of the Bentley with a hefty impact, causing the front of Jackson’s car to slide out into the middle of the road. The rear end skidded into the traffic island, slicing through the yellow plastic warning bollard and coming to rest against the raised kerb.

Milton kept walking.

The rear of the Bentley was alongside the dotted lines where pedestrians were encouraged to cross and, as Milton approached, he could see that he would be able to reach over without even breaking stride. He couldn’t have asked for more.

The driver’s side of the vehicle was facing Milton and, as he approached, the door opened and Anthony Jackson stepped out into the road. He was a big man, with rounded shoulders that looked powerful and arms that were bunched with muscle. His waist was tapered and his legs were solid. He went around the front of the car so that he could inspect the damage.