Making an effort to control my breathing and to muffle the sound of my rapidly pounding heart, I leaned forward and examined the controls of the auto intently.
There was a phone. Not a visiphone, of course, but a phone nonetheless. A means of communication. There was also a luminous radar dial that might or might not mean automatic controls.
Which might or might not be in operation.
I concentrated on the hands and feet of the driver. Neither moved perceptibly. The course of the vehicle was straight and constant, though, so that didn't prove anything.
"Hey, where in hell is this police station?" I asked.
With a slight backward-turning motion of his head, the driver replied, "Almost there. Just a few minutes now."
As his head moved, his hands moved the wheel a bare fraction. The auto did not swerve.
I took a deep breath and hit the driver on the side of the head with my doubled right fist as hard as I could. He slumped, and I hit him again. His hands slid from the wheel ... and the car continued on its course.
I clambered into the front seat with the driver.