‘‘MAITLAND, FOUR!’’ my car radio blared, and nearly scared me to death.

No answer. Dispatch probably hadn’t heard him, down in his tree-filled hole. Four was the call sign of Johansen. He was transmitting on the AID channel, as instructed. He sounded out of breath and excited. Did they have the suspect? I began to suspect that the popping sound had been a four-wheeler.

I picked up my mike and went on a different channel from Four. ‘‘Maitland, Three,’’ I said, ‘‘Four has traffic on AID.’’

‘‘Unable to copy him, Three,’’ came the soft, feminine reply.

I was starting my engine and closing the door. I figured they’d need transport now, for sure.

‘‘MAITLAND, FOUR ON AID!’’

He sure sounded excited. I headed the car down the rutted lane as fast as I could. Maybe the suspect had fled, and would be heading toward a vehicle parked somewhere on the gravel road that snaked through the base of the hills.

‘‘He’s got traffic, Maitland,’’ I said. He couldn’t hear me on the INFO channel, which was fine, as I didn’t want to interfere with his talking to the base station on the AID channel.

She heard him on his third attempt.

‘‘Go ahead, Four…’’

‘‘MAITLAND, THIS IS FOUR… THIS IS TEN-THIRTY-THREE, I REPEAT, TEN-THIRTY-THREE! WE’VE BEEN HIT, AUTOMATIC WEAPONS, 688 IS SHOT! I NEED ASSISTANCE, FAST!’’

A brief pause.

‘‘Four,’’ she said, pretty calmly, ‘‘I copy ten-thirty-three, ten-thirty-two, one officer down?’’

‘‘Ten-four!’’

‘‘Maitland… all cars… ten-thirty-three, Basil State Park, ten-thirty-two, officer down, possible automatic weapons…’’