Jose and Maria Le Grand and their two children, Blake, 14, and Alexis, 6, had just spent a long weekend at Jose's parents' home in New Jersey. For this close-knit New York City family, it had been a pleasant respite from the noise and hustle. But now it was time to head home. Jose, 44, dressed casually in a Yankees jersey, knew the highways would be clogged with weekend partyers later that Monday, so he packed up the family early. They said their goodbyes and were well on their way by 7.30am in the Le Grands' white Ford Expedition.

Just as they approached the entrance to the Pulaski Skyway, a silver Mercedes-Benz directly in front of their SUV slowed to almost a complete stop. After a moment, Jose hooted. The Mercedes lurched forwards. Then it drifted from right to left across the lanes – and kept on going.

Jose gave Maria a worried look. "It's kind of early to be driving drunk," he said as he watched the car weave up the on-ramp. The Mercedes in front of them lurched again. Once on the skyway, there was no shoulder for five and a half kilometres, as the elevated roadway spanned two rivers. "Stay back," said a concerned Maria, "in case we have to make a quick stop."

Jose slowed until he was about ten car lengths behind what he was now convinced was a very drunk driver. The big sedan swayed across the two northbound lanes. Then, bam! It slammed into the wall separating traffic, bounced off and drifted to the right.

Maria implored her husband to get away from the weaving car. If the Mercedes wiped out at 90 kilometres per hour, as seemed likely, the Le Grand family, travelling behind it, would be in danger, too.

"I'm going to try to get in front of it," Jose assured her, as the Mercedes hit the barrier again, and careened back into the lane. Back and forth it went in a drunken dance. Maria turned to the children in the backseat. As calmly as she could, she explained what they planned to do. "Make sure you have your seat belts on."

At about ten minutes to eight that same morning, Grace Sato's cellphone rang. Her daughter, Reiko, aged 8, had spent the weekend with her father, Joseph Balagot, Grace's ex-husband. She was due home later that morning. Taking the call, Grace was surprised to hear her little girl crying hysterically.

"Mum, call 911. Something's wrong with dad."
"Mum, call 911. Something is wrong with Dad," said Reiko between sobs. "He's not moving. He's not talking."
"Is he sleeping?" Grace asked, not understanding why her daughter sounded so upset.
"I don't know," Reiko screamed into the phone.
Grace couldn't figure out what to make of her child's distress. "Where are you?" she asked.
"We're on the Pulaski now."
It took a moment to sink in. They were in the car? On the Pulaski Skyway? Joseph must have fallen asleep while driving. No, that was inconceivable. He'd never do anything to put his daughter in danger.

Reiko told Grace that her dad had been holding his chest, and Grace immediately understood. Her ex-husband had a heart condition. How many times had she scolded him for not taking his medicine?

She listened with increasing alarm as her little girl described how the car had hit the barrier. She said that her father's head had banged against the driver's-side window. His hands had dropped from his chest. He had become very still. Saliva was at the corners of his mouth.

Reiko had climbed into the front passenger seat and tried to steer the car, but she didn't know how. And it just kept on going.

Trying to quell her own rising panic, Grace told her daughter to stay on the line. With her free hand, she reached for the other phone and dialled 911.

Moments of impact
Jose Le Grand waited until the silver Mercedes in front of him had momentarily settled into the left lane. Then he gunned his Expedition's engine. When they were about a car length behind, he looked down into the other vehicle.

For a split second, he didn't know what to make of the surreal scene: a little girl in the front seat frantically screamed into a cellphone. But the view that stunned him as he passed the car was of the driver – a man slumped to the right over the wheel, apparently unconscious.

"Oh, my God, Maria," he said. "I think he had a heart attack."

Jose kept accelerating to pass the Mercedes, which seemed to be moving with a will of its own. It went faster as if to outrun him, hitting speeds of 90 to 100 kilometres per hour.

The driver's foot must still be weighing on the accelerator, Jose realised. If somebody didn't do something quickly, the little girl in the Mercedes would be killed.

Glancing behind him at his own six-year-old daughter in the backseat, Jose felt a rush of guilt. What if it were his child in the runaway car?

He explained to his wife that he'd never forgive himself if he didn't do something. "I've got to stop that car," Jose said.
"Hang on," he told his family.
He pulled back into the left lane, directly in front of the big silver sedan. There was only one way to stop this thing. He'd have to let it ram the SUV.

As his wife called 911 and, close to hysteria, tried to explain what they had seen, Jose calculated how to stop the Mercedes without causing an accident or harming his family.

He lifted his foot off the accelerator. The big sedan kept coming, kept accelerating, kept swaying. Jose stayed in front of it, gauging its speed as his own car slowed. The Mercedes closed in on the SUV. Closer . . . closer . . . until it plowed into the Expedition. The shock of the impact threw Jose forwards against the steering wheel. His kids screamed and his wife cried out. The driverless Mercedes was now pushing them down the Pulaski. Jose felt a twinge of fear, but he kept his cool.

Controlling the situation
He threw the big Ford into neutral; the Mercedes and the SUV continued barrelling down the skyway in tandem. He had to slow it down.

He shifted into low gear. The two vehicles began to decelerate. Jose pumped the brakes – more and more until, finally, he was able to bring both cars to a complete stop at a bend in the road.

Other cars whizzed past them as Jose jumped from the driver's seat. He ran back to the Mercedes. He reached in to check the driver's vital signs. No pulse. No signs of breathing.

Looking around for an instant, Jose realised they had ended up in a dangerous spot. Vehicles wouldn't see them clearly until they came around the bend. This was an accident waiting to happen. He'd have to move quickly.

Several kilometres away in her Jersey City home, with her frantic daughter on one line and the 911 emergency operator on the other, Grace Sato felt utterly helpless. Then, between sobs, Reiko was able to tell her mother about the Expedition in front of her father's car. The driver had let their car collide with his, then slowed it to a stop. Now the people in the big Ford were coming to help.

"A bus, a bus! Run!"
Grace heard someone talking to Reiko. The man from the SUV was trying to get Reiko to help open the door of the Mercedes, so he could pull her out to safety. Grace listened to the good Samaritan's voice in the background. She did not know if her ex-husband was alive or dead, but at least, it seemed, someone was trying to help Reiko. And then Grace heard a woman scream. The words were loud and frightening enough to cut through her daughter's sobs: "A bus, a bus! Run!"

"Jose, run!" cried Maria. "There's a bus coming, there's a bus coming." A huge tour company bus was coming around the bend in the road – a blind spot on the Pulaski Skyway.

Just 90 metres behind them, it was travelling very fast in the left lane, the same lane where they were stopped. Would the driver see them in time? If not, the massive motor coach probably had enough force behind it to crush both stopped vehicles. Jose had planned to pull the little girl out, but traffic had prevented him from getting her door open in time. His own two children were now at immediate risk in the backseat of his SUV. Jose raced back to the Expedition, got in, and floored it. The bus kept coming. It looked like it was going to crash into the Mercedes. Just four and a half or six metres behind the car with the little girl inside, the mammoth coach finally swerved into the right lane. It blasted past with such speed and force that it shook the Le Grands' SUV. Maria and Alexis screamed.

Jose, now another 15 or more metres down the skyway, put his Expedition back into park, ready to return to the Mercedes and to try to save the child inside.

As he jumped out of his car a second time, he saw that the Mercedes-Benz was on the move once again, coming back at them. In the rush and confusion, he hadn't turned the engine off.

He dashed back behind the wheel of his vehicle, but before he could put it into gear, the Mercedes crashed into them again. Ignoring the jolt, Jose hit the brakes hard. The two cars slowed and, once again, came to a halt.

Wasting no time, Jose raced back to the Mercedes, slammed the car into park and then grabbed the little girl. She was crying hysterically, and he could not get her seat belt to unbuckle.

Safe at last
At last, he simply yanked the small child through the belt, then ran back to his car with her in his arms. He slid her into the backseat with Alexis and Blake. While Maria gave the 911 operators an update, little Alexis tried to comfort Reiko, who was still weeping. She took one of her stuffed bears and placed it in the child's arms, and her sobs diminished.

Police and rescue workers arrived in minutes. Jose Le Grand helped administer CPR to the unconscious driver, but he was past hope. Joseph Balagot was pronounced dead at 8.44am.

Grace Sato arrived at the scene moments later. Frantic, but holding back tears, she jumped over the barrier into the confusion of whirling police lights and stopped cars. "Where's my daughter?" she cried. A man in a Yankees jersey pointed the way. Reiko was crying and had a gash on her forehead, but otherwise the child seemed unhurt. She reached for her mother. Grace embraced her little girl and carried her to the car. Each of them was too overcome with emotion to speak.

At the hospital, Grace heard the sad news about her ex-husband. But her daughter was alive. It was a miracle, of the man-made kind. And, to Jose Le Grand, whose heart was as big as his mind was quick, Grace Sato will be forever grateful.