Chapter 19

Dr. Jenkins and his team leader, Frodes, watched the race on one of the laptops while traveling by bus. Well, Dr. Jenkins was watching. What was actually playing out on the screen could put anyone to sleep and Frodes had already drifted off.

Jenkins’ eyes were heavy. He wanted to sleep like Frodes but he was waiting on a call from Appleton. The need for answers was pushing him to remain alert. He couldn’t put the last part of his plan into action until the scum bag was too focused on the FBI closing in to be causing his team any more problems.

He prayed that everything was going to go according to plan today. As a man of science his catholic upbringing had fallen to the way side. Now, he considered the man upstairs as the only one who could oversee Katrina and Richard’s safety.

The bus hit a particularly large bump in the road. Frodes awoke with a start. As he came to his senses, he sat up a little straighter.

“Did I miss anything?” Frodes asked.

“No, just endless riding on the bus watching others drive somewhere else. This has to be the most boring thing I have ever seen. Since there are so few cars left in the race there is no real action.” Jenkins said. “But I suppose that’s the best thing that could happen, no action.”

“Did the camera crews find Katrina yet?”

Jenkins shook his head. “No, that’s the only good news.”

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll watch for a while.” Frodes returned with a yawn.

“I won’t be able to sleep until I hear from Appleton, and when we are sure that Dillon and Kristin are not being followed. They have Katrina’s cell phone. If it was being tracked we should know soon. Kristin will call if they see anything suspicious.”

Frodes sat up straighter and turned the laptop towards Jenkins. “You don’t need to wait for her phone call, they’re on camera now.”

On the highway, white cars were as common as moths under a street lamp on a warm night. They watched the computer screen as a white Toyota Corolla cut in front of the box truck’s camera but they knew instantly that it was Dillon driving the car; he had his head out the driver’s side window and was shouting as loud as he could. Kristin’s arm waved out of her window.

The camera couldn’t pick up what Dillon was shouting but he was obviously trying to get someone’s attention.

Frodes and Jenkins shared a confused look before Frodes picked up his cell phone and dialed. On the screen they watched as Dillon pulled his head back in to his rental car and accelerated away, passing the racecar that the cameraman had originally been following. A second later six other vehicles came into view, two black SUV’s, a red pickup truck, three older styled sedans, and a light blue Honda coupe.

“Brilliant!” Jenkins exclaimed and started slapping Frodes on the arm to get his attention. “Put down the phone. We need to get those license plate numbers and call them into the state police. He brought them in front of the camera crew to get our attention.”

Frodes dropped the phone and pulled out a pen and started to write the numbers on his hand. Jenkins read them off the screen for him as they came into focus.

As they worked to get plate numbers and make notes about each vehicle, Kristin pulled herself out of the passenger window with the shotgun in her hands. The wind blew her long hair around her face, obstructing her vision as she prepared to fire the weapon at one of the cars behind her. She fired several rounds before their Corolla swerved to stay ahead of the racecar.

Both Jenkins and Frodes jaws dropped, too shocked to continue, hoping that Kristin could keep her balance as the car shifted.

“Oh my God!” Frodes shouted.

Eyes from a teenager in the seat behind them peered over Frodes’ shoulder to see what was going on.

~~~

Cosgrove slept soundly on the flight to Colorado. He dreamt of sitting in a chair at a beach eating an apple that tasted absolutely wonderful. Its flavor so enticed him. He sat on his beach chair in nothing more than a bathing suit. It was the best tasting apple he ever had and he had no idea what kind it was. Waves crashed on the rocks nearby with spectacular spray, sailboats in distance made the scene so picturesque in his mind, and the sun… oh the sun, it felt so warm on his skin. He took another bite. All he wanted now was someone to share this moment with. He considered several women in his mind’s eye but none of them seemed quite right. On reconsideration, maybe all that he needed were the waves and this apple.

Someone shook him and his body rejected the very idea of waking. The person shook him again.

“Let me finish my apple first,” he mumbled.

The dream came back strongly, as though he were on a rubber band and he had stretched the dream but not snapped out of it. A loud wave exploded on the rocks. The spray flew so high that some landed on his face. He laughed. Then he choked on the water in his mouth. The ocean water crashed over his face again. He choked some more and then woke in an instant gasping for air.

“What the hell!” He shouted between gasps.

Weaver stood over him with a water bottle. Work beckoned. Brockton and Colliste were awake and were rubbing away the last vestiges of their dreams just as he was attempting to do through his gasps and coughs. The flight to Colorado was still in progress. He could see nothing but clear blue sky through the plane’s small window.

“I’m sorry sir.” Weaver said. “But there has been a development. The Colorado State Police are on the phone and they need to speak with you now.” She handed him a corded phone.

~~~

Silvia Thruwell sat in an interview room at the FBI office in Detroit. She had a desk phone to her ear. She was being treated as a witness, not as a co-conspirator in any of Killington’s business ventures, so she had some freedom, within the office at least, she just wasn’t allowed to leave. Killington had far reaching fingers and the FBI had no intention of losing the evidence she could provide. She was still wearing sweats as her own clothing had also been confiscated as evidence.

“No, I was careful about mentioning Katrina and the race. I still have work to do and the race is almost over, but I’m stuck here for… I don’t know how long.”

Silvia listened for a moment before continuing.

“There are hundreds of computers here but I can’t use one unless I can use someone else’s id and password. I don’t want to try hacking in and have everything get shut down. I might be able to get in after someone leaves for the day, especially if I can distract someone enough so they forget to log off. The race will still be going on so I can have another chance to finish what I started. Sure. I can do that. Good, I’ll call you later.”

Silvia hung up. She left the office to mingle with the staff once more, a fresh smile on her face.

~~~

Kalby Mitchell stood to pace across the office. He had been sitting way too long, even for him. Marcus Appleton was asleep on the couch. Morning had come but even without shades on the windows he still managed to sleep on. Admittedly, Mitchell was just as tired. He paced as he considered his current problem. He rubbed his belly and stopped for a moment to stand a little straighter, stretching his back.

The problem he now faced was that the corporation that they had singled out was very well constructed. They had received the results of their computer mole’s search, checking every name on their list against all of the corporations that the mob was known to do business with. Many things had come back in the results, but not one clear standout as to who had funneled the money. Unfortunately that was the entire reason that they were here, to find out who stood to benefit from winning the race. No other scenario made sense. There had to be a money motive, someone had to benefit from this, and that person had to be connected to the race in some way, but how?

Mitchell’s pacing eventually took him back closer to the couch where Appleton slept. The carpeting ensured that his foot falls wouldn’t wake the man. Between the two of them, they needed a brain wave strong enough to inspire a different approach. Maybe sleep would re-energize Appleton enough to be helpful. Kalby usually relied on his energy drinks to turn on his inspiration mechanism, but he too needed sleep. The race was close to finishing and he would not allow himself to shut his eyes until Appleton woke to take over. They had agreed that each in their turn would remain awake and working until they had the solution. An idea occurred to Kalby. Each in their turn…

“Each in their turn,” he whispered out loud.

Maybe they were looking at the whole problem from the wrong angle? He walked quickly to his computer and madly moved his fingers over the keyboard.

~~~

The phone rang again in the plane carrying the four intrepid FBI agents to the Denver International Airport. There seemed to be no end to the number of calls streaming in about the race. So much for getting enough shuteye to feel awake when they landed. When the investigation had been opened into an illegal cross-country race all of the bureau offices along the projected path of the race had been informed. Now, less than seven hours later, information was pouring in like a fire hose on a camp fire.

“No, I don’t know where they are going yet. I only know that it’s on the west coast.” Cosgrove listened to the voice of the director of the FBI. “Yes, the west coast is very large. We are still compiling information about their route.”

Cosgrove snapped his fingers to get Colliste’s attention and whispered loudly as he dared. “Quick, I need the map of the race route you’ve been working on.”

His attention turned back to the director. “Yes sir, right here.” Cosgrove snapped his fingers again to hurry his agent. Colliste handed over a map of the country that had yellow highlighter marks over the roads known to have been taken by the participants.

“Current information suggests that they left Castle Rock, Colorado this morning and… no sir, we didn’t have time to question the Miss Thruwell more thoroughly. Uh… yes sir, knowing where the race ends is very important at this point. Yes. We have been getting regular reports from the Colorado State police and…”

Cosgrove pulled the phone from his ear as the shouting voice grew louder.

“Yes sir, it makes sense that the Colorado State Police will not be part of the investigation for very long. I understand. Yes, we will get that information.”

Weaver picked up a different phone and called their office back in Detroit. “We need someone to talk to Silvia Thruwell again, as soon as possible. What do you mean you don’t know where she is? Find her! Now!”

~~~

Richard was careful to keep the car at eighty-two miles per hour. Too much faster and he would be using more power than the One Tree System could produce. Too little and he wouldn’t be able to catch up with the other cars. The time they had lost getting new tires installed and fixing the ramp problem had added up to about an hour and ten minutes, all told. Their best hope was to be fast but steady, and hopefully they would catch up in four or five hours.

Katrina had explained more than once that their drive system would allow them to catch up because they didn’t have to stop to recharge. As long as the drive system made marginally more power than they consumed, they would eventually find and surpass the rest of the racecars.

Now Richard had to explain the next hurdle that they would have to confront. “You were brilliant,” he began, “Coming up with a way to get the ramp problem taken care of, I mean, but we have a new problem.”

“What now.” Katrina snipped back.

“Well, now that we collected enough food to last us twenty-four hours we are on track to catch up as long as we don’t stop anywhere. But… we will have to stop to go to the bathroom eventually.”

Katrina frowned but said nothing. How had that not occurred to her?

~~~

Dillon stuck his hand out of the driver’s side window. He had a lot of harsh words for the mass of cars that had been following them. He shouted into the gale force winds rushing past him hoping his words would reach their target. He laughed madly between shouts. This was far too exciting to sit back and let Katrina and Richard have all of the fun. The next time an offer came up to drive anywhere he would be first in line to sign up.

Kristin shouted information to him that quick glances into the rearview mirror couldn’t provide. The cell phone on the front seat rang again. Finally Kristin noticed it and picked it up to answer the call.

“Hello?” She shouted at the top of her lungs hoping the person on the other end could hear her. Her long hair whipped all around the cabin space. She wiped it away from her eyes and then closed her window to give herself a better chance of hearing what was coming from the tiny speaker.

“Hello?” she said again.

Frodes voice came through. “Are you guys alright?”

“Never better!” she said excitedly.

“Really? Well, Dr. Jenkins wants you to stop shooting that shotgun and have Dillon take the next exit. Try to lead the mob away from the other drivers. The police are trying to set up a roadblock for you so once you get a few miles from the exit toss Katrina’s phone and the shotgun out the window and disappear. Remember to wipe everything down. Dump the car and pick up a different rental. You need to get out of Colorado.”

“But we’re having so much fun. Are you sure we shouldn’t keep up with the racecars?” Kristin asked with laughter in her voice.

Suddenly the sound of gunshots filled the air around them. The Corolla’s rear window exploded.

Frodes was shouting through the phone, “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

The burner cellphone that Kristin had been holding had fallen from her hand. Dillon picked it up and tossed it out the back window. They were moving so fast that the phone never touched the ground. It shattered against the windshield of the pursuing black SUV. Dillon cut hard to the left and took the approaching exit. A line of cars followed them off the highway.

Kristin wiped down the shotgun and waited for the right time to toss it out the window. Dillon pointed toward the back window. Kristin nodded knowing what he wanted. If the cell phone had shattered against the SUV’s windshield, than the gun might go through it and slow down at least one of their pursuers.

Dillon took a right turn at the green light off the exit. He was sure that there wouldn’t be too many more traffic lights in this small town. Once they moved further from the highway it would be a while before there were any roadside attractions, fast food restaurants, or even gas stations.

At the first light they came to that was red, Dillon took a hard left turn through it without stopping. All of the cars following him did the same. There just wasn’t enough traffic to stop the others from following him. He flew through a green light and sped up again to be at the next light that was sure to turn red.

As he had expected it changed to red and he banged a hard right barely missing being squashed against the bumper of a tractor trailer truck. Even though they had almost gotten killed by the turn, the action had finally separated them from the group of following cars. Now only one SUV and the small Honda were on their tail.

Dillon floored the accelerator and sped ahead as fast as possible. He shouted to his passenger to get ready to toss the gun and added, “Cock the gun and take off the safety!”

Kristin had looked down to see what she was doing when the passenger in the SUV shot his pistol at them through his window. The bullet went through Kristin’s blowing hair and out the windshield. Their windshield cracked from one side to the other. She didn’t wait to throw the shotgun. Kristin, out of extreme fear, threw the gun out the rear window with an upward trajectory. It flipped in the air end over end until it hit the SUV’s windshield.

The driver of the SUV had been confident that the object the girl had thrown from the car would just bounce off, as the cell phone had, so he didn’t even try to swerve. Instead he had hammered the accelerator to bear down all the weight of his vehicle to ram the tiny Toyota so his passenger could shoot the bastards. But he was wrong, the shotgun hit the windshield at a downward angle nose first and it fired on impact. The shot blew through the windshield and into the dash of the vehicle. The burly driver slammed on the breaks out of instinct. Everyone in his vehicle flew forward while the broken glass flew at them. Behind him, the Honda slammed into the rear of the vehicle. The downward tilting SUV opened a larger than normal gap under the rear bumper where the Honda squeezed in nicely.

The explosion of sound created by the two vehicles colliding sounded like another gunshot right behind the echoes of the shotgun blast. The SUV lost control, being propelled by the force of the Honda’s impact and they turned sharply off the road into a Jack in the Box restaurant’s parking lot. The SUV bounced over a small mound of dirt separating the parking lot and the street, causing it to flip over in the air. The devastation continued as it rolled end over end, destroying everything in its path.

Dillon turned their Corolla sharply on the next available road to get as far away from the scene as possible. Katrina’s cell phone flew out the window as they took the corner. Kristin’s ability to throw objects out of the window of a moving car seemed well honed. The phone flew into the bushes of a small motel, hidden from everyone.

~~~

Back in the plane Cosgrove was on the phone with the Colorado state police. They had just informed him of the incident with the white Corolla. After he hung up the phone he pointed to Brockton. “I want every helicopter available fueled and ready to fly the moment we touch down, I want sharpshooters on board, and where the hell is the information from my victim!”

Colliste held another phone in one hand while his other hand covered its mouthpiece. “Sir, it’s the director again.”

~~~

In a dimly lit room with a two-way mirror, a metal desk, and two semi-comfortable chairs, a small girl sat with her hands on her lap. She wore black FBI issued clothing. It hung off her small frame because she had been too small for normal adult clothing and too large for their children’s sizes. She fidgeted in her seat. She thought that someone had caught her looking over the agent’s shoulders to get their passwords. That was probably a federal offense too, now that she thought of it. Could they prove it if she hadn’t actually been able to try to use them yet? She kept her hands on her lap so no one would see how nervous she was.

After waiting a long time, one of the agents that she had been watching earlier that day walked in. He didn’t say a word to Silvia and he made an obvious effort not to make eye contact.

She couldn’t tell if he was angry with her or if he was just angry because he had been asked to do something else that he didn’t have time for. He could have been averting his gaze because he was uncomfortable with what had happened to her. But that wouldn’t have explained his anger.

The agent slammed a conference call device down on the metal table causing it to ring softly, as if there was an actual bell inside it.

Definitely angry, she thought. Perhaps this was his way of setting the tone for the interview. She was more nervous now than ever. The agent left and the door locked automatically upon striking the jam. She knew she was in trouble.

Not five minutes later the agent returned. He still looked angry but this time he turned his blue eyes toward her. He didn’t say a word but his body language spoke volumes about his contempt. He was carrying a small coil of wire. He used one end to connect the conference call device and unwrapped the rest of the coil as he backed out of the room. A female agent came in as he left. She did not seem as angry as she sat down across from Silvia.

The woman did not look like all of the other young agents she had seen. Her skin was dark and she was not as young or as thin but she exuded an aura of professionalism and authority that they had all lacked.

Silvia was even more intimidated and began to sweat.

“My name is Sylvia too,” the woman began in a pleasant tone. “I’m Sylvia Barton. In a moment we will be having a conference call with Finn Cosgrove. It was his team that rescued you from Killington’s men. I will be here to oversee our side of the conversation. He has several important questions for you about the race.”

Silvia let out her breath in relief. Her phone call and spying may have gone unnoticed after all.

The agent continued, “I have been advised to warn you that should wait for your lawyer to arrive before saying anything that could incriminate you outside what you have already disclosed. However, your ongoing cooperation in the case involving Mac Killington would go a long way to keeping us from adding more charges against you regarding your activities.”

Silvia Thruwell’s mouth opened and closed rapidly, trying to utter words that kept slipping away. “Charges, against me?” she managed to stammer.

“Why yes. You were working for Mac Killington, and admitted to such activity when you were picked up. True there were other circumstances in which you were also seen as a victim, but that doesn’t exonerate you. As I said, charges are being considered. Our investigation will determine what those charges will be. But, those charges may still be waived with your continued cooperation.”

Agent Barton stretched out her arm to reveal a very expensive looking wristwatch. She gazed into its depths for a long second for dramatic effect. “The call should come in momentarily. It is up to you if you insist on waiting for your attorney to be present, but I urge you to be as honest as possible. Remember, cooperation will only help you in the end.”

Silvia rubbed her palms against her FBI sweat pants. It didn’t dry them in the least. Nervously she tried to make conversation as they waited so she wouldn’t appear at guilty as she felt. “I don’t have a lawyer. I didn’t know I needed one.”

“One has been contacted for you and he is on his way.”

Before Silvia could consider this information the conference call device beeped. Agent Barton pressed a button and a man’s voice said, “I have Agent Cosgrove on the line.”

Agent Barton pressed the button again and said, “I am here with Silvia Thruwell.”

Cosgrove had to shout to be heard over the noise of the plane. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Ms. Thruwell, I apologize for the background noise but we are still on our way to Denver. I have a few important questions for you. You told me that you were part of a team of students from MIT that was hired to help build a racecar to compete in this cross country race.”

Silvia rubbed her hands even harder on her sweats. “Yes.”

“Where does this race end?”

“It ends in Death Valley, off of route 190. The finish line is in the sand not on the road.” Silvia stated as honestly as possible.

“Death Valley is a huge place; can you be any more specific?” Cosgrove asked with a hint of impatience.

Silvia gave him all of the information that she had, desperate to prove how helpful she could be. “From 127, its thirty-eight miles on 190 then twelve miles on the right towards the mountains.”

~~~

Richard was bored. Aside from Katrina’s outburst at the dealership and the redesigning of the ramp system, this day had to have been the least interesting from a driver’s point of view. They were behind, and had to catch up with the other racecars somewhere, but at the moment it felt like they were driving towards Death Valley on vacation. It was ten past noon and he was eating popcorn out of a snack-sized bag that he had bought from a vending machine.

Katrina, on the other hand, was fidgeting badly.

“Will you cut that out? You’re making the car bounce on the road.” Richard admonished.

“I can’t help it. I have to pee.”

Richard smiled before he spoke. “But you said we can’t stop for anything. So if you’re going to hold it, stop bouncing around.”

“How come you don’t have to go?”

“I went more than an hour ago.” Richard said.

“No you didn’t. We didn’t stop anywhere.” Katrina shot back.

“I didn’t need to. When you were napping I peed in an empty Gatorade bottle.”

Katrina’s mouth fell open in utter shock. “That’s disgusting!”

“I took care of business.” Richard said. “You’re going to have to go at some point. If you want to hold it in, can I interest you in some salty snacks to help soak it all up?” He offered the bag to her.

Katrina punched Richard in the arm and popcorn flew everywhere.

“Hey! I wasn’t done eating that.”

“How can you be so juvenile all the time!” Katrina shouted before she punched him again. Mid-strike Katrina froze. Her eyes got very large and she squeezed her legs together.

Richard smiled before looking at her lap.

Katrina punched him again. “Don’t look there.”

“So how bad do you have to pee?”

Katrina pulled her arm back to punch him again, causing Richard to flinch, preparing for the strike. Instead she grabbed the steering wheel and tugged it towards her, towards the breakdown lane. The car swerved to the side of the road. Richard braked, struggling to keep the car stable. Luckily traffic was light and Richard managed to finish the maneuver without rolling the car or getting hit from behind. Katrina snapped off her seat belt and turned around to the storage area to fish something out. When she turned back she held a roll of toilet paper in her hand.

Richard was so surprised that there was toilet paper in the car his eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. Katrina took the roll and bounced it off of his forehead, and then she scrambled out of the window and ran into the scrub brush along the side of the road.

Very little grew here, it could almost be considered a type of desert but there were low bushes all over the place. Katrina had to move much farther than she expected so that she would be out of sight of the passing cars.

Richard watched her negotiate through the brush from his seat in the car. He wondered how she could pee in her racing outfit. He had a zipper and could manage it easily but he had no idea how she was supposed to manage without taking the suit off. Within seconds of those thoughts, he saw Katrina remove the entire top half of the outfit. She had her back to him but her black bra showed easily against the color of desert scrub and sand. He could see her wiggling to get the outfit down low enough. The brush covered everything below her waist but that didn’t stop him from imagining what was beneath her slick racing outfit. Then she dropped down, disappearing from view.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Richard leaned over into the passenger side of the car to see if he could get a better view.

Katrina shouted, “I can see you trying to watch! Turn around or I will poke both your eyes out.”

Caught! His head lowered, averting his eyes, he looked like a guilty child as he slowly moved back into his seat and reconnected his belt.

When Katrina returned, she slid into the window and took her seat. She stared at him, daring him to comment. She tossed the toilet paper into the back.

Richard didn’t say anything. He stomped on the accelerator and they flew back up to speed.

After several silent minutes Katrina finally said something. “So, if you had to go again you would wait until I fell asleep?”

“Hell no, I would just whip it out and go.” Richard said half laughing.

Katrina punched him. “If you whip that thing out in front of me I will break it off and throw it out the window.”

“What’s the matter? Never saw one before? Here let me show you what it looks like.” Richard began to unzip his suit as he slowed the car.

He didn’t know how fierce his weapons specialist could be until she leaned over and punched him in the face.

The car swerved wildly on the highway. Katrina took the steering wheel and yanked, moving the car quickly to the side of the road.

Richard stomped on the breaks and their new rubber squealed leaving its surface on the pavement.

Katrina threw the shifter in neutral and pulled the break. She pulled him closer as if she was going to hit him again. Then suddenly she was gone.

Richard raised his head to see if it was over only to find her climbing in through the driver’s side window, feet first, kicking at him to get him out of her way.

Without finding her seat belt, Katrina bore down on the stick shift. She stomped on the clutch with the same precision Richard usually showed and within seconds they were up to eighty miles per hour.

“What the hell are you doing!” Richard yelled.

Katrina shouted back at him in punctuated spurts. “My left arm was tired from hitting you! Now I get to use my right and we can still make up time! And don’t even think about unzipping that suit any further. If you do, I will finish the race myself!”

Richard moved closer to the passenger side door trying to avoid further blows.

~~~

On the bus to Death Valley California, Dr. Jenkins and Vincent Frodes sat dopey-eyed watching the race on the laptop. Neither had spoken for what seemed like forever.

Hours had passed and nothing was going on. They needed to watch the race but as minutes passed, then hours, boredom stabbed at their brains. Watching traffic on a computer screen, while riding on a bus in a completely different state, felt wrong.

On a positive note, Katrina and Richard were nowhere in sight. The other five cars were all showing on the screen but the MIT car was still missing. The panel that should have shown their car showed only normal traffic as their tag-along box truck searched for them on the highway.

When the phone in Frodes’ pocket rang, they both jumped. Frodes fumbled with it to keep it from falling out of his hands as he extracted it from his pocket.

“Hello?”

“This is Dillon. We’re going to find a cab and head to the airport. I just wanted you to know that the guys that were following us crashed and are probably on their way to the local hospitals.”

Frodes sat up straighter and leaned over to his mentor to share the receiver between them to share the good news. “Can you repeat that?” Frodes asked. On the other end Dillon repeated his statement, verbatim.

Both men smiled. This was a major victory. That may have been the last attempt by mob to interfere with the racecars. Maybe the racers need only be worried about the other contestants for a change. Jenkins let out his held breath as though he had been holding it for the last four days.

“All right, head back and we’ll meet at the finish line. Great work!”

Dillon thanked Dr. Jenkins and hung up the phone.

Frodes was excited. “Maybe now the race can be about the technology!”

Jenkins shook his head.

Frodes slowed his enthusiasm and asked “Are you still worried?”

“If we don’t know who financed this mess, we may still find other surprises before the finish line. A lot of money has changed hands in this race, and I don’t mean the money invested in the tech.”

“I don’t understand.” Frodes said.

“You have to look at the big picture. There is a lot of money to be made when this race is over. Everyone who is watching this race, including all of the big automobile manufacturers, will want the winning cars’ tech to supplant it into their mainstream manufacturing. Whoever is paying to have other cars disabled knows that they can have all of that opportunity. To them the payoffs are just another investment in their product.

“Our car has a good chance of winning and that makes Katrina and Richard huge targets. When we identify the head of this ring, we can find out which car they financed and take them out of the race to keep everyone safe.”

~~~

FBI agent Finn Cosgrove stepped off of the plane that he and three of his agents had just arrived in. His cell phone was pressed to his ear. He struggled to hear anything at all between the sounds of the jet engines powering down and the two helicopters in waiting mode ready to take off the moment their seatbelts were snapped on. “I’ll call you back!” He shouted in his phone twice more before he gave up and pocketed the useless thing.

He took the stairs to the tarmac two at a time. His minions followed at a brisk rate. He pointed Weaver and Brockton toward one of the helicopters while he and Colliste climbed into the other. Within minutes they were in the air again.

Now that they were in a different type of vehicle the noise was more of an issue. Cosgrove and Colliste both had noise cancelling headphones on to muffle the sound of the loud engine located directly above their heads, and he couldn’t call the director back on his cell phone. He touched the copilot on the shoulder to ask if he could use an open line to make the call. When permission was given, he turned to Colliste to have him take out the maps and look at all of the possible routes to the finish line.

“We need at least an eighty percent certainty as to where we’re going after we land.”

~~~

Driving through Utah was like driving underwater. The flat landscape seemed endless. Katrina couldn’t help but wonder why anyone ever wanted to drive through this part of the country. In her home state of Maine and in her adopted state of Massachusetts there were vast stretches of trees, wildlife and interesting things to look at when going on a long drive. Here in Utah the flat land wore her down, there was nothing to look at, no trees, no towns, no gas stations. The clouds were nice but she wanted a hill to drive over, any hill would do, something to break up the endless, flat land.

To make matters worse, Richard was asleep. Now she had no one to converse with or to fight with. The radio stations were mostly static, flickering in and out like christmas tree bulbs that were on their last leg.

Every once and a while she pounded her head on the steering wheel to make sure she was still awake and not just dreaming of this endless landscape that seemed to be burned onto the inside of her eyelids.

After what seemed like hundreds of hours looking at nothing she made the decision to wake the actual driver of the racecar. Talking to the bastard in the seat next to her was better than the watching the ocean of sand all around her pass by the windows. She reached over and slapped him. “How could you sleep for all these hours?”

Richard rolled toward her and asked, “What do you want now?”

He had a black eye on the left side of his face and Katrina’s face went slack from shock. She didn’t realize that she had hit him that hard. Now she felt terrible. She pulled the car over thinking that if she could get him to drive before he looked at himself in a mirror she might be able to break the news to him later, when he was in a better mood.

“I have to pee and you need to take over driving, K?”

Richard, still groggy, started to slip over the stick shift as Katrina turned off the car and pulled herself out of the window. He never noticed himself in the mirror. He did notice Katrina walking away with the roll of toilet paper. That was his cue to either pee or watch Katrina undress in the distance. Since he couldn’t focus on doing both, he watched Katrina.

Katrina had to walk much further out to find a bush to hide behind. Not only did she have to walk farther than she had wanted, but the bush she hid behind covered far less than she would have liked.

Richard watched eagerly; hope filling his dirty little mind. Katrina’s jumper was pulled over one shoulder then the other. Her black bra stood out against the barren desert. Suddenly he was distracted by the sound of a vehicle passing by their car at a high rate of speed.

Another set of cars passed him as he watched, waiting for Katrina to pop up again. When he heard brakes squealing, he couldn’t ignore what was going on around him any longer. He turned his head. Three cars were burning rubber to stop their cars. The three cars were all fairly new models and hadn’t had any problem stopping quickly. Red flags were being raised in his head. Something was very wrong.

A hand came out of one of the car windows holding a pistol. The red flags in Richard’s head disappeared and were replaced by a klaxon that made so much noise that he couldn’t yell over it. He flicked the key to start the engine and turned the wheel toward Katrina. He honked the horn over and over again. His scream couldn’t seem to make it to his lips. He grabbed the wheel and turned into the desert. Once in the sand he let the wheels spin to throw up as much dirt as possible to give Katrina time and cover up and get back to the car.

Katrina shouted back. “Stop honking you bastard!”

When she turned to look at the sounds of dirt flying away from spinning tires he had already pulled up to her. She stood quickly and slipped back into her uniform. Before she could zip it, however, he was there. He tried to shout something but no words were coming out.

She stormed toward the car ready to tear his head off when gunfire split the air all around her.

Finally, Richard found his voice but all he could say was, “They found us!”

Katrina stomach sank. She didn’t need to ask who, she ran the rest of the way to her side of the car and dove head first into the window.

Richard yelled, “Take my arm.”

More gunshots filled the sand storm. Richard took Katrina’s extended arm and stomped on the accelerator. He wanted to kick up as much dirt as he could.

Katrina thought he was going to help her into the car. Instead he took her arm and pounded the accelerator to the floor. The car spun in a circle throwing dirt as it went around. The longer he depressed the pedal the faster around they went. Katrina screamed as her legs rose in the air and the only thing holding her in the car was the arm that Richard held on to.

Men in the three other cars drove blind into the cyclone of spitting dirt. The three each ended up hitting each other trying to guess which way the racecar went. The hits were minor but it did slow them down.

After Richard had thrown enough dirt to choke on, he straightened out to get away from the dust cloud, hoping that they were driving toward the highway.

Katrina stopped screaming in order to cough out the dirt that had started to accumulate in her lungs even though her legs were still flying around outside the window. When Richard slowed and changed direction her legs fell in an instant, her toes dragging on the ground. For a split second she thought she was going to fly out of the window but Richard used all his strength and heaved her in. She landed half on his lap. She coughed and choked up more dirt.

He shouted, “Get away from the stick shift!”

She wiggled around managing to sit up. Slowly the dirt and dust started to clear and she could see where they were. The road was a welcome sight after what she had just gone through.

Richard pounded through the gears. In an instant they were flying at over one hundred miles an hour.

“What is going on?” Katrina asked.

“They found us somehow. All I could do was make a dust storm so they couldn’t see where you were.”

Katrina thought for a moment about what he had just said. “You went through all that, while they were shooting at you, to make sure that I was safe?”

“Of course I did. I’m not the bastard you think I am. But you might want to finish zipping yourself up.”

Katrina wondered what he meant.

Richard looked at her bra and said, “Your boobs are showing.”

Katrina looked down and her jaw fell open. She was still unzipped all the way down to her underwear. She turned towards the window and zipped herself up.

When she turned back she wound up to hit Richard, and he flinched getting ready to take the hit, but she stopped before actually touching him. “Thank you for coming to get me. You could have left me behind and you didn’t, even though I’m not always nice to you.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” He pointed to his black eye.

Katrina bowed her head. She knew that she went too far sometimes. In a sheepish tone she said. “You knew about that?”

“Yeah, but I still couldn’t leave you out there for them to find. Admit it, you’d do the same for me.”

Katrina thought back to the moment when he had begun to un-zipper his jumpsuit. In that moment it would have been easy to consider leaving him behind. Her stomach fell. Maybe she was not as noble as he was. That bothered her and tears welled in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Katrina sniffed and wiped her eyes on the back on her hand before uttering in a broken voice, “Just drive, please?” She turned to look out the window.

“Great. I try to be the nice guy and all I get is the silent treatment.” Richard openly complained. “You’d think she would at least let me see her boobs again for my trouble.”

In an instant Katrina smacked his arm.

Richard smiled. Everything was back to normal.

~~~

Grant Phyindress sat in his office watching the racecars on a split television screen hanging on the wall that was the size of a theater screen. His computer was hooked up to the massive viewer so that he didn’t have to squint at his twenty-eight inch computer monitor split six times. This setup had been installed before the race had started but it was only now that he got a chance to actually enjoy it. The busty bimbo from the racing start line came swaggering in holding two glasses. She was showing so much skin that the only other person in the room with them blushed just from watching her walk to the couch where Phyindress sat.

It was clear why she was there, and it was also clear that she knew exactly why she was there. She handed over one of the drinks and made very sure that her boobs rubbed on Phyindress’ arm in the process. When Phyindress turned to take the drink, he accepted it with a smile. His intention to look in her eyes and say thank was lost as he stared at where she had touched him.

Ian Practor, who had already made himself a drink, went to take a sip just to have a reason to avert his gaze but found his glass to be empty already. He turned his gaze back to the giant screen instead. The girl was clearly young enough to be his granddaughter, but that didn’t seem to bother either one of them.

Practor cleared his throat nervously and asked, “Uh… Do you know why we haven’t seen the MIT team in a while? Are they finally out do you think?”

The old man raised both his arms out and rested them on the top edges of the couch before he spoke. “Don’t know, but if they are out that would be good news for us. Now, can you go and prepare for our flight to Death Valley? Give me a few minutes. I shouldn’t be very long.”

Ian Practor stood, trying not to let his face broadcast his disgust, and left the room.

After Ian made sure that the door was closed behind him he pulled out his cell phone. He found speed dial number 27 and pushed the button to make the call. When the person on the other end picked up, he made sure not address the person by name. “I still cannot see the MIT car. What is going on, are they out?”

The voice that greeted Ian sounded gravelly. “My contacts tell me that the car was recently spotted, but the guys lost them again.”

Ian turned towards the closest wall and produced a forced whisper. “Lost them? How do you lose a car on a single stretch of road that lasts a hundred miles? They are not faster than bullets. We’re running out of time. We need to think about alternative measures. I want a bird in the air with a sharpshooter. Got it?”

There was silence on the other side of the conversation for a moment. “You do realize that it would be impossible to do that without bringing unwanted attention to what we are doing?”

“No one knows that we are the ones financing this.” Ian said. “Just get it done. Everything we have is riding on this.”

~~~

Marcus Appleton pulled away from his computer station, pushing his fingers through his hair. This marathon computing session had worn his nerves. Night and day, day and night... the passage of time was slipping away. His internal clock had been completely disrupted and he had no idea what time it was. He had gotten some rest and had been up now for only about an hour, but he had no idea where Mitchell had gone. He looked towards the window and saw the low position of the sun. He had no idea if it was early morning or late afternoon.

Mitchell walked into the office carrying coffee and donuts from a shop around the corner. The smell was heavenly. Appleton dove into to get the coffee and a nice glazed blueberry cake donut, his favorite. They both knew that they needed to be awake for the last stretch. The race was almost over and they still hadn’t found any answers.

When Mitchell sat he only took a sip from his coffee. He looked deep in thought and didn’t reach for a donut.

Appleton noticed that difference immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I have an idea about how to find out who is behind this.”

Appleton raised an eyebrow. “Well, out with it. We’ve hit too many brick walls up to this point. We need a new angle.”

“What do you think about drop boxes?” Mitchell hung it out in the air like a carrot.

Appleton took another bite from his donut and pondered. He shook his head after a few moments, not being able to put his finger on it. “Remind me.”

Kalby raised a finger in the air to begin. “In the fifties and early sixties extremely large banks had a problem. When organizations wanted to build something, like a church, or a new park, anything you can think of that has no collateral value before it’s built, they had no way to secure financing. Companies that wanted to build a new location, or refurbish offices or equipment, took out a loan with collateral against their own holdings. But if you wanted to build a church in a town that cost a thousand times the value of the land, the collateral simply didn’t exist.

“That’s where the drop box comes in. It’s a combination of loan and savings account. The bank writes the note and it collects all the money from donors and fundraising activities. When it reaches the pre-set goal, the bank distributes the money to its intended recipient. The bank collects interest on the money it’s holding, and its fee for providing the service at the end.

“The only catch is in the auditing. In order to make it legal in the accounting department, its structure had to resemble a loan because it’s making interest on the money that it’s holding. So whenever a person makes a deposit or payment, it doesn’t matter who it is, a name and social security number must accompany the payment. That satisfies the national accounting structure that keeps banks in check. It doesn’t matter who payee is.

“The problem with the structure of this bank vehicle is that it can also be used to finance illegal activities. The bank doesn’t care what the money is for as long as it makes money in the process. Mobsters started to figure this out and used it as a way to hide their activities. They just used stolen social security numbers to put money into these accounts. The people whose identities were being used had no idea any of it was happening. The deposits were small and mimicked other normal financial activities.

“So, because of all the illegal activities, a lot of countries banned the use of drop boxes. The international banking authority has a set of rules that govern banks. It pretty much says that if you play with the wrong people, any government can freeze the assets during prosecution, and the money can be seized depending on the outcome of the trial.”

Appleton finished his donut and took another. “Okay, but how does that matter to us? You just said that the major countries don’t allow this banking practice anymore.” Appleton splayed his hands to further display his confusion.

“Well…” Mitchell said with a smile. “The countries that use banking as the focus of their economy still allow them.”

“But wouldn’t they still need a lot of names and their associated social security numbers?”

Mitchell leaned in and picked up a donut as he said. “Don’t employers have names and social security numbers on file for everyone who works for them? And aren’t the names we are actively searching for related to organizations who, coincidentally, employ a lot of people?”

Lots of lights came on behind Appleton’s eyes. Mitchell could see the connections coming together. He added one last item to make Appleton’s day. “All we need to do is to hack into the bank holding the information from the Drop Box and release the virus to search their files.”

Another light came on in Appleton’s mind. He stood and crossed towards the computers. “We should be able to get by their security pretty easily. And the search shouldn’t take that long either. The banks in the Caymans are nowhere as big as the giants here in the States. I should be able to hack in and make an information deposit.”

Mitchell sat back with his donut and reveled in the sugar rush that was coming. Everything was coming together. Confident that this was the answer, he took his first bite of his donut.

~~~

Colliste stared out the window on Interstate 15. Nothing could be more boring than to watch a stretch of highway looking for one special kind of car among the thousands that they had already flown over. He was tired and wanted to get some shut-eye. The little sleep he had gotten on the plane had been much too short to satisfy his needs. His boss looked like a one person press room. His phone never stopped ringing and sometimes he was on two calls at once. A couple of times Colliste thought the only reason he was there was to look out the window and hold the second phone until it rung. And as if on cue, it rang.

He pushed the blue tooth connection on his headset. “Colliste here.”

“This is officer Rands. I was told to call this number to speak to Cosgrove.”

“Officer Rands?” Colliste asked.

“Yes, from the Utah State Police,” The voice added.

“Please hold.”

Colliste pushed the mute button on his headset and poked his boss in the shoulder. “Sir,” He yelled over the loud rotors running overhead. “I have a Utah State Police officer on the phone.”

Cosgrove took the phone and completely ignored his other conversation without bothering to let them know that he wasn’t listening anymore. “Yeah, this is Cosgrove.”

“Sir, I have been ordered to pick you up when you’re ready to land.”

“We would appreciate a ride to the border to meet up with another set of cars from Las Vegas. Our office there will take over after that.”

“No problem, sir.”

As an afterthought he asked, “Have you heard of any reports of odd looking cars running through your state at high speeds?”

“No sir, but there is some gang activity on the main highways. Is there a correlation between the two?”

Cosgrove looked over to Colliste and pushed the end button on the phone he had been ignoring and handed it to him. “Get the director on the phone.”

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Next Chapter: Chapter 20