The Scarab (21 page)

Mare rejoined us with no further
crisis. Learning from our previous mistake, we switched over to the north-bound
track and streaked toward Munich with no opposition.

Whitaker interrupted to tell me
that they had caught Holstein and GEDM collaborating. Conspiracy charges were
already being filed. By the end of the hour, the last GEDM vehicle was
disqualified on a sportsmanship violation. There were now eleven vehicles left
in the race, and this leg was only half over.

We got penalized another three minutes for taking shortcuts
on the way to the hospital in the northern-most suburbs of Munich. Nigel read
the map for us while Mare steered. In the city, having an ambulance driver
along helped considerably, especially with the organ delivery protocol. While
we idled on the medical center lawn, waiting for the judges to sign-off on our
mission, I blew another minute of repair time to take the speed governors off
the left sled as well. The right sled had been pulling a little ahead the whole
time. For the rest of the race, we could go all out, risking permanent damage
to the engines if we had to in order to rise a few more notches in the final
standings. I left the Duratech vault at the hospital. We didn’t need the extra
weight, and I didn’t know how to go about rinsing out a used organ carrier.

After we got our bonus, ESPN posted
the adjusted results through Munich. HEO was in the lead, having already
reached Nuremberg by now. The Muramatsu team was losing ground at about seven
minutes behind the leader. Porsche was climbing fast at an estimated three
minutes behind the Japanese.

Exotech was tied with the Andiron
Express at about twenty minutes behind HEO. LAS was rated at twenty-nine
minutes, and we were around thirty-five. North Ameri-Car and Bavarian Wagen
were approximately four and five minutes behind us, respectively. Still
technically in Munich, Thor’s Hammer had chosen a high vantage point and was
trying to eliminate the North Ameri-Car Hyperion class tank. Their firefight
was the current coverage of choice for most networks. The Hammer was toppling
buildings to get to its quarry, or at least prevent the Hyperion’s escape. I
was rooting for the Hyperion, not because he was my ally, but because any upset
at this point would improve my standing. If Thor’s Hammer finished him too
fast, the BW might have a higher aggregate score than ours. I shot an
encouraging message to the Hyperion and hinted that he should go for the
injured sides.

The battle raged for over twelve
minutes, a record for this year’s convention. The Hyperion had been grazed
several times, but refused to die. Finally, Thor’s Hammer decided that it
couldn’t risk the time it would take to finish the battle and fled the scene.
Both units were worse for the wear, moving at a slower rate than before. BW
would probably be the last vehicle to make the eleven o’clock news on the east
coast. Without repairs, the Hyperion might cross the finish line, but it would
be dead last. The Hyperion team briefly weighed the self-destruct option before
following the BW. There was still hope, I suppose.

The stretch of road to Nuremberg was pretty boring, so Steve and Josie went on a pizza run for us. Nigel spelled
me as navigator for a moment while I took the opportunity to check in with
Whitaker. I asked him how the Kali investigation was going, keeping my voice
low so that I wouldn’t disturb Mare.

“Not well. Holstein isn’t talking.
Our resources are too limited to track the whole list of suspects in time.
Normally, this sort of probe takes weeks,” my shadow explained.

“Nothing from the sling?” I asked.

“Only that she’s probably
left-handed,” said Whitaker.

“That’s something. Anything else?”

He cracked his professional shell
for just a second. “I like the costume. But you’ve got to be careful wearing
white robes in public down south. People get the wrong idea about you.” Just as
quickly as it appeared, the smile was gone. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “We
did find one thing about your old suite. We ran a quick check for snipers on
the roof nearest your window and found a small fortune in listening equipment.
They had parabolic microphones, lasers to pick up vibrations from your windows,
the works. We’re checking the bathroom and bedroom walls for drill holes, just
to be safe.”

I felt violated. “Kali?”

“No. One of the other teams. Waters
admitted that they wanted him to plant a bug, but he refused. That’s why they
went with the long-range equipment,” he said.

I didn’t need to ask which team.
Whitaker had just lit a slow, smoldering fuse. “How long have they been
listening?”

Whitaker hedged until I said, “I
just want to know if they could have been recording when Kali was in the room.
She talked to me on the phone. They’d have her voice on tape, unaltered.”

He considered it. “It’s a long
shot, but it could pay off. I don’t think they’d ever share the tapes with us,
though.”

“If I give you ten minutes notice
of a death, can you track her?” I asked.

He shrugged. “How accurate will
your warning be?”

“Within ten seconds. I’ll broadcast
the time soon, so get your people ready. Just tell me one thing. Does Mare know
about the surveillance?”

He shook his head and went back
outside to confer with his colleagues. I returned to my role as Mare’s
navigator and to plot my revenge. ESPN already had projected times remaining
for each racer. The HEO vehicle was slated to win. They’d finish this leg about
forty km from Leipzig and an hour from the finish line in Berlin. The Porsche
team would be second, finishing one hour and thirty-five minutes into the final
leg. The Japanese were scheduled for fifteen minutes after that. We weren’t
predicted until the two hour twenty minute mark. However, if they put their
minds to it, Exotech could cross about ten minutes before us.

Drawing Mare into conversation to
distract her from the boredom on this leg, I asked, “Who do you think Kali is?”

She didn’t answer this one
immediately, chewing on it instead. “At best, we can narrow the field. The
primary issue in this crime is one of access. To have the degree of free access
she obviously enjoys, Kali must be a legitimate part of this race with a good
cover story: a groupie, racer, consultant, reporter, hotel employee, or
convention floor worker. Kali suspected Playfair or you enough to tap the phone
lines. A groupie couldn’t have gotten that close.”

In my best Watson voice, I said, “Indeed,
Holmes. Since you are the only female racer left, and both TSM and GEDM are out
of the race, the opportunities have been further limited. Given that someone
from the convention floor could never have raided our room, evaded the police,
and returned to her job without comment, we can eliminate that possibility as
well. What are we left with? What’s Kali’s motive?”

Nigel piped up unexpectedly. “I
vaguely recall that Kali was married to a god of creation and preservation.
Perhaps this woman was once married to a founder of SimCon or one of the
designers present, a creator. Maybe this is a kind of revenge against an
ex-husband.”

“I don’t know, but Ethan, I want
you to watch yourself at that press banquet. I told them to get you a flack
jacket, and I want you to put it on without arguing,” my lady commanded.

We cut short our discussion when
the pizza arrived. Josie asked us to be careful not to stain the costumes. Most
of us chatted about the trip in Italy, except Nigel, who was still talking
shop. “That reminds me. Try to write up some details on that interchangeable,
adjustable grid idea you had,” he told me. “Throw together a drawing if you
can. I want to present it at the interview with
Car and Driver
today.”

“That’s today?” I whimpered,
grabbing three slices for myself and two for Mare.

“Yes. Our focus will be ideas for
the future of transportation. I want to give you the image of a young Thomas
Edison,” he said, returning the navigator duties to me.

“Who have you been talking to?” I
asked.

“Miss Valencia’s publicist,
Jacques. He’s been quite useful helping me to prepare for this press thing. I
think we should hire him. You didn’t tell me about the recruiting that goes on
during these conventions. All we need is a table for people to sign up at, and
we’ll have our fill of qualified workers for the next three years,” he
explained.

The only test of note on this stretch
of highway was the high-wind simulation. Because of its multiple computer
corrections per second, the Ghedra was one of the stablest vehicles in the
game. Fortunately, we were able to use this momentary advantage to close
rapidly on our nearest competitors. Our team passed LAS inside Nuremberg. Using the wrong lane trick, we zipped by before he knew what hit him.

“Rub it in, Scarab,” the pilot
complained. Someone new had taken over for Antonio.

“What’s wrong?” I said over Mare’s
circuit. Everybody in our suite was getting their costumes ready for the
banquet.

“Grid troubles. The coolant levels
we’re feeding it are insufficient for the North Korean lifter unit. It’s an
older design, I guess. We have to either stop to cool down periodically, or
lower our cruising speed,” the LAS pilot informed me.

I shook my head. He couldn’t see
me, so I said, “Our fluid flow was enough. Check your coolant levels. There may
be a leak. One of the salvaged components we used to patch you probably has a
fracture or your coolant mix is corroding it.”

He grunted that it was possible. “What
can I do for you this time?”

I looked at Mare. She smiled and
said, “This one’s on the house. Thanks for the honeymoon!”

I added one more piece of
information before breaking the link. “If it turns out to be irreparable, don’t
give up. Both BW and North Ameri-Car are walking wounded. If you can find a
good ambush spot and scrape up another rocket, you might come out of this
smelling like a rose. You don’t have to kill them, just threaten. If you work
it right, they’ll both give you what’s left of their repair budgets. But you’ll
have to do it in the next twenty minutes, before this session ends.”

“Thanks. Frankly, if I had seen you
coming, I might have used the rocket threat on you,” the LAS pilot lamented. At
least he was honest.

Now it was time to settle an old score
with Exotech. I needed to wait this long so that we would be in range. We were
about fifteen minutes from catching the Andiron Express. If I handled things
wrong, the Exotech stealth craft would spook, move out of the slipstream, and I
might not ever find them again. I wanted them out of the running before the
press banquet. That way, they wouldn’t get a spot in the media’s Top Ten
listing, or a seat at the table during the event.

I phoned the Andiron Enterprises
suite again, hanging up after the third ring. I was beginning to like this
cloak and dagger stuff.

Next, I told Mare, “Power up the
Pensatronics device. The password is Pandora.”

“What about the energy drain?” she
asked.

“We took the batteries from the
North Korean tank. We’ll toss them overboard once we’ve drained them dry.”

“But who are we going to use it
against?” Mare wanted to know.

“Exotech. We’re going to make it a
called shot, that will be good for some extra points, and it will also give the
Feds the chance they need to catch Kali.”

Mare didn’t like the game plan. “Why
so blood-thirsty all of a sudden, Ethan? You were never like this before, even
against weaker opponents.”

I practiced my stone-poker-face. “This
is the endgame, the proper time for bloodletting. It’s no longer senseless; it’s
necessary.”

“Why Exotech?” she asked.

“Who bought out our detective
agency?” I demanded loudly enough to get the attention of everyone in the room.

She softened. “You know who. But
getting yourself all worked up won’t do any good. Revenge always leads to more
grief. I won’t let you keep opening up these old wounds.”

“What did they offer him?” I
persisted.

Steve seemed interested.

“He’ll be an advisor for their
alarm and security surveillance division, a real cushy job. He’s an expert with
years of product experience, they claim. They were afraid we were using him to
get more evidence for the Senate probe. Exotech didn’t steal him to ambush us;
they were just paranoid,” she explained.

“Paranoid enough to use some of
that listening equipment on us?” I suggested.

She mouthed a silent no.

I nodded yes, and said, “The FBI
found tapes.”

Her face took on a look of grim
determination as she engaged the Pensatronics electronic warfare device. “Just
this once.”

“That’s my Lady Macbeth,” I said. “We’ll
make nice afterward, I promise. But first, we owe them a truly embarrassing
kill.”

“Our cloak is no good going this
fast,” she warned.

“Doesn’t need to be,” I promised. “He
still won’t see it coming. Track the X-ray Rainbow with the Pensatronics snoop
function, the eye symbol. Then hit the broadcast button; we have an
announcement to make.”

I sent out my trademark snippet of
Egyptian music, and a pyramid scene just before the announcement. “The infidel
calling himself Frodo has offended all decent Tolkien lovers. He must be made
an example of. Within the next ten minutes, his frail front end will be smashed
beyond recognition. His ineffective invisibility will be gone, and his wreck
will be riddled with my bullets. This kill is a called shot, and I’m willing to
wager half my remaining fuel against the outcome.”

The X-ray Rainbow took us up on the
wager. As soon as he replied, we got our lock on him. I put a countdown in the
top corner of the laptop. The Feds confirmed and synchronized watches with me.
Nigel took the navigator duties while I handled the espionage. “We’ll be in
range to fire in nine minutes. Mare, if they so much as twitch, hit them with
the blind function, the lightning-bolt. Don’t let them run.”

Over the next five minutes, several
side bets flew around, and we closed over half the required distance to our
target. I opened a private link to the Andiron Express. “So far, so good. Speed
up by just a little and listen for my signal.”

About four minutes away, I told
Mare, “Slow down by about ten km/h. Engage the cloak just enough to make us
look like we’re going the same speed as the Andiron Express.”