The ticking of hot engines cooling echoed throughout parc fermé. With the police temporarily thrown off the scent by the inexplicable disappearance of the European arrest warrants for the Barely Street Legal League, there were no flashing lights to show up and spoil the afterparty. Only, this time, it was not an afterparty, but Strop had called everybody for a huddle. Previously cowed and paranoid, he now spoke with grim determination.
"Most of you are probably wondering why I called this race at such short notice." He started. The icy silence that greeted him could have been interpreted as confirmation. "The truth is, the supercop that we ran into in Utah, has tracked us here and knows our exact location."
There was a small ripple of shock through the crowd, and some of them started murmuring among themselves in disbelief and skepticism. "If you don't believe me, here is the proof!" Strop threw down the twisted header with HASIRA embossed on it, the metal glinting in the moonlight. Many of the competitors, with their connections and networks, already knew what it was, and confirmed their own suspicions.
"Make of this what you will, but that nobody turned up to arrest us here and now, means to me just one thing: They will come for us at Nordschleife.
"The Green Hell is the mecca of racing, the culmination of our trip. I feel that our persecutors know this, and feel the same way. We have a booking there, for tomorrow, starting at eight in the morning. Doubtless that they already know this too. But I will not change the date or the time, like I did here. This is for racing. This is for honour. We will go, and we will run through whatever it is that tries to stop us.
"But make no mistake! The Green Hell is going to be a different kind of Hell. If you do not wish to participate, simply leave and do not show up tomorrow, and you will not be considered a coward or deserter. But if you do come, you had better be prepared for a battle from which you may not emerge."
He let that hang in the air, thinking, for a moment, about his friends and family, and his partner back in Australia, and not knowing what might happen. Nobody else moved an inch. He clapped his hands, the sound ringing out into the cold air.
"You have thirty hours to prepare yourselves and your cars. Good luck, and godspeed. See you at Nordschleife."
_________________________________________________________________
Still deep under the cover of night, with twenty eight hours to spare, instead of travelling direct to Norschleife, the crew had decamped to a 24 hour motel in Cologne, where currently they sat blearily under the glow and buzz of the flourescent lights in the recreation room while waiting. Come morning, they would perform the final maintenance on their cars, but first, they had to figure out how they were going to prepare for the inevitable showdown.
Kai, Kai was okay. Tired, yes. Increasingly craving a smoke, sadly yes, but otherwise, he was okay. This was pretty standard as far as the BSLL went, and between the strangely euphoric ride to Spa Francorchamps and the utter absurdity of what they faced now, his spirits had lifted a little. He almost didn't even care that he had lost the last round to Sam. So he was okay.
Or, at least, doing better than the others.
Tesla, ever effervescent ball of energy, was crashing hard, clearly not anticipating the precipitous nature of her post-sugar crash. She was ready to curl up anywhere and sleep, meaning, in this case, the vinyl bench currently also seating Kai, and was currently gnawing on her cap with a vacant expression, like the little lady manning her upstairs department had gone on holidays.
Sam... Sam had hit rock bottom and then continued through rock bottom into the molten core of earth. The lack of sugar left him feeling hollow and jittery. Worse, the imposed lack of caffeine left him looking like death and possessing the same temperament as a hedgehog in a dryer. Steadfastly refusing to display even a modicum of dignity, he sprawled his dishevelled self all over the couch, whining and glaring at Hannah whenever he saw her. Hannah, for her part, was twiddling her thumbs and fidgeting with a loose thread in the lining of her trousers, studiously ignoring Sam.
Noah, having avoided all the sugary shenanigans in favour for meditation and hipster brew tea, had put his eyepatch back on and decided to go back to sleep until he was needed.
Hands behind back, Strop paced the length of the room, to and fro, to and fro. Nervous energy gnawed away at him, washing over the rest of the room, until finally, Hannah snapped at him: "Would you stop doing that and sit down!?" So he did, trying to look as casual as possible on the couch, but shoulders still tense and fingers continuously clenching and unclenching.
Just then, the door opened, and in strode the mustachioed Luigi-man mod, Jack Cossack. "You called? I came! Bearing gifts!" Out of his backpack, he pulled out several sheets of paper and sprawled them over the table.
"Ah! Jack, good that you made it!" In an instant, Strop was on his feet, and the others stirred slightly into various states of semi-consciousness. "What did you manage to dig up?"
Jack pointed to the various bits and pieces on the table. "First, a detailed map of Nordschleife. I'm sure you are well familiar with the course, but I have marked the exits and potential escape routes. Second, here is the log of the various arrest warrants that have been placed on various members of the Barely Street Legal League, and whom we contacted to overturn them, and finally, here is a dossier on all the information we have collected on this Hasira, and of course, the agents driving them."
Strop rubbed his eyes. "Could you summarise the dossier for us?"
Jack mumbled a comment about how much effort went into compiling all the information, but replied nonetheless. "In short, given that these agents appear to be moving freely throughout both the US and Europe, it is likely they are from an international law enforcement agency, probably Interpol. This is strengthened by the fact they are likely to be tracking us via satellite."
"Oh? How?"
"If anybody could identify any of the cars from any incidents involving the police, then it would be a simple matter to reconstruct a 3D image and triangulate the likely trajectory. After all, recently, the French police scored a good visual of Tom's car, and shortly after a warrant was issued. It took us some work to sort that one out." He puffed out his chest a little.
Strop frowned. "But then how did they track me down to my specific hotel room?"
Jack nodded, scratching his chin, "Well, yes. I thought about that, and concluded that it was more likely that they have a fix on something a bit more relevant to you."
"Such as?"
"Such as your new van. Unlike just about every other van in the world, it's bright red and has wheel arch flares the size of a Liberty Walk bolt-on kit."
"I bet you Vos had something to do with it!" Strop snarled, pounding a fist into his other palm.
"We still don't have any proof," Jack soothed. "Besides, given his relationship with the law, that makes very little sense unless he is just as much in the same boat as the rest of us. Furthermore, what we extrapolated from profiling the HASIRA, is that this is a car with serious power, serious speed, and serious hardware. It was built to go very, very fast, and is being used to specifically catch racers."
Jack adjusted his hat. "I believe the agents driving this car are motivated by a grudge. They must, on some level, take pride in their racing too. But I agree, that they didn't move against us at Spa is further proof that they will meet us at Nordschleife. There is little sense in either of us doing anything else. But I cannot abide by this, people who love to race, seeking to impede good racing? The hypocrisy!" he spat.
"Which brings us to the current point," Strop said. "Suppose they turn up at Nordschleife. How do we stop ourselves from getting hauled off to prison for an eternity?"
"Well, technically, given the lack of warrants in Europe, and the fact we are racing legally at Nordschleife, properly speaking, their powers should not extend so far as to arrest us. Maybe Tom. But not the rest of us. The worst they could do is apply to have us deported if they had any outstanding warrants in the US, which, as far as I am aware, they did not. Though a search on basis of persons of interest did turn up something interesting with your driver."
"Um," Kai, sitting quietly on a chair until this point, finally piped up. "Maybe I should mention, somebody put a tracking device on my car while I was being questioned by the TSA." Seeing the colour drain from Strop's face, he hastily added, "I totally, er, got rid of it though." Strop elected not to ask how he chose to dispose of such a device.
"Well, that investigation seemed to be unrelated anyway," Jack muttered before continuing, "So really, they shouldn't be able to lawfully arrest us. And hopefully, should the German police be there too, they will see reason."
"And if the agents do not?" Strop asked.
"Then we have a chase on our hands. Against heavily armed law enforcement."
Strop straightened up, looking Jack straight in the eye. "I'm gonna need a gun."
________________________________________________________
READY UP PEOPLE. Your characters have 30 hours in which to either make a plan, repair your car, or bail on the competition
Bails will be counted as an absence... but I suspect none of you want to actually do that. So what's your next move?
Fri Dec 12, 2014 3:41 am 
