NationStates Jolt Archive

Speed never killed anyone. Its that sudden stop that always gets you-Jeremy Clarkson

If you can't see the future, then you aren't going fast enough-Christian Von Koenigsegg

There exists a substance far more addictive than the most addictive narcotic. It is odorless, tasteless, and naturally produced. It limits pain, increases awareness, allows for intense reflexes, and can even result in acts of a superhuman abilities. It can drive even the most level headed person to extremes to get their fix. There is no escaping it once it grabs hold of you. The only way to satiate your desire is to taste it, to get it into your blood, and feel its effects. It is adrenaline, and you will get addicted.

Not more than two years ago, a small group of people gathered in Northampton, in the northern tip of Imitora. They had one goal in mind, to race the darkness, to get from Northampton to Seton and back in under thirteen hours. From the second the sun kissed the horizon, till the point that it first peaked it’s rays into the night sky, these dedicated few flew down open highways at speeds well over one hundred and ninety miles per hour, swimming through traffic, blasting down open straights, passing opponents in the breakdown lanes, screaming for a win. The race was ultimately a futile attempt: There just wasn’t enough time to make the trip, and the injury of two racers, and the incarceration of the organizer created far to many distractions for the racers to even attempt to make the trip in the thirteen hours. But it formed a bond, a relationship between those brave few that could never be broken. Many had moved on to bigger and better things, some off of the racing circuits for ever, others went only deeper into the underground world racing, but they all held the common bond that brings all racers together. The quest for adrenaline.

And that burning quest was ready to be filled again.

This time, it would be more organized. Random racers showing up with fast cars were out, invitations had been sent to those deemed worthy to run. Cars were being built, cameras charged up, and routes plotted out. It was time for another run, another shot at glory. While the thirteen hour limitation no longer held, speed was still the key for the race. First one down and back one. Anything goes. It is the 2006 Imitora Players Run...
___

Northampton, Imitora

The soulfull rock sounds of The Nadas purred over the speakers of a shop stereo, the strumming country like guitar mixed well with the rock style drums.

Walkaway from me, my love the song cried, the lead singer pouring words into the microphone. The waves were compressed, transmitted by satalite to a reciever, and then pumped out over the speakers. The shop was empty, save for two men, one young and one old. Parts were scattered over the floor, oil stained the grey concrete, and built up cars took up spaces on lifts. The two men hovered over the engine bay of a old Monte Carlo, working and a slow pace on the massive five hundred and seventy two cubic inch V8.

"So let me get this straight. You're running against Mike for slips. But neither you nor Mike are racing. David in the SS is racing against Craig in the Cobra, and if David wins, you get Mike's Maurader, but if Craig wins, Mike gets your Impalla?"

"Yep."

"Man, that is messed up. I bet David isn't feeling any pressure. What is he running?"

"I hope he's not feeling pressure, that Impalla is a good daily driver. Of course, your the only one who can tell me if he's even capable of pulling it off. He's running your block."

"The 402?"

"Yep."

"Shit, Craig is in for a wake up then. I know the only thing he has is a bit of spray. That is gonna be ugly."

"So, whats under the sheet."

"Customer car. Calling it the Spell Breaker. Last car that Black Owl is building."

"Last one?"

"Yeah, I just don't have time to build anymore, to many other things, and with Hoot doing the whole run the nation thing, it takes way to long just get one car done. So its the last of the breed."

The car was built for a very special customer, Mercedez Merideth Hexx, one of the original racers, and Fortier's ex. He had been long married since then, but still had kept in touch. The car was built as a birthday present, a fully customized carbon fiber shell over an aluminum/magnisium chassis, powered by a rear mounted Mercedes Benz AMG 5.5L Supercharged V8. It was pushing out more boost than the stock found in the AMG 55 serries motors, and sat just forward of the rear wheels. It had taken over three months to build the full car, and it was done in hand. Mercedez was arriving later in the night to pick it up, along with a number of other guests to take part in some automotive based fun.

"You still gonna do that run this week?"

"Yep. Got it all cleared with Hoot. As long as we stay within regulations in the city, we can have all the fun we want on the highways. I'm running the BMW."

"Then why the hell did you buy the AMG 65?"

"I wanted a hard top covertable for a daily. And no, to answer your next question, I doub't we will be staying within regulations in the city."

The older man laughed, looking down at the motor. "Well, she looks about done. Mind if I leave her here tonight?"

"No go ahead. I'll see ya later tonight?"

"You bet. See ya later," the older man said, waving as he walked out of the garrage. Robert watched him leave, and chuckled, knowing he would be the same way in fifteen years. He stretched out, and headed over to the black Mercedes Benz sports car, keying the ignition, hearing the twin turboed V12 roar to life. He cliped the BlueTooth head piece onto his ear, waiting to hear from his contacts that the racers had arrived.

http://www.atddm.com/mmx1.gif

Her Royal Highness Mercedez Merideath Hexx, Crown Princess of Tanaara, opened her eyes as the small private jet touched down lightly.The drapes over the window were drawn, she could not see were they were landing. She wasn't a very happy camper at the moment, and if she hadn't trusted the people about her implicitly she would never have agreed on this cockamamie trip to who knew where. and the fact that you were going out of your mind with boredom, be honest now Mercy sighed and stood, tugging slightly at the hem of her her blazer to straighten it. Then she ran a hand lightly over her thick mane golden blonde hair. The cobalt raw silk pants suit looked good on her and the deep irridescent bronze of her silk blouse made her hair even brighter. She had no idea if any sort of anything resembling a Welcome was waiting, but as sure as taxes if she looked the slightest bit rumpled there'd be the biggest, most media attended fracas possible awaiting her to show her face at the jet's doorway.

But at least I'm missing yet another State Dinner. Why Holli doesn't just give up on getting me married off I just don't know. She isn't married, and doesn't want to be. So why do I have to be. There's not a single man available who interests me. But gods am I lonely... Mercy hid her unhappy thoughts behind the mask of a smile she'd become very proficient at. She didn't know how much it showed in her eyes.

Sinjin, and his Lady, Khadri, smiled at her as they stood, stretching slightly themselves. Robyn and her husband, Kazuma, the other pair of the Princess's bodyguards had already stepped out of the plane, and once security had been confirmed trotted lightly down the stairs to the tarmac.

Five, heavily but discretely armoured, Mercedez Gl450 SUV's waited below. The all bore dipomatic liscenses, and the tiny fender flags that indicated an Official Presence as aboard. There was no way to hide the massive bulk of the Antonov AN124 that had landed immediately before them, and they didn't even try. Mervy would recognise it the minute she saw it, and then the 'jig' was up as old timers liked to say.

Loraba Business Jet
Gallos International Airport
Showroomtown, HotRodia

Argenti Loraba was enjoying one of the few perks of having taken over the family business recently. She got to set her own hours and take "business trips" when she wanted...within reason, of course. Her current business trip was taking her to Imitora. It was her second trip to Imitora, and she had invited Della to accompany her again. Della had looked different this time, older and harder. The HotRodia Motor Corporation had sent her to a car customization shop on Burnout Beaulevard shortly after their return from Imitora. Still, she looked well enough, and that was what really counted, along with her previous experience with their destination. Her thoughts fading, Argenti relaxed her eyes and fell asleep against the soft surface of the company aircraft's cabin furniture.

Several hours later...

Della Carro stepped out of the car and breathed slowly, savoring the Imitoran air. As before, it smelled a lot like HotRodian air, thick with the unique energy and chemicals of the city. It sounded the same too, pulsing, full of random noises and the pounding, mechanical rhythms. Even some of the people gathered here were the same, and Della nodded respectfully when she saw those she had met before. She almost wanted to warn them that she was dangerous now, knew how to handle weapons and survive the streets. She had changed so much. And she was going to use it to her advantage. Della figured she might as well use what she had learned. It was one of the few things that would make her time on the Beaulevard worth it. Fortunately, her old friend Argenti had offered her a position in her company, and Della Carro was no longer an employee of the HotRodia Motor Corporation. Their loss, as far as everyone involved was concerned. Now, Della's main focus was the coming race. The car was prepared, improved on from last time in a variety of ways, mostly in terms of making it more durable rather than improving the performance. There were also firearms in the car now, though Argenti did not know that. Della smiled, leaning her well-formed frame against the sleek Chromera RV, and waited for the fun to begin.

I live my life one mountain at a time a friend had said long before the Bald One had paraphrased it into quarter miles. And no she hadn't been talking about scaling or crossing, unless you meant at the hightest speeds possible along roads that had never known what proper grading and banking were, much less guardrails...

Charli Firewalker (http://www.atddm.com/charli.htm) sat as far forward on the prow of the ramshackle old freighter as she could get. The three months that it had taken the battered ship to limp from port to port she realized how much she loved the ocean. And she’d seen enough to know that she didn’t care whether the sun shown bright and the breezes were gentle or whether she was wondering if the ship would sink out from under her with the fury of the storm broaching her holds. The white foam curled around the prow, then faded away as the tramp freighter slowed to a near stop. She’d been told by the talkative First Mate that coming into this particular harbor was no easy task.

Seven hours later they had tied up to the docks and she stood on the edge of the palate that held the Phoenix (http://www.atddm.com/x38.jpg) its many coats of hand rubbed black laquer gleaming in the late afternoon sun, the phoenix of fire artwork (http://www.atddm.com/phnx2a.jpg) that covered the hood seeming to shimmer with a life of it's own. The crane operator let the car down gently and the dock side crew was swarming over the straps almost before Charli jumped free.

She checked her invitation one more time. She had all the details straight, but she wanted to reassure herself again that it wasn't a mirrage some one was playing on her. Nope it was still there, the heavy high quality paper a noticeable weight in her hands.

The harsh whistle of a large turbocharger running well over twenty psi pierced the dark night air. Sitting behind the 'hair dryer', as turbos were often effectionately known, was an LS1, Chevy's infamous 5.7L V8 small block. The car ripped through the air well past the century mark on the speedometer, a heavily modified Nissan Skyline screaming along next to it, its nose just a breath ahead of the Trans Am.

The speeds rocketed upwards, 150,155,160, 165, 170. At one hundred and seventy five miles per hour, the Skyline held just enough of a lead, the Trans Am flashed his head lights, and let off the gas, allowing gravity to slow the black beast, the large V8 groaning as it slowed. They were both still moving at over 100 when they rocketed by the rest stop.

The parking lot was full, despite the hour. At just a hair past seventy thirty PM local time, the sun hadn't even set, but the races had already started. And so had the party. It was an average Friday night, maybe a hundred cars. Small by the standard Saturday turn out, but just enough to have some fun. Like always, the lot was heavily devided between the numerous cliques: Muscle heads, import lovers, people who prefered show to go, sleepers, SUVs loaded with sound equipment, motorcyclists, those who raced for fun, those who ran for money or slips, and those who ran for something else. Music filled the cool evening air, at just under eighty degrees, it was suprising cool for an Imitora summer night.

Robert Fortier cruised in, parking the SL next to a black Acura Integra, the young driver flipping through a wad of cash. "Lutz, what have a I told you about counting cash in the open?"

"Don't?"

"Yeah. Besides, wheres the bike?"

"Well, if you all are running tommorow, I want it to be rested, ready to go. Besides, I haven't had the 'Teg out in the while, need to use it to get some cash."

"Whatever, you seen the Judge yet?"

"Nope. I hear he might be loosing that Impalla of his tonight. Craig didn't wanna loose his job as well as his bosses car, so he popped a Kenne Bell on it this week."

"That's gonna be interesting."

"Yeah. When is everyone supposed to be arriving?"

"Soon. I cleared it with Hoot. We are go tommorow or Sunday, which ever we can get a better window."

"Good stuff."
__

Northampton International was always alive with arriving flights, and today was no different. However, it was alive with another sort of activity. Street racing was sort of an interesting situation in Imitora. While the highways had no official speed limits, racing was looked down upon, and it was up to the discretion of the highway patrol officers to decide if chase was nessacery. In city limits, speed limits were enforced by local police, and often heavily so. Racing was outlawd on public roads, but when it came to backroads and empty lots out of sight, don't ask don't tell was the policy.

However, Northampton was the litteral center of life in Imitora. The Northern coast city was a living, breathing entity, one that never slept. It could compare to Las Vegas, Tokyo, Miami, Paris, Los Angeles, and the rest all at the same time, and still come out on top. The massive city was populated by highrises and sky scrappers, neighborhoods where the lowest price on a house was still in the seven digit range, multiple convention centers, an entire sub sectiond dedicated to night clubs and cassinos, and more. It was the epitome of a world class city.

It was also the center of Imitora racing. Except for Speed Motorsports in Hutton, every major tuning shop in Imitora was in Northampton. Northampton Import Specialists, Judge's Court, First on Race Day Motorsports, Black Owl Customs, and the rest all had a home somewhere in Northampton. The Northampton police were also the most diligent, or should we say, vigalant, when it came to enforcing speed laws. And today was no exception.

Information had poured in from undercover sources, and the name and arrival location of every racer comming in from out of nation had been acheieved. Units were on the prowl for any suspicious driving, but the airport and sea ports were most underwatch.

The first look out was on the arrival of Hexx, however, the signature that belonged not to the Minister Sinclair of Diplomatic Affairs, but to President Gibbson let her in unchecked. However, the HotRodian arrivals didn't get the same luck. While a black Mercedes Benz S class stretch rolled up to the Tanaran aircraft, several black Audi S4s and S6s screamed up to the HotRodian aircraft, and agents wearing suits and brandeshing Sig Saur handguns, a few with pump action shotguns.

One agent stepped forward, holding up a warrant for rightfully seizure of all incomming goods. "Ma'am, I'm agent DeSanto, Imitora Imigrations. Please step away from the vehicle, and put your hands in the air."
___

At the Northampton International Sea Port, the situation was the same. No sooner had Charli's feet touched the ground had the signature click of a hand gun somehow broke the roar of heavy machinery. Four Audis, again, black with tinted windows blocked the exit, a Mercedes M class SUV and two more Audis in front of her in the car.

"Ma'am, please step away from the vehicle, and keep your hands where we can see them."
___

Hexx was the lucky one. She had been right, there was no official arrival party to greet her. While President Gibbson and Minister Sinclair were well aware of her arrival, they had been asked to keep it quiet and low key. Instead of the usual diplomatic welcoming group, a single black Mercedes Benz S Class stretch limo rolled up, the V12 silently turning over as a younger man stepped out, dressed in a suit.

"Your highness, I'll be your driver this evening. Are there any bags I can get for you?" he asked politely as the blue Griffon flags snapped in the wind of aircraft moving down the jetway.

Thunder rumbled from the rear of the ‘39 Zephyr. They could all say whatever they wanted, but the fact remained that nothing in the world sounded as great as the big engines did when everything was set up and tuned properly. Marie made her final adjustments under the hood and stepped back a bit. She wiped the sweat and hair off her brow and smiled. Mirage might not win this thing but she would definitely turn all heads everywhere she went.

The Zephyr was a classic in many ways. The 520 D514RT and supercharger were not among them. She knew just how much the car could and couldn’t give, and despite her love for it she could not help but think of taking the Purple People Eater instead. The Demon would give them all a good run.

She reached through the window and shut off the engine. The silence seemed almost as deafening as the engine had. Then the sharp clang of a tool on concrete followed by several choice words reminded her that Storm still hadn’t managed to get the DeLo to crank yet. She smiled. He had never been really good with normal engines and the one he had installed in the new car was definitely not normal. Whatever god had inspired him to put in a Renault RS26 V10 was playing a cruel joke at his expense. How he had managed to even get the engine was well beyond her knowledge- somewhere in the same realm he had managed to get the 2005 DeLorean Concept in the first place. The man had connections.

Another stream of creative words streamed past and Marie decided it was time for her to fix the problem - whether he liked it or not. Pushing past him and taking a moment to look things over. Yep. Storm had never been one to watch the small details that made these things work properly. “Go smoke a cigarette and give me ten minutes” she snapped at him with a smile.

Storm knew better than to argue when she decided to help. Years of married life had taught him that one very well. He headed for the door and had just managed to light the cigarette when the high-pitched whine of the Renault engine came to life. “Damn she’s good” was all he could think.

And it seemed it was just in time, too. The TK17-GE transport had just arrived it’s blades nearly flattening everything below the massive chopper as it descended. It was time to load up the cars and head for Imitora.

"Ma'am, please step away from the vehicle, and keep your hands where we can see them."

Charli froze for a second as multiple vehicles swarmed out of nowhere, surrounding her car. And armed? What the fraak? The entire country is filled with Fortier clone Aholes! "Suuure...no problem" Charlie slowly stepped away from the Phoenix, but unseen she began prepareing to defend herself if the so called Imitoran Immigration officers turned out be something else entirely. Her mom had never been caught and Charli wasn't about to be either.

"Seven vehicles for one small car and me? Over kill isn't it?" Her voice nominally polite.

One of the crew was coming down the gangway with her two modest suitcases in hand. He gave her a questioning look and she returned it with a shrug.

"I think I had better speak with some one frome the American Embassy. I am an American citizen and have a valid passport." Again she kept her voice calm but firm, not wanting them to thing that she'd give them any unusual trouble.

Mercedez Merideath Hexx had frozen as she had stepped into the jets doorway and realized where she was, and exactly which Antonov AN124 was rolling into a immense hangar. Her face twisted in something close to pain for the barest moment. "You sorry..." Mercy's voice trailed off and she swallowed hard. "Thats why you all have been pushing to get me behind a wheel, any wheel." She shook her head fiercely.

"I can't do it. I just can't" She had good reason to believe she couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't ever drive again. It started with the first assassination attempt that had seen her, even with Tanaara's highly advanced medical technology, in the hospital hanging between life and death for months. Some knew about that one, but delieberately kept quiet, it had recieved only minor media notice and had been billed as a vehicle failure. What none but the innermost circles knew, were the two other attempts, the last one of which took the life of some one very important to her. All three had been via sabotage to the vehicles she had been behind the wheel of at the time. Those ploting her demise had yet to be caught, but those sorry s.o.b's were consistant at least! She thought, suddenly weary.

"I guess I can explain in person to Rob why I missed his wedding." She sighed trying to find some good in a situation that her friends had obbiously spent a lot of time and effort arranging. "Whose car are we racing?"

Before any of them could answer ...

a single black Mercedes Benz S Class stretch limo rolled up, the V12 silently turning over as a younger man stepped out, dressed in a suit.

"Your highness, I'll be your driver this evening. Are there any bags I can get for you?" he asked politely as the blue Griffon flags snapped in the wind of aircraft moving down the jetway.

Mercy looked at him, closed her eyes for a long second and then opened them to reveal a hard gleam of anger filling them. "No, you will not be my driver this evening." She said firmly, then turned to her bodyguards.

" I'm guessing that you brought the Bad Karma, and the Wraith, right? Then get rid of all but one of the Diplo wagons. Sinjin, Robyn drive the cars - Khadri and Kazuma you can toss a coin to see who drives me. And take the damn flags off the fenders!"

She turned back to the nice young man in the suit and gave him a gentler look than before. "Thank you for coming, and please tell Hoot that I really appreciate him sending you over, but I've been here before and can take care of myself."

Mercy moved closed and asked in a low voice "Where are they gathering nowdays?" She knew that she would have eventually found 'them', but didn't have the energy for such jumping through hoops.

Loraba Business Jet
Northampton International Airport
Northampton, Imitora

Della's smile grew even wider as the Imitoran government vehicles approached, and broadened to a grin when Agent DeSanto proclaimed himself and held up a very official-looking paper. She took a step away from the Chromera and acceded to his request to raise her hands, while at the same time changing her stance slightly, giving him a nice view of both her and the car. She pulled her lips together in a pout and and asked sweetly, "Are you going to search me for weapons now?" Her eyes invited him to do so. In truth, she preferred women, but very few knew that, and he was unlikely to be one of those who did. The fun was beginning, and it would be nice to see the look on his face when he discovered the missive from the HotRodian Ministry of Hospitality that Argenti, who was still on the plane, was carrying.

No, you will not be my driver this evening

The young driver sighed, he had very specific instruction of where to take Hexx and her crew, and her lack of cooperation made that difficult. He glanced at her crew, unloading the vehicles, and shrugged.

"Very well ma'am, Mr. Fortier suggested as much would be the case." He fished through his pockets, finding a piece of paper, and handed it to her. While the usual BOC pick up happened differently, in this case, exceptions could be made. The paper had the location of where the drop off was to occur, the same rest stop where the scores of Northampton racers were grouping together.

"Enjoy your stay, ma'am."
___

Are you going to search me for weapons now?"

The shook his head, proceding forward. He was flanked by another agent, holding a Kimber out and low, the well tailored suit doing well yet failing to hid the bulk of a cut down shotgun hanging under his arm. "That wont be nessacery ma'am, just stay back from the vehicle."

He used the barrel of his Sig to push the door open further, peeking in to the car. He glanced around quickly, and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. He didn't see for sure, but was positive the vehicle had weapons on bored, and was probably hooked up to some sort of anti theft device that held a tracking unit. That was the usual with out of nation pick ups.

He pulled out, and looked at the other men, nodding. "Ma'am, we'll be confiscating your vehicle under Imigration Statute 22.14-9. Your vehicle was not properly registered with the Imitora Department of Motor Vehicles as an import. I'll need you to stand back for the time being, and ask anyone else on bored the aircraft associated with you to disembark."
___

I think I had better speak with some one frome the American Embassy. I am an American citizen and have a valid passport.

The agent, not one in any high level position, just nodded. He pulled a cell phone from a belt holster, tossing it to Charli, not taking his eyes of the car, glancing up to the crew of the ship every so often. "One oh two star send," he said. There wasn't much an embassy could do, but in many casses, it was often the first entity contacted by any international citizen upon being detained in Imitora.

The agent walked over to the car, peering through the dark black tint, looking for any bodies inside that would attempt to make things difficult, and then stepped back, checking the plates. He radioed in the description through a cuff mounted mic, the response comming back through the coiled ear piece. "Gotcha," he replied, and glanced up at Charli.

"Ma'am, this vehicle hasn't been registered propperly, we need to confiscate it. If you can stand back and cooperate, things will go fairly smoothly for everyone."

His ear piece buzzed again, and he grimaced almost unnoticably before bringing his cuff back to his face. "Alright, let them in." Moments later, two black BMW X5 SUVs slowly pulled around the corner, boxing both the agents and Charli against the crates and boat.

Loraba Business Jet
Northampton International Airport
Northampton, Imitora

Della shrugged her shoulders at the Agent, trying not to show her annoyance at his casual treatment of the Chromera, and inclined her head towards the sleek plane, drawing his attention to the woman currently exiting the aircraft after finishing the post-flight check. Argenti looked somewhat bemused upon catching sight of the scene, and shook her head sadly. She unconsciously patted the diplomatic pouch she carried, making her way towards the car, Della, and what appeared to be some very well-armed customs officials. It looked like she was already going to have to present the letter she had been given by the Minister of Hospitality.



From: Sam I Am, Minister of Hospitality, HotRodia
To: Robert Fortier, Foreign Affairs, Imitora

Dear Sir,

I hope that you have been doing well since our last contact via the Ministry of Hospitality. Sadly, as you may already know from Ambassador Burns, he must return to HotRodia to deal with a family emergency. I have sent Argenti Loraba (along with her assistant Della Carro) to take his place temporarily because of their previous experience of your excellent nation, anticipating that they are quite able to demonstrate the necessary cultural sensitivites required of the position and amazingly capable of representing their nation properly. Please give them your full cooperation. My apologies for the lack of advance notice, and I hope you will forgive the oversight in the midst of Ambassador Burns' unfortunate circumstances and the time-consuming preparations for a large Ambassadorial Gala in HotRodia, which I would be happy to have you or a chosen representative attend. Thanks in advance for your kindness.

With Respect,
Sam I Am

DeSanto looked at the letter handed to him, and then to the back up agent. "You know anyone named Fortier?"

"Nope. You?"

DeSanto folded the letter, and slid it into a jacket pocket. "Sorry ma'am, its gonna take alot more than that to change our minds. Now, if you could just please step..."

He was interupted by a beep from his belt. He removed a cell phone from a belt holster, and hit the side talk button. "DeSanto."

The voice that came back was digitzed, not due to an incripter, but the general static generated at the airport. However, despite the distortion, the voice sounded somewhat concerned about a similar situation brewing not to far away at the seaport. "Uh, sir, the girl is calling her embassy, and some guys from State just showed up. What do ya want me to do?"

DeSanto growled under his breath. He clicked the talk button again. "Just stick tight, wait for further."

The phone beeped again, and the voice came back. "Yessir."

He pocketed the phone, and was about to speak again, when the roar of twin V8s broke the general silence of the air in the private aviation section. DeSanto looked over his shoulder at the two BMW X5s barreling down from an open gate. As they neared, one of the SUVs dropped back, sliding in behind the first, the front of the first X5 blinking strobes.

"Just wonderful," DeSanto commented. He watched them move in, and then turned back to Della. "Ma'am, do you have any paperwork on this vehicle regarding Imitoran registration?"

"Enjoy your stay, ma'am."

"I will certainly try, and please, extend my greetings and a warm thank you to President Gibbson." Mercy turned away as the young man tucked himself back into the official limo and departed.

"Okay you gang of hijackers, here's where we're going." She let them all get a look at the information. "I'll sit back and be a good girl for whatever is going down. But really, if you'd wanted to race we could have set somthing up at home." She joshed, determined to be in a good mood.

The two couples were all willing to take that at face value, and hope that it became real. They had been running out of options to get their friend to smile again. She'd been far too remote, hiding behind the pleasaant facade wrapped around armoured shell that she'd built around herself.

Leaves are falling all around,
Its time I was on my way.
Thanks to you, Im much obliged
For such a pleasant stay.

But now its time for me to go,
The autumn moon lights my way.
For now I smell the rain,
And with it pain,
And its headed my way.
Ah, sometimes I grow so tired,
But I know Ive got one thing I got to do,

The shudder of the monstrous seafaring ship was barely felt as it slid into the Imitoran port. Crowds of people lined the main deck, waving to friends or family far below and waiting in the secure terminals. Many were visiting, some were returning home, and others were there for personal reasons.

Unknown to each other, they were men and women who were there for Imitora's true sport: racing.

Somewhat separated from the main throng of people stood one man next to a few others. In one hand, he held a bottle of beer, and in the other, his iPod which was showing his current song of Led Zeppelin's'Ramble On' playing.

Pursed lips held taut as the beer bottle was tipped skyward and drained of its remaining contents. A few seconds later, Lance turned away from the edge of the railing and began making his way to the walkway that would lead onto dry land. Somewhere not far away and secured in a crate marked as having passed entry inspection before having been loaded onto the ship; was his ride. Inwardly, he smiled as he remembered the day he had found the '69 Charger collecting rust in the junkyard. "Trashed in a demolition derby not too long ago." explained the junkyard's owner. An hour later, the Charger was sitting atop a flatbed tow truck and headed toward Moonshine Customs, one of three customs shops owned by Lance. That had been five months ago now.

Ramble on,
And nows the time, the time is now
To sing my song.
Im goin round the world,
I got to find my girl, on my way.
Ive been this way ten years to the day, ramble on,
Gotta find the queen of all my dreams.

Patting his pocket to ensure that his passport and other related papers were on hand, he rounded the corner after emerging from the elevator and promptly got into line. He continued to keep his medium sized duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Taking a glance out the open door of the ship, Lance watched as several BMWs screamed on by to a nearby location that was momentarily out of sight. A smile crossed his lips as he remembered the past Imitoran races he had been a part of. Cops were always going to be present, and in Imitora more so simply because of the very nature of its streets.

"One oh two star send,"

"Thanks " Charli graced him with a small smile, a reward for his being polite, though him pointing a gun at her in the first place had started him off on the wrong foot. At least he had put it up promptly.

As she dialed she noted him trying to see into the Phoenix and called out "The doors aren't locked and you are welcome to look inside."

No, what or rather who was dangerous was, apparently calmly, waiting for the American Embassy to answer their damn phone!

"Ma'am, this vehicle hasn't been registered propperly, we need to confiscate it. If you can stand back and cooperate, things will go fairly smoothly for everyone."

She folded the phone closed with a snap, frowning at him "I was told that I couldn't register until the car was here in Imitora. I have the forms filled out, they're in the folder in the passenger seat. The documents were provided by the consulate. Did some one just change the rules?" Her voice rose somewhat in exasperation.

Then she just cocked her head, a look of utter disgust - and no little internal ratcheting up of her tension and alert status - on her face as two black BMW X5 SUVs slowly pulled around the corner, boxing Charli and the Imitoran Fortier clones between the other unloaded crates and the ships rusty steel sides.

"Jeezli! Oh this is just getting better and better" Charli muttered to no one in particular. "What am I all of a sudden? Osama's ben Overladen?"

Did some one just change the rules?

"Sorry ma'am, but I don't have a W699 form on file for this vehicle, I need to take it in."

The door of the X5 clicked open, and out stepped a less calm looking agent. He was clad from neack to foot in the new trendy tactical blue, an assault vest covering his upper torso, the word 'STATE' emblazoned boldly on the back of the vest in yellow letters. An MP5/10I hung across his chest, and he was followed by numerous other agents, 14 in all disembarking from the vehicle The first one out walked forward with an authoritative stride, looking over at the Pheonix. "Nice car. I assume your a guest of Mr. Fortier and President Gibbson for the week?"

He glanced over at the young imigrations agent, and waved him off. "You and the goon squad can get on to some real work. This one's us."

"But," the agent protested, only to be silenced with a raised hand.

"Call your super if you don't like it. This lovely lady here is good to go, sans forms. Special exception." The agent looked up at Charli. "I'd like to appologize ma'am, usual paper work mess, imigrations probably didn't get the memo. Your free to go."

The young agent had a phone to his ear at this point, praying for someone on the other end to pick up. However, as imigrations agents across Imitora fought to get through to Special Agent in Charge Arlen DeSanto's phone, the number just rang busy.

"No, your not," the young agent protested.

"Yes, she is," the State agent said with a tone that proclaimed the argument over. The younger imigrations agent decided fighting it was not worth the trouble, and sighed, dropping his shoulders.

In the chain of command, imigrations answered to the Ministry of Internal Security. The MIS answered to Foriegn Affairs, under Minister Donald Sinclair. Sinclair, however, answered to the Imitoran State Department, which then answered to President Gibbson. State, however, didn't need to go that high, as the current SecState of Imitora was a one Judge Duane Benton, a Federal Judge and close personal friend, and one time teacher, of both Robert Fortier and Thomas 'Hoot' Gibbson.

The imigrations agent slid into the seat of his Audi, his backup doing the same, and manuvered out around the two BMW SUVs, leaving Charli, the Pheonix, and the State men to the docks. The agent stepped forward, pulling a card out of a vest pouch, and handed it to Charli. "My number is on the card ma'am, feel free to call if you get any more trouble from imigrations. Again, sorry for the issue."

He then turned, and waved his men back into thier respective SUVs, which pulled away calmly.
___

Waiting for Lance was a man dressed in a conservative suit, holding a placard with his name on it. He held for him not a ride, nor any spoken information, but just a simple piece of paper. Lance was one of the few visitors to Imitora who had gotten the special privledge of Diplomatic Immunity. Sort of. While his long term stay in Imitora was not covered, his arrival and unloading of his vehicle were, and as long as Lance stayed in the port, immunity was his.

The piece of paper explained this, as well as directions to the near by Water Lily hotel.

The hotel was, on a scale of one to ten, somewhere around a thirty two or thirty three when it came to world class service. A 24 hour pool that split indoor and outdoor, with its own 'floating bar', five seperate spas, three five star resteraunts, a 24 hour wieght room with the best equipment, no room smaller than what many would consider a suite with the best beds money could buy, its own amusement park, casino, and full time CCTV watched garrage allowed guests to relax in complete comfort and privacy. Further, an on staff escort service that was also trained in many clerical and staff skills meant you hadn't need to worry about bringing the secertary and being caught in a comprimising situation. It made Ritz Carltons world wide look like Motel 6s, could put the even the most glamorous hotel in New York or Miami to shame, and had even been used to justify the comparison of the more exclusive hotels in Monaco to Holiday Inns. In short, it was a nice place.

The man also carried with him a small cell phone, one that had no trace, that had been filled with numbers of the right people to call in any situation that warrented a call to the right person. However, non of this was special gift of Fortier. No. This all came from the privledge of being in the top five list of President Gibbson's favorite people.
___

At RS 15, sitting twelve miles outside Northampton city limits, and just over a half hour away from the airport, the party had just started its rise. The cliques had mulled together to form a small crowd, some staying close to thier respective group, and away from the throng. Those that strayed had gathered around the back of a Lincoln Navigator, the rear tailgate up revealing a set up of no less than 12 subwoofers, 15 speakers, five amps, three crossovers, two extra batteries, four 7.5 inch LCD screens, and a neon, strobe, and laser light kit that pulsated, twisted, and flashed with the beat of the music. The sun had yet to fully set, but people still 'oohed' and 'awed' at the set up. A three spiner turn table had extended from under the truck, and teh driver, a young, skinny Asian man had started working his majic. Topping it all off was the one way, two inch thick bullet proof glass, nitrous purge kit that flashed off in multiple colors, and a custom body kit that allowed the Lincoln to move with its fenders barely an inch off the ground, yet letting it sit on a set of twenty six inch spinners.

Robert stayed back, allowing the soft sounds of the progressive house music to float over the parking lot towards his post, the black SL65 AMG. It was the only vehicle in his stable that had not been touched by the aftermarket, and Robert was fine with that. The twin turbo V12 already cranked more horsepower and torque than a number of vehicle present, and it hadn't been purchased for modification. Robert had justified the purchase simply as, and this has been quoted, "I just wanted a daily driver that was also a drop top. The only requirements were that it be a German hard top convertable, with a V12 motor, and two turbos. Who was I to know that only one company did such a thing?"

Parked next to him was the fairly show, yet still go, Integra belonging to long time friend, Andrew Lutz. The Acura rarely saw street use, Andrew prefered to use one of the many two wheeled terrors for both his racing, and his passion of filming. Andrew was younger than Robert, a hair over 35 to Robert's 42, but they had met in the military, and stayed close friends.

On the opposite side of Robert was a black 2006 Cheverolet Impala SS. It, like the SL65, was stock, a daily driver for Judge Duane Benton, or just Judge as every knew him. He wasn't affraid of loosing his car tonight, he had faith in his driver's skills and Fortier's 402. Even if he did loose, he needed an excuse to get a new car, and he had his eyes set on a CTS-V.

"So," Robert said, breaking a pleasent silence that needed no interuption, yet would not ruin the moment if there had been, "hows that new guy I sent ya?"

"Dom? He's great. Guy knows his way around Chevy V8s like I know my way around the court room. Where did ya pick him up again?"

"Back in the states. When I won that Poopra in Houston, we met up, bought me some drinks, asked if I could take a look at his car he was building. Just come back from Tokyo. Told him I knew some people if he wanted to get real money for working with cars, and I sent him your way. Glad he worked out."

It was at that point that Mercy's 'caravan' of such pulled into the lot, the noticable cars catching Fortier's eye. He smiled to himself, glad that he could see his freind again, as well as deliver the birthday present. Of course, seeing the cars, and not the limmo he had sent, ticked off a small alarm in the back of his brain. "Hey Judge, ever get that feeling that your in a lot of trouble all of the sudden, and the person your in trouble with wont say that you are?"

The Judge, who despite being in his late fifties, had been distracted by a girl who had to only be in her early twenties, wearing the ever fashionable school girl outfit that the young ones had picked up as a carze lately. He caught the last bit of Fortier's statement, followed his eyes to the cars, and nodded with a wise smile. "Why do ya ask?"

The chopper finally touched down in Imatora. Marie didn’t mind flying, but the chopper was a whole other beast that she did not like. Storm had slept for most of the flight over. Typical. The big bear could sleep anywhere. She reached over and poked him in the ribs. “Time to get off this infernal thing and have some fun.” She didn’t wait for a response, Storm would be along in a few minutes. Right now all that mattered to her was checking on Mirage.

The cars were being unloaded when she got to the rear of the transport. “There had better not be even one little scratch.” was her hissed remark to the Vegan crewmen doing the work.

“Or a big scratch either!” was the smart-ass reply from over her shoulder. Storm had woken faster than normal this time. And it was no surprise, he was as excited as Marie was over what this trip would involve. Besides the fact that Irrational Behavior was his new pride and joy.

One last thought went through Marie’s mind. “Just how much trouble could they find before leaving the airport?”

Mercy had found the formality of the tailored pantsuit intolerable, so she'd demanded that the convoy stop at one of Imitora's finest casual ladies wear boutiques. She'd found just the right thing quickly enough to Kasuma and Sinjin's relief. But they'd lost the looks of releif when they saw the large packages their own ladies stowed in the back of the Mercedez with secretive grins.

The light abosrbing black of the Wraith (http://www.atddm.com/Wraith1.jpg) drank in the last rays of the sun and the refractive blackend bronze of the Bad Karma (http://www.atddm.com/badk.jpg) glinted splinters of light back as the two cars broke free of the small formation. With the characteristic snarls of their powerful engines the two sped into the rest stop, under the perfect control of their drivers, spinning around to back into empty slots with a double wide space in between them.

Noses pointed outward Sinjin and Robyn stepped out and surveyed rest stop 15 with the cold eyes of security forces. Sinjin spoke low, his voice only needing to cary to the tiny throat mike on his collar. Once that was done they both relaxed fractionally and looked over to Fortier, giving him discrete high signs. The 'all clear' recieved, the armoured Mercedez GL450 SUV moved in to back in between them. Khadri and Kazuma stepped out but the back door was opened from within.

The legs that first came into view were long and lean and perfectly packaged in supple black leather pants that fit like a second skin. The body that followed would rival any showgirls, but was as fit as any martial artist, and just as graceful. The teeshirt was old, well loved, and proclaimed her as a survivor of the first Imitora Players Run. As well it should since MMX was one of those famous few. It fit as perfectly as the pants did. She'd smiled uninhibitedly when she saw that it had been packed for her.

Mercy didn't bother to close the door behind her as she ran over to Rob and before he could say a word gave him a hard hug. "Rob, I am so sorry I missed your 's and Mary's wedding."

Loraba Business Jet
Northampton International Airport
Northampton, Imitora

Della grinned. "I have done all sorts of things on the vehicle." She winked for good measure, and Argenti, standing beside her, smothered a giggle. Suddenly, the Chromera RV started up, making a joyful noise unto the tarmac. Argenti looked very startled, and turned to Della. "Did you do that?"

Della shook her head, a confused look on her face. "I thought we left the remote on the plane because we weren't going to need it. Maybe something shifted in one of your bags and hit the ignition button." She shrugged again, making sure Agent DeSanto got a nice view of her bosom. If nothing else, she was going to irritate the hell out of the man for the sake of her own amusement. It was always fun to play games with the men.

"Nice car. I assume your a guest of Mr. Fortier and President Gibbson for the week?"

I've never had the pleasure of meeting President Gibbson, but yes Rob invited me personally." Charli replied with a smile that held far more relief in it that might be expected.

She watched the power play with concealed fascination, and took it to heart that she may have just inadvertantly made an enemy of Immigration. But she didn't let it bother her too much, especially when the nearly s.w.a.t. armed and armored gentleman gave her his card. For the first time in her life she thought that it might be nice to have friends in high places.

"My number is on the card ma'am, feel free to call if you get any more trouble from imigrations. Again, sorry for the issue."

"Thank you very much, and I will if need be." She called after him as they left. She knew she wouldn't though. Holding hard against the shakes she quickly slid into the dark comfort of the Phoenix's interior, closeing and locking the door behind her. Then her discipline gave way and she huddled, trembling violently, over the leather wrapped steering wheel. She had run her bluff just as had been planned out long ago. You taught me well mom...thanks and yes I miss you every day she thought as after nearly fifteen minutes the reaction passed, leaving her limp.

Her passport was as ilegitimate as she was, and her visa and other papers had never seen the inside of any governemnt office save the one they had been stolen from. However she had paid for the best and even the biometrics would have fooled all but the highest level security check.

She stepped back out the AMX3 and put her two small suitcases in to the small storage area. Like every thing she owned they were quality in construction and materials. Her mother had always taught her to buy the best and take care of it "It will last you a life time Charli dear, and quality will never go out of fashion."[i]Her mothers words sounded in her head and Charlie smiled to herself.

She waved good bye to the tramp freighters crew and turned the Phoenix's massive engine over. It rumbled throatily and seemed to crouch impatiently awaiting her guidance. The trip to Imitora might have taken three months, what with the zig zagging path and long stays in the various ports, but the crew had never minded off loading the car for her and she'd gotten to drive the Phoenix in some places that few non natives ever had driven anything motorized. he'd spent the last couple of days replacing the tires and doing one final tune. She wasn't really a mechanic as such but by now she knew the Phoenix inside and out.

An hour and a half later she was pulling into rest stop 15. Charli had spent a very profitable hour proving a quartet of local wanna- bes that their cars were nothing against the car they thought was a kit car. Charli had run across them trying to find her way out of the stretching forever docks of North Hampton when she'd stopped to ask the small cluster of racers directions to the exit. In her jeans pocket were eight thousand Imitoran credits more than more than the few hundred she's started with and lots of talk in her wake. Spending part of that hour letting her victims drool,[i]just not on or in the car thank you!, over the Phoenix had been good publicity. She'd been willing to tell them the history of the nearly unique car, and didn't mind the word of mouth getting out about the Phoenix. However she'd adroitly deflected all questions about herself. And the eight races, short as they were, had burned off the excess adrenal poisoning.

She cruised slowly through the throng of people and vehicles, trying to judge the various pools and pods of people and vehicles. The Lincoln Navigator had her shaking her head with a chuff of amusement. She didn't much care for music done at a volume that would wake Kodiaks from mid winter slumber, but to each their own. Then she caught sight of some one she thought she knew, some one totaly unexpected. She whipped the Phoenix in to an empty spot and swung out.

"Khadri! Kahdri Van Maartin what are you doing here in Imitora?" She called out as she made her way to where Khadri and the other's of Mercy's watchwolves stood keeping a discrete eye on their friend. She and the tall, elegant stunt double had met when she was acting safety officer on a film shoot on location in Alaska.

I have done all sorts of things on the vehicle.

"Ma'am, I don't have time for this," he said huridly, glancing over his shoulder to see the BMWs slowing down. He ignored the offered view, he was happily married and whilst many Imitorans subscribed to the belief that it was ok to work up the appitite looking at a few burgers, as long as you went home for your steak dinner, he oftened felt that 'flirting is cheating's ugly cousin.'

"Just tell me if you have the proper paper work done or not. I need a form W699, and I don't see one on your file." He had the right to shoot her, and had no problem doing so if she didn't cooperate. The click of a door opening took that right away.

"Ma'am, you don't need to answer any questions," a man dressed as one would expect a SWAT operator would be spoke up, exiting the SUV. Just as has happened at other sites around Northampton with racers arriving, and had happened at the port, the Imitoran State Department had steped in when found most convient.

DeSanto was heart broken. He had his reasons for wanting to kill this race before it started, some personal, some professional. There had been a big offer by a number of police agencies nation wide to put the nix on the race, and the general fear among immigrations was the posibility of the racers running drugs or other forms of contraband through Imitora. However, State outranked Immigrations, and the rumor had it that 90% of the time, State got what it wanted.

DeSanto looked at the State agents, the metal on their MP5/10Is catching a glint of sunlight, and sighed. Unlike the number of rookies leading sting operations, he knew that to argue with State was akin to commanding a house cat to do tricks: it wasn't going to happen. He simply waved, cursing his fortune, and slid back into his Audi, his men doing the same. The State agent wasn't as friendly as the one who had assisted Charli, but he appologized all the same, and he and his men piled back into the SUVs, speeding off to put the kill on yet another sting.
___

Just how much trouble could they find before leaving the airport?

Fortunately for the couple, they managed to catch the tail end of the State vs. Immigrations fiasco, and managed to land uninterupted. They had been given clearence from the tower to land at one of Northampton International's numerous helipads, a good amount of area cleared to allow them breating room.

For them, as for many of the racers, the instructions were the same. Rooms had been reserved at the Water Lily hotel, and that a meeting was to happen in Confrence Room WT214, on the third floor, at 11:30am local time. Beyond that, their first night in Imitora could be spent how they pleased. The front desk of the hotel would be more than helpfull, going to their full extent to see that any guest had everything they needed, and were fully rested and ready for the events of the next day. It helped that a number of palms had recieved a decent gratuity from Fortier, Lutz, and Hoot.
___

Rob, I am so sorry I missed your 's and Mary's wedding.

Fortier returned the bear hug, smiling. "It's fine Mercy, I understand. Running a nation and all can be tough business. Hell, Hoot still hasn't returned my call from three weeks ago," he laughed. "So, how are things going for you?"

Before a response could be made, the kindly looking older gentelman to Fortier's right spoke up. "Robert, are you just gonna sit back and not introduce me to your lovely young friend?"

"Ah, sorry. Mercy, you remeber Andrew Lutz," Rober replied, pointing to the younger man drooling over a Asian girl dressed like a bunny sitting on the hood of a Supra. One oculd not be sure which Andrew was more infatuated with. "This, right here," he started, pointing to the man on his left, "is Judge Duane Benton. Federal Judge, soon to be secertary of state, and owner of Courthouse Customs, the finest GM tuner in all Imitora. Judge Benton, may I introduce you to Her Royal Highness, Miss Mercedez Merideath Hexx."

The Judge stepped forward, offering a slight bow, taking Mercy's hand, and giving it a gentle kiss. He winked, and smiled a full, genuine smile. His salt and pepper hair had grown out a bit more than the standard judge's, and he wore it somewhat up, letting it fall where it would. (http://www.amnh.org/rose/images/harrisonford.jpg) "The pleasure is all mine Miss Hexx. If there is anything I can accomodate you with for your stay, feel free to ask."

"Alright," Fortier jumped in, "easy boy. Don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Oh, I'm sure that I could survive a broken heart," the Judge chimmed in, smiling.

"I'm more worried about your neck," Fortier chuckled back. He returned his attention to Mercy, who still looked as stunning as she had the first time they met. "So, you ready to check it out? Or do you not know exactly why you are here?" he asked, glancing at the body gaurds.

She nodded and greeted Andrew, who scarely noted her existance so engrossed as he with the bunny and the Supra.

"The pleasure is all mine Miss Hexx. If there is anything I can accomodate you with for your stay, feel free to ask."

The Judge's gallantry had a comfortable, unexaggerated feel to it - her brilliant smile brought out her dimples and her eyes sparkled as he kissed her hand. " Oh my I can see why Hoot wants you as Sec State. Please call me Mercy."

She froze a little inside, as the two men joshed about surviving, a sudden spike of pain welling up inside her. She didn't dare be interested in any one any more, it made them too great a target.

Khadri was introducing Charli to Sinjin, explaining how she had saved hers and the producer's lives after they had gotten trapped on a mountainside. "Damned Italian insisted on going up himself. Fancied himself an adequate skiier."

"You would have gotten him down Khadri, but hey his ineptitude got me the Phoneix here." Charlie demured and turned their attention to the rare vehicle. While they looked at it she looked over curious to see whom they were with. When she saw Fortier she gave him a smile and a wave.

"So, you ready to check it out? Or do you not know exactly why you are here?"

Robyn was close enough to have caught the exchange and gave Fortier a very subtle shake of the head.

"Check what out? I thought the cadre was here to make the run...but it sounds like something more..." A fine tremor ran up her spine,the faintest hint of unease entering her voice, as she searched Rob's face for clues. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she had no idea that she'd gone pale.

Loraba Business Jet
Northampton International Airport
Northampton, Imitora

Once the agents were gone, Della laughed uproariously as she opened the door to the trusty Chromera, patting the armored panels. Those panels were part of the latest round of modifications to the amazing Race Vehicle, the only modification that had been completed at the HRMC facilities. The factory was the only place that offered the armor and bulletproofing, generally as a special service for government leaders, but done this time as a special request from a friend of the Minister of Hospitality.

Argenti rolled her eyes at Della's laughter, but she was smiling, and headed back to the plane. That Immigrations agent had taken her only copy of the letter, and she needed to dig the original out of her baggage and make another copy. She cursed him lightly under her breath, but she knew he had probably only been trying to do his job.

Four hours later...

After a nice ride through Northampton on its familiar roads that looked largely the same as last time, with a few changes, Argenti and Della had arrived at the HotRodian Embassy to see Ambassador Burns and relieve him of his duties so that he could see his family. After a tearful exchange, the Ambassador had taken a helicopter, presumably to the airport to get on a plane, but Argenti han't really been sure. The embassy's office supplies had been used to make a copy of the letter for Fortier, and then they had gone back to the designated hotel, ready to enjoy the facilities and get some rest for the next day. Della recommended that they enjoy some spa treatments, and Argenti agreed that this was a fine suggestion.

"You would have gotten him down Khadri, but hey his ineptitude got me the Phoneix here." Charlie demured and turned their attention to the rare vehicle. While they looked at it she looked over, curious to see whom they were with. When she saw Fortier she gave him a smile and a wave.

http://www.atddm.com/charli2.jpg

"I need to let him know what happened to me" She muttered half to herself. "Others may be having the same problem."

Khadri looked at her friend questioningly. "What happened?" and listened with a frown as Charli explained. "Let me take you over and introduce you to the boss, Her Royal Highness Mercedez Merideath Hexx. The lady with Fortier. We're here to pick up her birthday present, a totally custom one off Fortier's Black Owl shop did for her."

"This whole country is filled with Fortier clones, ego wank all the way every single one." Charlie complained under her breath and Khadri laughed.

"Yeah but in his case he's earned it. And he's not so bad once you get to know him."

"well he did send me the invite" Charli allowed grudgingly as the two walked up to Fortier, Mercy, and the Judge."

Once introductions had been made Charli advised Fortier of what had happened to her at the docks. "They obviously knew I was coming in, Great Gnuz I took the long way in, been a-sea for right at three months. I pretty much picked the freighter at random." She hadn't really, it was the only one that would let her work passage - running between the galley, radio room and the tiny medical berth. And if they hadn't of lost their only medic to a broken leg on shore leave they've turned her down. But she wasn't going to say that.

"I've never had some one hold a gun on me as standard proceedure, but the man from your State Department. "She gave the Judge a grin "sent them on their way." Her jeans and tucked in oxford shirt maybe could have hid an ankle holster- a small one - but that would have been it.

Check what out? I thought the cadre was here to make the run...but it sounds like something more...A fine tremor ran up her spine,the faintest hint of unease entering her voice, as she searched Rob's face for clues. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she had no idea that she'd gone pale

"Oops," Fortier commented, looking over at the body gaurds with an expression to match. "Umm, I didn't say anything, did I?"

"Now Robert, no need to lie to Mercy. Tell her about her birthday present."

Fortier gave the Judge a sideways glance, then back to the nearest gaurd. He shrugged, as if asking permision to tell Mercy about the car. It was at that time that Charli stepped in, saving the moment.

I've never had some one hold a gun on me as standard proceedure, but the man from your State Department sent them on their way.

"Hmmph," Fortier grunted, nodding. "Sounds like immigrations. Man, they are in the wrong department. Should be under DD, not State. Always works out that way. Sorry 'bout the incident, immigrations tends to be a bit over zealous."

The Judge cut in, nodding in agreement. "We always have to watch them over, make sure they don't do something stupid. Rob's right, they should be in the Defense Department budget. I'm glad my State boys could get it all settled in."

Taking the note and reading it quickly, Lance nodded to the agent and turned away with a slight smile crossing his rugged features. He walked casually, yet purposefully toward his car, watching as the dock crew pulled open the metal crate doors and began to loosen and unlock the straps holding the car in place.

"I'll take her out boys." Lance called out to them, holding up his card to verify his identification as the owner of the vehicle. Several moments of silence followed as he disappeared into the crate and slid in behind the wheel.

Outside, the crewmen milled on either side of the crate's opening. A few wondered what kind of man he was to gain such ease of immunity and passage. Nevertheless, they didn't have time to think about this as the crate suddenly shook decently well from the engine turning over and revving from the depths of the crate.

Rolling the car forward slowly, Lance gave the crewmen a grin and nod as he pushed the play on his iPod now connected into the car's stereo system. Danger Zone beat through the system as he shifted the gears and floored the pedal. A throaty roar drowned out all nearby noise, and within seconds, the '69 Charger was at the gate, it's throaty roar momentarily lowered to a growl as Lance waited for the gate to open. As he passed through the gate he smiled slightly, There goes diplomatic immunity. Now to find out what they're protectin' me from...

As Lance cruised down the streets of Imitora, mostly to refresh his memory of the general layout of the roads, he keyed the cell phone and scrolled through the names. Finally, he found what he wanted, assigned it to speed dial #2, and pressed 'Call'.

As the phone started ringing and cycled through several rings, Lance muttered to himself, "C'mon Hoot...no time for old friends?"

Sorry 'bout the incident, immigrations tends to be a bit over zealous."

I'm glad my State boys could get it all settled in."

"Oh it wasn't too unnerving, they were all so very polite" Save for enough armament to start WWWIII she thought as she lied smoothly. "My mother just taught me to avoid 'imperial entanglements.' Han's Solo couldn't have said it better and her grin was impish.

"So Fortier, when and where is check in?" Her invitation had given a date and the general where of Northhampton, Imitora, RS fifteen, but no other information.

So Fortier, when and where is check in?

"Tommorow, noonish at the Water Lily. Not sure when we're gonna leave, depends on the weather, cops, stuff like that. Also gotta wait till my wife gets back from visiting her folks, so its gonna be sometime after one if we even leave tommorow. Sunday might be a better bet."

Fortier glanced over at the sound of screeching tires, watching two of the new Pontiac GTOs see who could create more smoke, the acrid white burnt rubber filling the air. Clouds of the smoke slowly built up, floating up and over the crowd, before the lesser of the two finally let off, rolling forward a few inches, dark thick rubber built up on the concrette and rear fenders.

"Damn," the Judge commented. "I wonder if that was one of my motors?"

"Speaking of which, when are your boys racing?"

"Any time now, once Craig shows up."
___

On Lance's end, the phone finally found a voice mail.

Hey, this is Hoot, leave one. The President was passed out on a bed in his home, the past weeks preelection trips and speeches taking their toll on even the most well trained. His phone was on silent, and he had no intention of waking up till Sunday to answer.

Argenti's Room
The Water Lily Hotel
Northampton, Imitora

The bed was soft and supportive, but firm and smooth, like a good woman. Argenti loved the feel of the silk sheets against her skin. She wondered where Della was, and smiled. Knowing her, the shower was getting steamy right now. Della loved a good steamy shower before a day of racing. Argenti opened the door that led to her adjoining room and saw that her guess had been correct. The bathroom door was open and the sound of water running came to her ears. When she stepped into the sumptuously appointed bathroom, larger than her office back in HotRodia, the air was thick and warm. She began removing her clothing slowly, enjoying the heat that reminded her of home, and joined Della in the shower. She needed to be clean for the spa, and Della could clean those hard-to-reach places for her, and Argenti could do the same for Della.


Two hours later...

After a light dinner in their rooms, Della and Argenti made their way to one of the spas in the amazing Water Lily Hotel. A few moments passed, and they were laying on massage tables, their tense muscles being relaxed by professionals. It had been a tense day, and a long flight at the beginning of it, so the easing of tension was critical. It wouldn't do to start a race with a tense body and a pre-occupied mind. Della's mind drifted, relaxing along with her body as the kneading hands of the masseuse continued their work on her shoulders, working the knots out from under her shoulder blades. Just before sleep overtook her, she thought that it had been much too long since her last massage.

When the talk turned to the evening's races Mercy pulled Robert a little aside.
And in a low voice demanded to know just what sort of birthday gift every one seemed to know about but her. She was fairly certain she knew, and part of her quailed at the thought.

"Okay Rob, your guardian angel got you a short breathing spell, but now spill it. What is this about a birthday present?"

The engine of the ‘39 Zephyr roared to life and Marie smiled her brilliant smile. All the way from ASMV without a scratch and still purring like a kitten - ok maybe it was more like a lion. But in any case she was very please at the sounds of the motor revving.

Storm chuckled to himself. She really did love that car, and he couldn’t blame her for that. It was one hell of a ride. Still he couldn’t help but wonder if it had what it would take to win this competition. Marie wouldn’t care. She would simply soak in all the sharp looks the car was sure to get. But Storm hadn’t come all this way just to turn some heads.

He slid his massive frame into the DeLo and turned the key. The sharp whine of the Renault's RS26 was a sharp contrast to the rumble of the Zephyr. He knew the engine and the car on their own terms were enough to compete here. All that remained was to see how the combination performed. He wished for a moment that he had gotten the refits done in time for some road testing, but some things could not be helped.

He reached down and picked up the two-way that the pair would use to communicate. “Now just where the hell are we supposed to be staying?”

Marie’s melodious voice answered quickly. “The Water Lily Hotel. They are expecting us. At least one of us has a memory.” Marie laughed as she said that.

“Very funny.” Storm quipped. “Lead the way.”

“You had better get used to the view from back there, you will be seeing a lot of it.”

The pair tore out of the airport hell bent on finding the hotel and some attention. Some fifteen minutes later the two had already checked in and were deciding on plans for dinner.

Okay Rob, your guardian angel got you a short breathing spell, but now spill it. What is this about a birthday present?

Robert shuffled his feat, trying to avoid the question, but he knew it was comming. "Well, its simple, really. With Hoot doing the run the nation thing, and good help around here so hard to find, I decided to close out Blackowl. To much business, not enough time to get everything done. It was reflecting poorly on myself and the company, so I finished up all the cars I had, told everyone no more orders, and that was that."

"Then your friends over there called me up, and told me that your birthday was comming up, and they wanted it to be something special. So, I set up a design portfolio, ya know, goals in mind, options, all that stuff, and got to work on a Murcialago I was able to pick up. But they wanted it to be something really special, not just a custom job, like a one off."

Robert paused, looking around for a moment, and continued. "So I got in contact with some industry friends, people with the big names in racing, and then some contacts in the tunning industry. We got together, and I contracted them out to help out. Had a group working on the body, group working on the chasis and frame, some on the suspension, and I took on the motor."

"We built you a car. A total one of. Nothing else like it anywhere. We decided to call it the Spell Breaker."
___

Storm and Marie had all the choices in the world for dinner.

Northampton was more than the population center of Imitora, it was also the cultural center. All sort of food could be had, from classic American to exotic Middle Eastern treats. Price ranges moves up and down as well, from the cheap fast food places, to some of the pricier stake and seafood houses.

There were also a number of theme resteraunts of all varities, as well as dinner theaters (both live and motion picture), drive ins, sports bars, and the like. The hotel as well had its fair share of resteraunts, from the family based Chucks, to the more adult Red Square, which served numerous Russian dishes in an old Soviet style setting, and boasted a vodka bar with more than two hundred choices, a walk in humidor the size of an apartment, and had recieved the Imitora Premire Living magazine prestigous best martini award five years running. It even had a mock statue of Lennin, with the head cut off and mock bird droppings, out in the hotel foyer leading to the resteraunt.

For any help at all, the hotel guide pointed them to the concierge at the Front Desk.
___

Della and Argenti would find a massuse of every style, from the classical Sweedish to a number of new age methods. Mud baths and wraps were available as well, as were steam rooms, hot tubs, and a saloon. The Water Lily only hired the best, and it showed in the skill of the staff. They were presented with wine lists, and, like all visitors for the race, were informed that all hotel services were complimentary.

"We built you a car. A total one of. Nothing else like it anywhere. We decided to call it the Spell Breaker."

Mercy had made sure to stand with her back to the others, but she couldn't keep Rob from seeing her face, though she could let her head droop and her brilliant blonde hair hide her face. She didn't wnat him to see the tears tracking down her face. But her voice shook, no matter how hard she tried.

"Rob, I can't, I just can't" She looked up at him her face twisted with fear and rage. "I missed your wedding because...remember during the coup, I ended up in a Regen tube? I've been in three more times. Someone has tried to take me down three times now and the last two attempts killed others... Deena and Layne - you remember my mechanic team from the first Players Run? They died in the second attempt, and Jason...you...you would have liked him a lot Rob, and I think I would have said yes when he asked, but I never got a chance to..." She dashed away her tears angrily.

Rob wrapped his arms arround Mercy. "Don't worry, its ok. I shoulda known. Its my bad."

He could feel her shaking in his arms, and he sighed. "You don't need to worry. If your safe anywhere, its here. Listen, I understand if you are scared, but you don't need to worry. This car is safe, it won't hurt you."

He looked over at her friends, giving them a sort of ok, what do I do know? look, keeping it from Mercy. "Why don't we get you a look at the car, maybe you'll change your mind then?"

He had heard the rumors and accusation, when one was tied as deeply to the intell community as he was, access to certain briefs and informations was easy to come by. He should have turned the contract down, he knew it would be a bad idea, but it was for a friend, and he couldn't just let a friend go on without special notice. So he built the car. He only picked those he trusted, and had even tested the car himself, pushing it to its ultimate limits to see what it could handle. If she didn't accept the car, then he would understand, and simply insist it find its way into a museum or car show.

However, he hoped she would take it. It was a true custom car, the only one of its kind. The mold had been destroyed after the build, and the plans burned as well. There was no way that more than one of this car would exist. It was also the last of a breed, the last of the Blackowl Customs vehicles.

This car is safe, it won't hurt you."

"I'm not scared for me, it's every one around me." She whispered into his chest for his ears only. "At least those sorry sons are consistant in how they try to kill me. They want me to die or quit. And part of me wants to. To have a life, to not be lonely. But if I quit they win." She didn't have to say that she wouldn't quit, wouldn't be run off by threats or attempts on her life..

"Why don't we get you a look at the car, maybe you'll change your mind then?"

She drew a deep breath in and pushed gently out of Fortier's arms, looking up at him with a determined smile. Mercy envied Mary so much- Robert Fortier was a one of a kind man and she was incredibly glad to have him as her friend.

"Lets go see it."

Shaking his head as he heard the recording speak into his ear, Lance stayed on the line long enough to cry into the phone, "Get yo' damn punkass outta your Mr.-Mighty chair and strut your stuff on the streets, like you were born for!"

The charger roared again just before he closed the phone and set it aside. He made his way back to the hotel selected for his stay and raised an eyebrow as he saw the material wealth of the hotel. Upon arriving at the main entrance, he was immediately ushered in, checked in in record time, and led to his room.

Charli ignored the interaction between Mercy and Rob, it was only polite.

"Are you going to be racing in the Player's Run your Honor?" She asked the Judge. He was a handsome, well spoken older man and she had no problem with age differences. "Or do you just build motors?" She'd caught his comment about one of the new GTO's motor possibly being one of his, and wondered how he had time to with all the other 'hats' he seemed to wear.

"It might not be believed but I've got a non sotck, no maker's stamp 401 in the Phoenix." Charlie added.

Are you going to be racing in the Player's Run your Honor?

"Oh, not this year, I'm affraid. To much real work, not enough time for the fun stuff. But some of the cars running are ones I've worked on. Keep an eye out for a Sunset Orange Firehawk, he has a custom built 427 race motor. Dumping it out after the headers, its loud."

It might not be believed but I've got a non sotck, no maker's stamp 401 in the Phoenix.

"No makers? Is it a Chevy based 401, or one of the one off jobs?"
___

Hoot rolled over in the dark room, grabbing his cell phone. He had set an alarm to go off in case of a voice mail. And now, he regretted it, the theme song from the Dukes of Hazzard continuing to run.

Just some good ol' boys

Jesus Christ, stop ringing.

Never meaning no harm

Wait a sec, Dukes?

Beats all you never saw

Dukes only means that its...

Been in trouble with the law since they day they been born

Lance

Hoot rolled over, killing the phone, auto deleting the voice mail. He pulled on a pair of jeans, and grabbed a tee shirt and the keys to his 'Vette. He knew where the racers were staying, and in minutes, the red C5 Z06 roared down the high way towards the Water Lily.
____

Lets go see it.

"Awesome. You'll love it, trust me."

He walked back over to the group, and was about to speak when the whiring noise of Kenne Bell 2.4L Supercharger broke the sounds of conversations and the low murmur of motors. Suprisingly to some, the supercharger drowned out the sound of the modded V8 sitting under the hood of the 2004 Cobra.

"Oh, here we go," the Judge said, watching the black snake roll into the parking lot.

Robert paused watching the car roll in. He wanted to show Mercy the car, but the 402 sitting under the hood of the Camaro set to race the Cobra was of his own build, the first of a small batch of Chevy small blocks ranging in size from the 347 range all the way up to a monsterous one of five hundred and seventy two cubic inches. He had also helped out Hoot, the motor currently pulling the Z06 towards the Water Lily being one of five Blackowl Customs 454s.

He watched as the Hugger Orange SS rolled over from another side of the parking lot, the 402 V8 rumbling, its cam resulting in a sound akin to the crunching on an aluminum can. A grin crossed his face as the driver slipped out the clutch and hammered the throttle, the rear wheels shooting out and then stopping.

"This is gonna be interesting," he commented under his breath.

OOC: Hope you don't mind me taking a little liberty with Hoot...

IC:
30 minutes later

Feeling refreshed from the shower, Lance finally stepped out and pulled on a pair of worn jeans, and a teeshirt declaring "Old School" across the front. Emerging several minutes later from the bathroom that could easily swallow his living room back home and then some, he made his way into the dark room illuminated only by the light from the bathroom.

He tossed his used clothing into a pile next to the bed, then fell onto the bed, exhaling as he hit the soft comforter. Realizing that Hoot might've called while he had been showering, Lance picked up his phone that had been tossed onto the pillows, flipped it open and scanned the missed calls list. A disappointed sigh escaped his lips as he closed the phone and tossed it back.

It was then he felt the hairs on his neck rising. A faint breathing, barely heard above the air conditioning came from the corner chair. He didn't move, yet he called out,

"I assume you have a reason for invading my privacy?"

OOC: Hope you don't me taking a few liberties as well...

I assume you have a reason for invading my privacy?

"Well," the voice called back, "you can take the spy outa the game, but you can't take the game outa the spy."

Hoot's voice was unmistakable, the slightly southern draw of his voice comming from the closet. Lance stood, walking over, and when he opened the door, all he found was a small speaker.

"Oh, c'mon, you think I would be that easy to find." This time from under the bed. A quick check would find another speaker.

"Do I need to give you a hint, I mean, I know your a civy, but c'mon, anyone whos read a Clancy novel or watched an action movie would have found me by now." This time the bathroom. While Lance had been in the shower, Hoot had managed to sneak in and drop another speaker.

"Check your car." Lance ran down to the garrage finding his Charger. Tapped to the window was a small piece of paper, with Bang, your dead writen on it. As soon as Lance removed the piece of paper from the window, a set of HID highbeams 'painted' him, and the roaring noise of a large, supercharged V8 comming to life filled the garrage, deafening those around the car momentairily.

"Bout time," Hoot called out, standing next to the door of the red Z06.

"No makers? Is it a Chevy based 401, or one of the one off jobs?"

"All the marking are in Italian, hand engraved or etched." Charlie started to explain then her voice trailed off as...

"Oh, here we go," the Judge said

She turned as every one else did - save for Robyn, Kazuma and Sinjin. Khadri was the one currently 'off duty' and she was giving the Camaro and the Cobra an appreciative glance, just as Charli was.

"Oh nice" Charlie commented half to herself as she watched the pair ready up. "Let me guess, your motor in the Cobra?" She asked the Judge softly.

Shielding his eyes from the light, Lance saw the silhouette of his long time friend standing next to the car. Smiling broadly, he crossed the space between the two of them and exchanged a greeting with Hoot by way of a hand slap-grasp and pat on the back. "Hoot man! Good to see you've not forgotten us low fuckin' blue collars!" Lance laughed, then turned and slapped the hood of the car.

"Come on man, you know the drill, let's see what steroids you've been feeding this beauty!"

Come on man, you know the drill, let's see what steroids you've been feeding this beauty!

Hoot smiled, and popped open the hood. "Its that custom built four five four, but I dropped the compression. And that little beauty sitting up top is a ProCharger Supercharger. Everything else, well, its a secret."

"So," Hoot said, looking around the garrage, spotting the black BMW 7 series pulling in with no plates. It was about time the ISS showed up, although it wasn't really their fault they couldn't keep up. "What brings you in to my little slice of heaven?"
___

Let me guess, your motor in the Cobra?

"No, my shop deal's mostly with GM products, and dables with Dodge every now and then. We don't mess around with Fords though. I don't care what anyone says, they will never be First on Race Day, and always Found on Road Dead to me." He chuckled, and watched as the Cobra driver excited, walking over to the 'Maro.

He waited back, letting them settle any pre race issues.

"However, in the case at hand, neither car has any of my parts or work into it. The 402 short block in the 'Maro was built by Fortier, I just did some tuning work for it. The nitrous was a pre fabbed kit, ready to hook up when we got it in the shop. Its more of a name race than anything, I promise that any car that rolls out of my shop would walk all over any Ford out of The Barn."

"Oh gods does this feel like home" Charli chuckled softly after she listened to the Judges explaination and assertation. And then gave a short explaination of her own. "I'm not much into the tuning world but I am a smoke jumper and you sound an aweful lot like a drop chief"

She grinned, lowered her vocal range and gave a fair imitation of one of her farvoite crew dogs "Team I jum' with will jum' lower, fall farther, open later, shovel harder and is naturally the best ..and don' yu dare let me catch yu dropping yur Pulaski"

For a moment she wondered how the crews were doing half a world away then set it aside.

"I'll be rooting for the Camaro then, since Rob was kind enough to invite me to this little powwow."

Mercy laughed softly as Rob stopped short, drawn up by the arrival of the dark orange Camaro and a ebony Cobra.

This is gonna be interesting,"

Her car would wait till they ran the race those'd come for. And yes listening to the Judge explain the background on the 'Maro, she agreed, it would be interesting. Standing between the Judge and Rob she watched with interest as the two drivers had a last minute confab.

Fortier appologised, and jogged over to the two drivers. The conversation was brief, and the Judge excused himself, walking over to hand Robert a set of keys. He pocketed the keys, and the set handed to him from another man who hadn't been made known to the group, and then waved the two off. It was about business now, and Robert would handle it as such. He pulled his own keys from his pocket, and jogged over to his Mercedes. The Camaro and Cobra both roared to life, and worked out of the parking lot slowly.

Robert hopped in the Benz, heading over towards Charli, Mercy, and the rest of the group. He killed the radio as he pulled up, and spoke quickly. "Its a simple set up. Quarter mile, from a dead stop. They got the junction of I121 and I40 closed off for 'construction'. Ya'll are welcome to follow, someone is gonna get a new car in about ten or eleven seconds."

He gunned his own motor, the V12 bi turbo effortlessly catching up to the 'Maro and Cobra. He waited for a few others to arrive, and when they had, he killed the Mercedes, and stepped out between the two American pony cars. He spoke briefly to each driver, getting a nod from each, and walked out about twenty feet.

The Camaro went first, reving up the custom built small block, then slipping out the clutch to spin the tires. He only spun them a few times, just enough to get the dirt and dust off and the street radials up to temperature, then let off the clutch and jumped the car forward, stopping when Fortier waved his hand.

The Cobra followed, but made a show of it. First, a twin purge sent nitrous spraying out from the vents in the hood, and then the motor roared up towards redline. Smoke poured off the tires, and the rear end slowly slid out to the right, and the driver let off, letting the car jump forward towards Robert. The entire time, the sound of the 4.8L V8 had been drowned out by the massive Kenne Bell supercharger. The whine from underneath the hood signaled a number at the wheels that would compute to somewhere in the 500 range.

Lutz walked forward, checked to make sure the two cars were lined up properly, and gave Robert the thumbs up. Robert nodded in turn, and pointed first to the Cobra driver, who began revving the supercharged Ford. He then signaled to the Camaro, who let the big, naturally aspirated V8 roar back at the Mustang. He held both hands up, kept there for just a second longer as the two cars continued revving, then dropped them.

The world seemed to stop, as it always does, for the two drivers. At that point, everything went into slow motion, nothing else existing. The Camaro driver had been paying attention, and saw the elbow drop beforethe hand came down, the proverbial 'second yellow light' of a flagger. He slipped out the clutch, mashing the gas, and the F Body jumped forward, its wheels spinning only slightly as it shot down the straight.

The Cobra was none to far behind, the dual stage nitrous system not only making up precious miliseconds in the launch, but quickly letting him gain on the Camaro. Before either were out of first gear, they were door to door. Inside the Camaro, the car sitting out a quarter mile away roared up on him, its lights lined up with one across the highway, forming the tape to cross at the finish line. He held his foot down, letting off only a touch, pressing down on the clutch only enough to get it to engage before slamming the shifter into the next gear, and letting off the peddle. The tachometer rocketed skyward as he crossed the seventy mile per hour mark, and mashed the small red button on the back of the steering wheel. The cold, compressed nitrous dumped into the cylinders, aiding in the explosion of gas and air, increasing the air intake of the motor.

The Cobra driver heard the tell tale hiss of nitrous being sprayed, and he keyed the second stage early. The Cobra rocketed forward, but it ran out of breath far too soon. The dual stage system had been timed perfectly for the quarter mile drag, designed so that it would hold the lead through the entire race on spray, then at the last sixteenth, it would cross under its own power. However, the stage shut off far too soon, and the controlled burst of the Camaro held longer, sling shotting the Chevy ahead of the Cobra. The whine of the supercharger fell behind the roar of the naturally aspirated V8, and the Camaro crossed the finish first, the car to its right killing its headlights, letting all those just over a quarter mile behind who had won. Fortier just grinned, nothing was a better add for his motors than a win like that.

The crowd cheared, it was the kind of race they liked to see, close to the bitter end. Fortier himself liked close races, but blowouts and total anhiliations also held a place for him. After all, nothing said I'm faster and better than you then winning by more than three lengths. He smiled, and the Judged clapped him on the back, a way of saying 'thanks for not loosing my car'. He watched the two cars roll back down in the break down lanes, and he handed both sets of keys over to Benton.

Mercy had rounded up her cadre in a flash and they trailed Rob to the race site, as did Charli in the Amx3.

Charli cheered as entheusiastically as the rest. She had a great fondness for american muscle cars.

"Guys, go grab some dinner, I'll be fine with Rob." Mercy said as she waved her escorts off. "I want to stay at the Water Lilly like every one else here for the race. The Embassy is too stuffy."

Khadri and the others exchanged eye rolls, but they had to agree that with Rob she was most likely safe.

"I need to check in myself" Charli said "Why don't we have dinner together there. "

The others nodded agreeably, and Charli looked over at the Judge. "Would you care to join us?"

Lance gave Hoot a grin, "Come on man...I don't think I need to tell you what's going on in the streets in the nation you're running these days!" He gave a sideways look at the BMW rolling in quietly.

"Smokers?" he asked, indicating to them, "Not like you needed any help staying alive." he added in afterwards. Hoot merely gave a nod and smile. "So...if I were to start beatin' the shit outta you right now, I'd probably get capped and shipped to Timbuktu. Nevertheless, I'd still get the memory of having popped one into the jaw of Imitora's President."

As if to emphasize, he turned to the BMW, gave them a set of birds, and laughed. He turned back to Hoot, "Let's see who's tearing up your streets tonight, give 'em a bitta lesson if we have to eh?"

Without waiting for a response, he slipped behind the wheel of the '69 Charger and cranked the engine into a soothing roar. A few seconds later, he keyed the iPod to Aerosmith's Sweet Emotion. Giving a whoop out the open window, he let the wheels tear up the parking garage's slick concrete, then roared past the BMW, narrowly missing it by a few inches, and into the streets of the city. He slowed slightly to allow Hoot to gain the lead and lead them to where he knew the nightlife was at tonight.