Chapter Two

Miami, Florida

A city built among the everglades, Miami is an example of the lighter side of the United States. With its sun-soaked beaches, bustling metropolitan area and smiling people, this was indeed a city where all could feel welcome.

The taxi pulled up to one of the many hotels in Miami. Michael got out and retrieved their bags from the trunk of the car, while Jake paid for the trip. As the taxi moved off, the duo took their bags in tow and entered the polished hotel lobby. At the front desk, a receptionist sat typing on the computer in front of her. As Michael and Jake approached, she looked up and smiled. "Welcome to the Poseidon Hotel sirs. Can I be of any assistance?"

Jake immediately stepped up. "You most certainly can. Can you tell me of any good restaurants in the area, preferably one that you would be able to accompany me to?"

Tutting softly, Michael pulled Jake away from the receptionist and smiled. "Hi. We're here for the Naval Royale competition. Can you tell us where to register?"

The receptionist nodded. "Certainly sir." She typed on her computer for a few seconds, then looked up. "The registration in on the forth floor in the Main Ballroom. Signs will point the way."

"Cheers," Michael said, turning for the elevators. As he did so, he saw, in the corner of his eye, the blushing receptionist slipping Jake a card with what looked like a nine-digit phone number written on it. Chuckling, Michael reached the elevator and pressed the button for the forth floor.

As the lift doors opened, Michael spotted a banner stretched across the entranceway of the ballroom. 'WELCOME TO NAVAL ROYALE 2010', the banner proclaimed in big block letters. Michael just stood there for a second, looking at the banner. Then he took a deep breath. "OK Dad. Here we go," he whispered. Then, he stepped across the threshold and into the ballroom. The first thing he noticed was the mass of people that wandered about the floor. He had to move swiftly to avoid being swamped. Press officials stalked the floor, looking for good sound bites. Teams mingled with one another, discussing chances. Along the nearest wall, lines of schoolchildren awaited autographs from their favourite drivers. One of the lines doubled back several times. Michael moved closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the source of all the attention. Finally, he spotted it. A tall figure, with slicked back hair and a jacket with the logos of Coca-Cola, Microsoft and Taco Bell on its sleeves sat at the table, signing posters. Michael had to move aside as a group of giggling schoolgirls charged past him, clutching their posters to their chests. "Kurt Rickardson." Michael looked to his left and saw Jake beside him. "Championship winner for the past four years," Jake continued, "with never a placing below third. The man's a legend."

'I'll say," said another voice. Michael looked right and saw an older man standing nearby. "He drives like he's made of ice; nothing can shake him. That's why they call him Frosty." He smiled and extended his hand. "Sorry lads, introductions. I'm Carlos McHarris. Crew chief for Team Decimator."

Michael and Jake shook his hand. "Team Decimator?" Jake said. "You guys run the Oceanic Challenger, right?"

McHarris grinned. "That's us. Going right for the top this season. I've got a feeling about this one." He pulled out a breath mint and popped one into his mouth. "What about you lads? Which team you racing with?"

"We're Team SeaMasters, with the Sea Viper."

McHarris stopped grinning. "SeaMasters? That team hasn't been in the competition since for over a decade. Ever since the wreck of '95." He looked closer at Michael. "Say, you're Cobra Merkenson's kid, aren't you?"

Michael nodded slowly. "Yeah. Charles Merkenson was my father."

McHarris nodded in return, and extended his hand again. This time, there was more power behind the handshake. "Bloody fantastic to see you here. Your dad was one hell of a driver. We were all stunned to hear about his death."

"Thanks. He told me all about this sport. Hell, it's like I've been here for my entire life."

McHarris smiled. "Once you're in, you're hooked." He looked at his watch. "Woah, gotta dash. We've got some time booked at the test lake. See you guys around."

"Yeah, see you." Michael said as the man hurried off. He turned to Jake. "I knew Dad was into this competition, but not to that extent."

"Sports remember their heroes," Jake said, "and your dad was a hero in this game." He slapped his friend in the shoulder. "Come on. Let's sign up. I've got a dinner to get to."

Several hours later, Michael sat in his hotel room in front of his laptop. On it, diagrams of the tracks spun at every angle, while digits ran over a mathematical model of the Sea Viper. He yawned deeply and drank from a mug of coffee set beside him. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Michael got up and crossed the room. "Don't tell me you forgot the key to your room Jake," he called as he unlocked the door and opened it. The bright light outside slammed into him, and he threw up his hands to shield his eyes. As he did so, he heard a voice. "This is Melanie Griffith for ICB News, with Mr Michael Merkenson of Team SeaMasters. Mr Merkenson, how does it feel to be participating in the sport that resulted in the disgrace of your father fifteen years ago?"

When his eyes had adjusted to the light, Michael glared at the reporter before him. He'd heard of Melanie Griffith, the reporter that had made a habit of going to great lengths to get a story. At any other time, he wouldn't have minded her showing up at his hotel room. But this was not the time or topic. "No comment," he snarled, before slamming the door and storming back to his laptop. The knocking continued, as Melanie shouted questions through the door. "Mr Merkenson, what do you think of allegations that you are only here because the committee in charge of the Naval Royale feels a sense of pity because of your father?" The knocking continued. "Mr Merkenson? Mr Merkenson!" And still, the knocking went on. Finally, Michael swore and strode to the door. He threw it open. "Right. I am here because I want to race. Nothing more, nothing less. I passed the qualification test just like everyone else in the competition. Yes, I am looking forward to the competition. Yes, I do have a race to prepare for. Now if you'll excuse me…" He slammed the door. Outside, Melanie huffed. "God. Here I am, ready to interview, and he closes the bloody door. Waste of my bloody time. Come on Stan." With that, she and her cameraman headed off down the corridor.