Warning: This is all fiction, but mentions real events. I repeat mentioned, not based.
Disclaimer: Geez how many times do I have to repeat myself, I do not own Cars 2.
Chapter 9: Shadows
Thunder and lightning kept a certain yellow Spitfire awake. His eyes fixatives on the opposite wall as if it held all the answers in his mind. London's cold temperature acted as a hindrance for his consciences. From the past few days he was frequently woken up by unpleasant dreams. Some of which are flashes of empty glazes of dead cars. Most of which were related from the cases he was working on. Newspaper littered on his bedside table, major headlines featured many brutalities of the killings, assault, theft and bashful smiles of smugglers. Although there is some positive news, there is hardly made into the mass media pictures of a Porsche908 racing on 1000km Nurbergring.
Motorsport were at its prime in the sixties and seventies. The latest technology was desired with the highest bidder. The fastest to endurance, racing is a contrast to an invisiable and deadly war going on between the two most powerful countries. Russia and the United States of America competed like racers tired to earn the title world's best, the two countries continuously battle for nearly a decade. Citizens waited with baited breath who will push the red button first.
It isn't his duty but it doesn't hurt to be aware. His cases were considerable well known in the media.
From the past decade he dealt with black markets, fraud, carnap, thievery and worse murder. For example his first case in Fraud was about fake parts being manufactured and sold in the public. The black market sold the rarest and difficult parts that come by. Probably the most disturbing was a brutal murder. His first encounter had left him a deep mental scar. The case which was originally his was transferred to arson or the 'fire' investigation.
Screams of bloody murder was still ringing in his ears as the deceased car dies from flame torture. The rust dust covered his eyes, as the corruptive smell of burning oil filled his air intake. Since the victim was burned beyond recognition, it's hard to make out the year, make and model of the poor bloke or plane. Further torture was noticeable as the empty warehouse hung rusty hooks, chains and Finn shivered at that thought, flame torches. He and his new partner had speculated there was something much deeper than just petty murders.
As this is the start of the 'golden years' there is always these dark and dangerous times. The gap between the rich and the poor is so vast; a canyon is a good word to describe it. To survive they will have to abstained wealth in a different way. Crime was rising and the Yard had enough issues dealing with the security at Silverstone circuit. As the European race cars compete for the title and show off a bit of their latest technology in store.
Outside of England there were a number of disturbances in Carba with a new technology called 'missiles'. Newspapers that 'leak' news from other countries were censored from the eyes of outsiders.
His current desk is Ad Vice, a department that deals with illegal fuel, NOS and oil addiction. Well thought the Spitfire. At least the web of conspiracy is completed. Or so he thought. So far he 'failed' to apprehend the murders of his old partner Smith, and the cars who attacked Leland a nearly a year ago. If it wasn't for abrupt promotion the case files were seal and locked in 'case closed' filling. He hadn't seen red Alfa after his dilemma. From what he was told his friend was stationed somewhere out in the country.
Finn who had experienced what kind of trouble he would attract, the yellow car had become somewhat paranoid. This wasn't missed by a certain Jag/Martin car. Who would have known a well-to-do car would consider a 'commoner'? The father of her household isn't easy to seek his approval. Oh no he had to prove that by rising through the ranks in the Yard. With a bit more grinding he had finally meet the prerequisite the title senior investigator.
One case that he was working on was another brutal murder. The poor chap was forced feed poisoned oil, laced with mercury. It's a poisonous liquid could knock out a huge bulldozer. During the autopsy his suspicions were confirmed. The entire engine had traces of solidified mercury.
The detective had obtained a few leads that had lead to an isolated country. Before he can investigate the matter any further, Captain Rover had confiscated his files and said this case should be a job for himself. He could have left it alone if it wasn't for the wife of the victim spoke to him personally. She was very distressed as she requested a meeting with him. Her eyes redden from crying at his funeral.
"Please..you must find those who are responsible of my husband's death." She choked back a sob as grieve overwhelms her again. Finn being a gentle car touched a comforting tire onto hers.
"It's a promise Mrs Brown. he reassured her. "I will do everything in my power to find them." With that thought out of the way, he closed his eyes and settle in a restless sleep.
The next morning he drove deeper into Scotland Yard HQ, many times seeing a car or two giving him a quick look before resuming work. He knows he was a bit low on sleep but… The Spitfire paused halfway to his office that feeling at his gut grew stronger. Nevertheless he opened the door to his personal office to see his secretary placing an envelope on his desk.
"Oh detective, this was in your mail box. I had taken the liberty to deliver it here." she said stiffly, her eyes wandering around his office.
Her superior relaxed his posture. "Very much appreciate it Miss Karan. I'll see to it." She nodded and quickly exited the room leaving Finn alone. He drove to his desk and search for a return address.
Nothing. This aroused his suspicions once more. The sounds from the hallways decreased from the morning rush, a small but audible digital 'ticking' sound awoke a hazy detective. With reflexes as a stealth fighter he threw the window opened to a deserted alleyway. With his right tire he hurled the bomb out on the alleyway and hit the ground just in case. As the bomb hits the ground it exploded with a force of a cherry bomb, leaving small red plastic pieces scattered on the alleyway. A rumble of a Corvette engine came raced into his office to see Finn getting back up, staring out the window.
"What the bloody hell was that?" shouted a black corvette.
"Just a small plastic explosion, Sergeant Davis. It's alright I got it under control." The muscle car drive over where the explosion occurred.
"How many hate mails do you received Missile?" The sleuth counted silently in his mind.
"Only five, but none of them were this extravagant. I mean of course I would get hate calls too but this is getting…"
"Serious." The corvette interrupted his fellow officer. "What on earth are you working on?"
Finn resisted tire-hood temptation. "A homicide case what else?"
"Oh yeah." The American muscle slapped his hood. "Homicidal senior detective am I right?"
"Of course you are." said Finn discreetly rolling his eyes when the car wasn't looking. "Do you need a time off? I mean…"
"Yes, tell the Chief I will be taking the week off." The corvette nodded then drove off to the third floor leaving Finn to stare at his world map. There is no doubt it is them. He picks up a tack and stabs at Russia somewhere in the north.
Different P.O.V and time
"This chess game is progressing nicely. How are the five doing in London?" asked the mastermind as he kept a trained eye on the chess board.
"Uhm… sir about four of them were arrested by Scotland Yard. The other one had a narrow escape. I don't think it's wise to send any more." The 300SL chose his words well. "And regards about the car that arrested them, he is getting too close our affairs." A fickler of ash appeared on the pavement floor. The messenger kept his silence awaiting his boss's further orders.
"Fine I want every report on that car, we waited long enough… Ah yes how is our prisoner doing? Is he well?" The black car yank open his grill to say something, but his mind only supplies images of the horror going downstairs.
"The..mechanics are done their assessments. I think it won't be long until we see how they tick."
Grey eyes glanced at a window; below a huge assemble of cars manufacturing parts. Something caught his attention; a faint yellow flash of a Spitfire.
"Tell that our guest has arrived, and…welcome to him warmly."
Underneath the warehouse a small team of forklifts and two other cars flanked a cowering Auto Union D-type. The racer eyes fluttered from them to the other frames of his comrades.
Cold, empty and lifeless. Their body panels exposed, the engine was inexpertly cut out from the engine bay. One of them had a number inscribed on to its side '21'. Random parts were scattered across the floor. Exhaust pipes, coil springs, a transmission block, a few drive shafts and (the D-type gulped) of what's left of a V16 engine.
He winced in pain as rust is infecting his very insides. These so-called mechanics began prodding; removing parts from his engine and what's worst is he is kept awake for the whole experiment. The racer gritted his teeth as a sparks from the blow torch scratched his silver body, the number 16 was spray painted white.
An agent was successfully placed in Scotland Yard to keep an eye at his friend. Who knows what he was doing these days. The Alfa had received a major tip off one of the racers in 1939 was captured, by these same cars who are responsible for the weapons dealing in Europe.
"Agent Leland I'm reporting from London. Everything is so chaotic around here; cars dropping dead and violence is increasing. Your friend McMahon had recently got a small plastic explosion for his mail a week ago, but don't worry." He added as if he seen Leland's worry. "He perfectly fine actually better than fine; you should have seen him react. You know like a fighter plane, crazy reflexes. Plus CHROME had analyzed the sample of the cherry bomb, the lab had it tested and yes… positive to radiation. I don't know why your friend had ordered a month long after wrapping up a murder case, but… I just thought to let you know the fifth car left England. Be careful we don't want a K.I.A agent.
A dark British green Fiat Dino Coupé hides behind trees. Four years, four long years of tailing these blokes all around European. And where does that lead him? Up on the frostily mountains of Porsche Peak, just a little south on the Arctic Circle. He scoped the area with a pair of binoculars. There were a few cars at the entrance and (his gill made a comical 'O') a tank that patrols the perimeter. His engine was running uncharacteristically smooth due to a new engine implant first introduced by a doctor in C.H.O.R.O.M .E.
His vision paned as he focused the lens zoomed to the abandoned building about 7x. Though the smoky glass windows, the spy hardly makes out a group of cars ranging from German, Russian and British; surrounding a yellow car.
"Damn Finn I told you to leave it." It seems he won't be just fetching three cars, but four.
With Spitfire cornered things are bound to heat up. A few lemons flanked the group, but also cars he recognized; cars that holds positions in Europe, China, Japan and the list goes on and on. That doesn't included cars he who personally.
"Edward Rover, captain of Scotland Yard." The range rover refused to meet with the young spitfire, a smoking cigar missing from his grill.
"Отличный*, you know each other." said a voice from above. Finn narrowed his eyes at the office above. The camera he has three years ago done a quick scan of the black frame.
Year/Make/Model: 1951 ZIL 112/1
Name: Zil 'De Dion' Semyon aka
Zachery Litvinenko
Ivan Semjon
Saveliy Yusupov
Zinoviy Yaroslavsky
Charges:
Money laundering conspiracy
Weapons and Drug Smuggling
Security fraud
Falsification of books and records
Filling false regulations with the SEC
FBI and SIS Top Ten Most Wanted Fugitives
Note: The cleverest mastermind in all of Russia.
Grey eyes born down on the spitfire a shy smile colored his grill.
"Greetings Господин** McMahon, I have suspected you will arrive here eventually." A sound of a tire smacking at the pavement the cars surrounding Finn closed in; there were fierce struggle between a few MGBs held down the spitfire as one of them planted a parking boot. Finn reached and tried to grab the key out of another MG's tire, but no avail. Then a dark blue Triumph GT6 passed the key to his boss, whose eyes hadn't left from the spitfire.
Two large Range Rovers flanked his sides as a tow truck hooks on one of his front tire and drags him up the spiraling ramp. A few rounds later Finn dared a peak at the many cars being assembled there. Not just Britain, China, Ireland, Finland so on and so forth. One of the dark silver muscle car (probably American) watched him, indifferent look cross his features.
Finally the tow truck reached the top floor, wheezing as he unhooked his burden and drove back downstairs. The Russian car faced towards the newcomers, his frame was very aerodynamic, and chrome adored his front bumper. The car body is extremely long for a regular built, but the queerest feature of this car is its single headlight. Although detective doesn't recognized the car, he had heard rumors about this type of having a 'Cyclops' eye. Zil rolled over towards the direction of the window of the factor.
"Come McMahon, what do you see here? Humor me if you must." Glaring he hopped to the window to see a dozen of cars, forklifts and planes working away on what seem to be bombs.
"Weapons of mass destruction." The words tasted repulsive, never in his lifetime he had seen so many weapons being manufactured at the same time. Nevertheless he took a few photos of the assemble line.
The rejected black sports car chuckled humorlessly. "Yes I know, but do you know the real reason why we fight?" Finn repressed a snort. Did these cars even know what they are saying?
"So you can show the world, how you're military force is stronger than the other nations? Or it is an excuse to pick a bone with USA just for an arms race?" What's the purpose of all this if everyone is dead?"
Zil remained silent or much rather was distracted by the disturbance downstairs as a silver D-type racer raced out the basement, heading towards freedom. He casually drove to the intercom as the Rovers dove back to the doorway, readying themselves for orders. Finn hopped closer to the window to get a better view. There zipping though the assemble line is an Auto Union D-type racer. Then something else made his oil boil, the racer's condition. Parts were falling out from the undercarriage; most of them were unprofessionally removed. Suddenly a monotone voice blared out from the speakers. Zil nodded at the two Range rovers,
"Would someone kindly stop that car?" As soon as the words left from his mouth, a pack of cars dropped whatever they were doing and pursed the D-type. The booted bystander watched in disgusted as cars and forklifts surrounded him. Some of them watched smugly as two, three no seven car rammed again and again without mercy. Green eyes widen as he groaned and hisses as new cars who had come to join the fray.
"Did you think we attack of our choosing? Our country was only interested to get up in the cosmos; the Carba missile crisis had nothing to do with us. The Americans are always fascinated by potentials of a nuclear-power, in that extent they cannot test it out in their own county nor is there is a reason to drop a bomb without a civil war. So they had eyes on Mother Russia, a large playground to test nuclear, they spew lies about our country developing weaponry that would rival theirs."
"So the Americans had used you as a pretext for war." He nearly spat the word 'war', but it's not The Russian car heaved a deep sigh.
"We have no choice but declare war ourselves so we won't be attacked first.
"Really?" said the Spitfire in a steely voice. "So all those cars there are not traitors of their own country?"
His host ignored the sarcasm. "Not everything we see is set in black and white, if you look hard enough there is a line of grey merging together. I thought being a sleuth taught you that." With that Zil abruptly closed the blinds, with a flick of a tire.
"But that doesn't mean, you have the right to attack with weapons of mass destruction!" he blurted out without thinking.
"That I cannot argue, but what about the wars made in the history books? The histories are written by the victors, then what has become of the defeated? Nothing, but forced to take in the harsh words being directed at them." Patience is a curious thing, they come and they go. Finn's was wearing very thin, what has this got to do with him?
"Quit beating the bush Zil! What has this got to do with me?" asked Finn struggling against a tire lock on his tire.
The mastermind laughed quietly. "Isn't it easy to deduct detective? I want you to be my right hand car." The struggling stopped; a shadow crossed the yellow car's windshield obscuring the car's current emotion.
"So McMahon now you heard our side of the story. Join us, I know where there is a talented car when I seen one."
The detective looked at Zil straight in the eye: "Never"
Grey eyes met with steel blue. Then something else threw the detective off. A sadistic smirk appeared on
"Alright then McMahon, let see if you are going to say the same words after when we are done with you. идти сюда Rover." The now turned traitor drove up the ramp and saluted Zil.
"Zil, you want to see me?" The Russian ex-racer nodded, gesturing at Finn.
"Lock him downstairs and I want every bit of information about him. Leave no details"
"Understood." As their eyes met Rover felt Finn's eyes. Disbelieve and betray were the two main emotions felt by a Spitfire.
"Go on, do what your boss bids you." muttered the British sport car with very venom he can muster. Then suddenly a blow lands across his front fender. He closed his eyes at the sudden assault. His engine is not feeling very well.
"Shut up and move!" bellowed Rover as he signals a tow truck again. Red-black oil was dripping down from his mouth as he felt some teeth were broken. With a bit of pleasure he spat the oil at Rover's tires as he felt himself being hitched.
"This isn't over yet Rover!" he shouted the now prisoner as he was haul down in the basement. "And that's a promise!"
a/n: I very sorry for the EXTREMELY late update and the mix up. I just have too much word docs and stories in my hard-drive.
For those who are interested: Zil, he really supposes to be the villain for Cars 2, but Professor Z seems to fit the job better. Sorry if I couldn't fit a Russian accent in his dialogue, but I hope you like the story so far.
Russian phrases:
* Отличный: Excllent
**Господин: Sir or Mister
*** Госпожа: Miss or Mrs
**** идти сюда: come here