Chapter Twelve

Finn and Holley found themselves tied up in another storage facility somewhere in CHROME, surrounded by lemons. Professor Zundapp entered the room and drawled, "What do we have here? Finn McMissile and...partner who's name escapes me."

"Shiftwell, Holley Shiftwell," Holley snapped.

"At least you have one shread of tact left. I'll give you that much," Finn said.

"Ah, yes. The famous British spies, caught in my web without backup."

"Shows how much you know about spying."

"Is that to imply that I've forgotten something, McMissile?"

"You're bound to have, Zundapp. No one can think of everything. Believe me, I've tried."

Zundapp chuckled softly and drove over to the wall, where he flicked on a light switch, revealing an army's worth of weapons trained on the two spies. Holley gasped, inadvertently creeping closer to Finn. "It appears," Zundapp said, "that I've thought of more than you have."

"It appears that way, yes," Finn replied, "but things are rarely as they appear. You of all people should know this, your 'lemon boss' being a Land Rover and all." Zundapp raised an eyelid, and Finn seized on a question he'd been dying to ask for some time. "And how did you know you'd get your cut of the profits from the oil rigs, as he'd promised all of you? Didn't he resent lemons, being a more...reliable...model?"

"Reliable?"

"Pardon me. It was the only term I could think of."

"Oh, of course."

"You never knew he'd keep to his word, did you?"

"I choose not to answer that question."

Finn dropped the subject and glanced over at Holley, who was watching him with concern in her eyes. He smiled reassuringly, which probably did more to calm her down than it did to still the storm of panic brewing inside of him. Backup will come, he told himself. I don't know how much, but backup will come.

CARS

Boost spent the next several hours bouncing anxiously on his wheels, and the other three tuners spent that same period of time discussing this strange occurrence amongst themselves. Finally, the anxiety became too much, and Boost said, seemingly randomly, "I gotta go."

"Go where?" DJ asked.

"The jig is up," Wingo added. "Time to tell 'em."

"Tell us what?"

Boost sighed and closed his eyes. "You guys remember the Jag and Aston Martin that rolled through town the first time?" The others nodded. "The Jag's real name is Holley, and that buddy of hers is Finn, Finn McMissile. He sent me this tape, which I think got jacked by those lemons, but anyway, the tape was a demo, part of his invitation for me to go to this special academy at a place called CHROME."

"CHROME?"

"Command Headquarters for Reconnaissance Operations and...and Motorized Espionage, but don't tell anyone what I said, okay?"

"Your secret's safe with us," Snot Rod said. "You of all people should know this."

"Yeah, man, we're your homies," DJ added. "Once homies, always homies, and we're not about to tell anything to anybody, about any of us."

"Thanks, guys."

Wingo moved to give Boost a high-tire when he noticed a cloud of dust in the distance, and the two cars at the head of it. "Uh, Boost..." he began, trying to find the words to articulate exactly what was going on. Fortunately, he didn't have to, because Boost had turned around and could see for himself.

Boost turned his attention to the helicopter firing the shots causing some of the smaller dust clouds. "Scatter," he yelled, and the four of them sped off in different directions.

One of the racers yelled, "Now." The other racer turned left as hard as possible and found himself sliding over the dust. The first racer turned the other way, also drifting. The pursuing helicopter coughed on the resulting dust cloud and was forced to pull up. The helicopter was talking rapidly in German, likely to someone over the microphone, and Boost judged by the tone that she was struggling not to admit to her failure. And he thought getting a normal job was tough.

The racers drifted to a stop at the start of the track at Willie's Butte, and Boost immediately recognized them. He slipped out of his hiding place and asked, "McQueen, Francesco, what're you guys doin' here?"

"Running for our lives," Lightning replied. "It's kind of a long story."

"Yeah, I figured as much." Boost looked over at where the helicopter was flying. "Bet if you follow the helicopter, she'll lead you to her boss."

Lightning followed the tuner's gaze and then looked over at Francesco, who closed his eyes and said, "I wasn't expecting it to come so soon."

"Uh, what's he talkin' about?"

"I need to face the cars that killed my sister."

Boost looked from Francesco to Lightning, at a complete loss for words. Finally, he said, "We better go, before we lose it." The two racers nodded in agreement, and Boost signalled with his lights. The other three tuners drove out of their hiding places, and he said, "Let's go helicopter chasin'."

CARS

Francesco looked from the tuners to the helicopter. All six cars had tried not to let the helicopter disappear from view, even as the sun finished its descent and the desert plunged into darkness, but no one spoke.

The cars finally reached earshot of the helicopter's propellers, and Francesco found himself lapsing out of himself, as if he were moving from living the scene from his position on the ground to watching it from a position above him. It was like the zone, but a better version of the same concept.

From this vantage point, he could see a cliff in the distance.

Boost gestured for the others to come to a stop as he did. After peering into the darkness for a moment, he said, "Okay, it's clear."

All six took a fairly shallow route down the cliff, a total vertical distance of twenty feet and a total horizontal distance of about five times that. The valley below was almost devoid of shrubbery, and it seemed darker here. The five cars that were able to switched on their headlights, and the group drove forward slowly. Boost spotted a dirt road and turned onto it, the others following close behind.

The road was deserted, and the silence was such that no one dared to speak for fear of being found and shot at, or worse. The half-moon rose over the desert before the monotony was broken, and it looked as if it would never be broken, by anything or anyone.

When the moon was a third of the way toward its zenith, the six slowed on Boost's signal. Gingerly, the tuner drove forward, stopping just short of setting off a trip wire at the opening of a chicken wire fence topped in rings of barbed wire. "We're here," he breathed, though in the silence it seemed as if he were shouting. "Watch your step." Quickly but carefully, he moved over the wire. The other three tuners were able to duplicate this.

Lightning took a deep breath. "Float like a Cadillac, sting like a Beamer," he whispered to himself, jumping over the trip wire with a surprising amount of success. Francesco seemed more intimidated by the feat of jumping over the wire. Finally, he talked himself into attempting it, and he succeeded, albeit snagging his left rear wheel, consequently setting off what appeared to be an alarm system.

Sirens cut through the air and flashing red lights lit up the compound. Lightning and Francesco sped forward, catching up to the tuners within seconds. The six gathered at a giant garage door, perhaps to a hangar. "Okay, now what?" DJ asked.

"Y'know, you could just ask," a voice familiar to four of the six cars present said from behind them.