Author's Note: From this chapter onward, some action scenes and dialogue were taken from the movie and novelizations so they are not entirely original. No plagiarism was intended; this is a derivative work.
Time passed and their situation only grew more surreal. Speaking in hushed tones even though they'd already punctuated the still of the night with explosive gunfire, the deeply unsettled officers discussed how they would break the news of an intruder to Professor Zundapp. The derrick's resident crane glowered down at them from his station atop the warehouse, unsure what had happened amidst all the sounds of shooting far below but disapproving of these cars who were out late at night and surely up to no good. Petrov Trunkov remained alone with their victim inside the warehouse, and Grem assumed he was wiping up any traces of spilled oil until he caught the strains of a low-voiced, solemn chant.
"Prayers for the Dead," Citron explained, recognizing the liturgical language from his native church. Unable to focus on anything else for the time being, Grem moved inside, quietly packing up the camera while he listened to the dialect and fully aware that this very well could have been his own clandestine funeral service. The chant was full of consonant blends completely foreign to any language he'd ever heard before and had an almost lullabye-like quality, but sleep for any of them tonight was a faraway dream.
"May his memory be eternal," Petrov finished, his weathered face looking even more drawn than usual. "It's a sacred routine," he explained, noticing for the first time the Gremlin's obvious unfamiliarity with the ritual. "I haven't completely forsaken everything I was raised to believe in, although I still think this fellow had it coming to him. Our tires are bound at this point; we'll have no choice but to show him to the Professor in a few hours when we transfer the rest of the cargo, and I can only hope we don't catch it for not extracting any useful information from him or for not capturing him alive."
His eyes moved to the hardshell case that the AMC was busy locking. "I assume that camera has something to do with the secret training he's been holding for you and Acer out on the battleship? Perhaps you are going undercover as cameramen during the race, seeing as the camera is marked with the event's logo?" He held up a tire. "No, don't feel obligated to tell me. We all know the consequences for revealing secrets and the truth will be revealed in due time anyway."
Grem was grateful for the small mercy of not having to come up with a convincing lie. "Sorry, I know it's no fun being kept in the dark, but that's exactly where the Professor's keeping me as well. I've asked, but he refuses to tell me exactly what I'm going to be using all this training for. I know next to nothing about this World Grand Prix and who's even racing in it." He rolled his eyes. "If there was a way for me to use the camera blindfolded, he'd have me doing it." His jestful remark earned a chuckle from Petrov, the first light moment since they had intercepted the spy.
Fred rolled forward, clearing his throat. "Zundapp just called," he admitted. Their only saving grace so far had been the silence over the intercom, but it had seemed unlikely their boss would have slept through the incredible noise.
"Well?"
The yellow Pacer shrugged his fenders, still trying to gauge their leader's unexpected response. "All I told him was that we busted a spy, and he said to hold him until cargo-transfer time, then he signed off in a hurry. I suppose he's preoccupied with the important shipment if something like that didn't set him off."
"Why's everybody so glum? Who died?" Melvin's witty greeting was met with blank, guilty stares from the lieutenants gathered by the warehouse. He regarded Acer, who was leaning with his frame against the railing that ran along the edge of the platform and looking as though he were about to succumb to nausea at any moment.
"We made an apprehension," Fred said curtly, displeased to see they'd have to share the news with yet another party even if he was one of their own. "Who's patrolling your area if you're up here?"
"Relax, Keith's on the job. He's the only one I know who would actually stay awake hoping someone would pawn off a lousy patrol job on him," the dark orange Gremlin answered, referring to another overly eager AMC who, much like Levi, was striving to be admitted to the officers' ranks. "I came to see what the commotion was all about. So who'd you bust and what for?"
His jovial demeanor sharply faded when the others filled him in that a spy had been captured and dispatched to the hereafter before his identity or mission could be determined, and he burst in on Grem and Petrov, passionately demanding to see the cubed agent for himself. The Trunkov begrudgingly lifted the crate long enough for the AMC to catch a glimpse, and Melvin pulled back, trembling on his shocks. The mangled license plate and other features of the agent were seared into his memory even after Petrov let the crate fall back into place.
"Move over," he croaked to Acer. "I might be sick as well."
"All right fellas, you know the drill. C'mon, guys, these crates aren't gonna unload themselves," Grem instructed the large crowd of workers assembled at the cargo transfer dock. Both Trihull and his partner had just returned from routine security patrol and had been hoisted into position, looking bizarrely out of place suspended many stories above the ocean where they belonged. The AMC, weary and fatigued, was actually looking forward to sending the camera away for a while and getting some much-needed rest and repair before his services were needed at the World Grand Prix. The lieutenants had made a joint decision to reveal the agent's remains at the same time the cargo was being loaded, for doing so would at least allow them to temper the bad news with the positive, as they had succeeded in protecting the precious camera.
The workers all seemed to be operating in a state of agitation. Keith, aware that something significant must have happened to pull the ever-vigilant Melvin off his patrol, paced aimlessly around the crates, high-strung as always. Ever since encountering the compacted spy, Melvin had fallen into a stony silence, refusing to speak to anyone. He no doubt thought they'd handled the situation poorly, for he actually had the strength and finesse to pull off an apprehension by himself and admittedly might have done a better job of it. Levi, pulled into the pact of secrecy with the officers, kept close to Acer.
The warehouse behind him now ablaze with light, Gremlin shouted orders for the crane to lower the first piece of cargo and the machine hoisted a steel shipping container, swinging it over the crowd of rusted workers and into place. The chains attached to the roof of the container still clinking, Acer set to work opening the doors to inspect the contents. It was packed tight with boxes that were flush with the door, though the boxes hid more clandestine cargo in the back of the container. The wide garage door to the warehouse pulled upward, and Professor Zundapp emerged, looking as fidgety and unsettled as usual.
"Too many cars here!" he snarled, after uttering some choice phrases in German. "Out of my way!" Moving deferentially into the shadows, the crowd fell back as ordered. Oddly, considering the revelation he would be forced to make, Grem felt like making the same request himself. The fewer cars on deck to witness the spy's unveiling, the better.
Giving the shipping container only a precursory glance, the Professor instead rolled forward to meet Muggsy Liftsome, one of the rig's hired forklifts. Melvin kept tight to Muggsy's side, his eyes locked on the case resting on his forks.
"Here it is, Professor. You wanted to see this before we load it?" Melvin asked as the forklift lowered the case.
"Ah, yes," said the Janus in recognition, frowning as though he expected Muggsy to fumble and drop the entire thing. "Very carefully." Melvin heeded his advice and hefted up the lid, revealing the pristine camera within. The synthetic smell of the protective foam around the device wafted into the AMC's grille, and his boss looked almost lovingly down at his prized camera nestled in its shell. "Zehr gut," he remarked, rising up on his axles to get a closer look.
"Oh, a video camera?" Melvin suddenly interrupted, having finally seen for himself the item Zundapp had been training his compatriots to use. "What does it actually do?" Grem glared at him, shocked he would ask such a direct question in the middle of their boss's inspection. Still, his sarcastic tone suggested he didn't truly expect the Professor to reveal the inner workings of the camera for the benefit of the entire crowd, but was letting on that he knew there had to be more to the camera than its appearance would suggest.
"None of your business," snapped the Janus, deeply annoyed at the impudent car. "This camera is extremely dangerous." He regarded the Gremlin with a disapproving glare before turning his attention back to the camera. "This is valuable equipment. Make sure it is properly secured for the voyage."
"You got it." His reminder was unneeded, as Melvin kept close to the forklift and his cargo as they turned to board Trihull. The overhead crane was already swiveling his arm, delivering the true payload. With the camera inspection out of the way, the other lieutenants held their breath, not envying Grem for the news he had to relay. The Gremlin bit his tongue, tried to muster confidence he barely had, and unable to bear the anticipation any longer, shouted out to get Zundapp's attention. He was grateful Acer had pulled up alongside the crate in a show of support.
"Hey, Professor Z! This is one of those British spies we told you about."
"Yeah. This one we caught stickin' his bumper where it didn't belong," Acer chimed in. The Janus squinted behind his monocle, for this new information hardly sat well with him, but he already knew who the prime candidate had to be.
"Agent Leland Turbo," he said, emphasizing each part of the car's name and acknowledging the spy as though he was making a personal introduction. It was only when the lid was lifted, revealing the agent was undoubtedly dead, that he broke into a pleased smile. Grem hid his shock at the renewed sight of the sports car, his formerly curved body now pressed into a cube and much of his red paint horribly scraped away, exposing bare sheet metal. For the first time he noticed that the agent's single sideview mirror, a small, chrome appendage not unlike his own, had broken away from his frame and lay forlornly next to his body.
Caught up in suspense, Grem's engine threatened to stall, but before his mentor could give any further assessment, chaos broke out. The flame on the tower at the very summit of the rig flared as it routinely did, illuminating the cargo staging area below, but this time something blocking most of its light cast a shadow over Zundapp. Looking upward in confusion, the Janus saw all his paranoia had been justified. They were being raided!
Suspended over them like a spider in a web of cables that were strung along the support beams of the next platform up, one of the agents he feared most waited with dual guns drawn. The streamlined British sports car lost no time in peppering the entire cargo area with gunfire from his vantage point, shattering crates and puncturing oil drums. All concern over Agent Turbo gone, Grem was among the cars leading the charge forward, as he had no desire to take more bullets today. He initially kept close to his boss to shield him, but the Professor pulled away, calling out for the entire work crew to defend themselves as he'd trained them to do. The Gremlin gawked at the microcar, his tires tensed as he brazenly stood his ground while bullets sparked around him.
"It's Finn McMissile. He's seen the camera. Kill him!" Zundapp screamed, any fear for his safety outweighed by the outrage that his men had permitted two spies on board. Beside him, Grem and Acer drew their machine guns into position before realizing they were at a severe disadvantage and would never be able to hit the enemy spy unless he was brought down to their level. Fortunately, the night crew of welders who had been sealing the last of the barrels soon reached the edge of the platform where the agent had secured his cables. Their protective eyeshields flipped down, the grinning quartet of AMCs sneered at McMissile, ready to sever his lifeline and send him plummeting to the deck.
Seeing what they were about to do, the crane rapidly swung his thick arm, intending to strike the spy like a baseball when he fell. Instead, Finn released himself from his most of his cables, then swung from the remaining one that was latched somewhere beyond the crane. Sailing over the raging confusion beneath him, the silver car whistled through the air, his underside bathed in a soft yellow light from the guide lamps on the platform below. He landed squarely on the crane's arm, leaving the enraged machine helpless to shake him off as he completed the wide swing of his arm. Expertly using the boom of the machine as a ramp, the spy landed agilely on deck, where he was pursued by a horde of battered cars.
Keith cut him off at the first turn, staring down the sleek and polished agent before giving chase. Tires squealing, he followed McMissile's charge up a steep ramp, passing by multicolored shipping containers in a blur. The young Gremlin's engine was revving with the thrill of being the first to reach McMissile and proving his worth as a lieutenant. He suspected that the invader had unwisely used all his ammunition in a fruitless attempt to scare off the Lemons on deck, and he was now fleeing in panic - but where did he think he was going? For that matter, Keith couldn't imagine how he had gotten aboard in the first place, for there were no planes overhead nor strange ships around. It had been many weeks since they'd received provisions from the shore, so he was unlikely to be a stowaway if he was only showing himself this late.
"Wha-?" Keith gasped as his thoughts were cut short when he reached the top of the ramp and fishtailed sharply. Finn had released a flood of thick black oil on the ground, which he had no chance to avoid. His bald tires, as slick as the oil itself, could gain no traction and he found himself caught in a hydroplane, skimming just above the surface of the deck and being wrenched from side to side as his frame swerved with a mind of its own. Preoccupied with his own struggle, he barely noticed McMissile fire another grappling hook around a support beam and swing widely around the next corner.
The Gremlin continued his rapid slide forward through the sludge, trying to brake but striking the guardrail at the edge of the deck broadside. For one brief moment he felt the metal section pressed painfully against the yellow stripe that ran along his green frame, then the railing gave way and he pitched forward into the abyss. Aware all too late what was happening, he screamed in terror the entire way down, his body somersaulting and giving him an alternating view of the underside of the derrick and the darkness of the waves below.
He cut off his cry just before meeting the water, landing with a sickening crack that sent up a plume of spray, as well as body panels and several badly-worn tires.
Above him, Grem ordered the Professor to stay safe, then flung himself into the charge of Lemons pursuing Agent McMissile. They only paused briefly at the sight of the oil slick and broken railing, thinking at first that the spy had plunged overboard before recognizing the tracks as an AMC's. Their fury driving them on, they surged up the spiral ramp that led to the helipad on the highest deck, unintentionally creating a dizzying, technicolor parade of broken-down cars being led by one sleek, devious spy.
The Gremlin, having fallen to the rear of the pack because he had stayed behind to shield Professor Zundapp, pulled onto the ramp, feeling its corrugated metal rattle under his tires. A voice calling out to him made him skid to a stop, his tires squeaking on the surface as the ramp above him thundered from the weight of so many cars shooting through its turns. He turned to find Melvin beckoning him to the elevator that ran alongside the ramp.
"What're you doing things the hard way for?" he asked, tapping the floor where approximately one car length remained. The officers waited impatiently behind him, packed end-to-end in the small area. "There's room for one more."