Knight Rider
New Beginnings
By Zachary Sweigart
DISCLAIMER : This story is a work of fiction and does not pertain nor have any affiliation with related characters, vehicles, or settings described in the 1982-86 television series Knight Rider or the 1996 movie Knight Rider 2000 : The Movie, both owned by Glen Larson. All characters, vehicles, and other objects are used under license of Universal Studios Inc. and should not be copied and/or borrowed without the consent of Universal Pictures. All rights reserved.
Prologue
It was a dark night outside a quiet California mansion nestled among a hillside boulevard just outside of San Francisco. It was an impressive structure, about three stories tall and constructed in the colonial style architecture. In an upstairs office, two men were have an official and very serious discussion.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Knight." said an official-looking man in a suit, "We just cannot allow you to perform any more of these tasks. Policy forbids it."
"A lot of use that'll be." Said the man to whom the question was addressed.
"Listen," the man in the suit said, "You've done the Foundation proud. Any organization would be honored to have an operative with your credibility. Maybe it's just time for you to relax."
"And let the Foundation die? Never."
"You have no more operatives." The man in the suit stressed.
"I'll find one."
The man in the suit was a bit startled by this answer. He honestly hadn't expected this task to be so daunting. As much as he wanted to dismiss the idea, he knew he didn't have the proper authority to do so.
"Alright," he said finally, "By policy, I have to give you three days. But if by that time you have not found someone, I can't guarantee that the board will allow for an extended grace period."
"Understood."
The man in the suit left the office room.
"Don't worry," the man said to himself, "I'll find someone."
CHAPTER ONE
It was a bright sunny morning in Piedmont, Arizona. The weather was blistering hot on this particular day in the downtown warehouse district of the city. Along a battered road lay a very long and old storehouse. The faded words along its side once read Smith's Wheat Co. and most of the tall windows had broken or missing panes of glass, the remains of which was now turned to a bleak yellow color. Inside the dilapidated building, a single light bulb illuminated a small card table with stacks of money and various important looking files. Around the table were some six or so men, their faces almost undistinguishable due to the dim lighting. The taller one that wore an expensive Italian suit spoke.
"This should be the last run. After the hit on Dresden Motors, It'll be a long vacation for everyone. Those cops aren't too dumb and neither are the Feds. I'm tired of them breathing down our necks."
Most of the men were dead silent as he talked. Then a scruffy-looking man with a mustache took a position:
"We already have most of the hot ones in transit. We don't need this, Drake."
The man addressed as Drake countered.
"You don't run things here!" he boomed, "I decide how things go! Vince." he said to a man wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket. "Make sure the cars are ready."
"Of course." The man proceeded to an electrical box not more than ten feet from the place where the conversation was taking place. He opened it and flipped on every one of the black switches. In a methodical order, huge halogen lights lit up the vast building. When all were activated, their glow revealed the glistening paint jobs and body work of almost twenty cars. The machines were rare exotics, ranging from Ferraris to Lamborghinis to Aston Martins. Vince and some other men, probably mechanics, approached the cars and gave them a brief inspection.
Outside the warehouse, across the street, a black 1970 Dodge Charger sat idling in the parking lot of a restaurant that had since then been abandoned. Inside the car sat a dark-haired muscular man in his late twenties. He wore a tense expression on his face as he glanced at the old warehouse. Over the waves of his radio came the conversation going on inside the building that he watched so intently.
After a short moment, another sound came over a hand-held radio which lay on the passenger bucket seat.
"Lieutenant O'Conner, we are ready to move in. Do you copy?"
He picked up the radio and addressed the man speaking.
"I copy. Do not roll until you get my signal, understand?"
"Ten-four."
Unknown to the men inside the warehouse, Lieutenant John O'Conner was one of nearly forty police officers waiting in ambush outside. They each had perfectly concealed spots from which to surprise their prey. In all, it was a cleverly conceived plan.
All of a sudden, a distinguishable hum was emitted from the warehouse. The two battered wooden doors flung open and the sound became more intense. Not a spilt second later, a yellow Ferrari 360 and a silver Porsche led their comrades out of the warehouse.
"All units move!" came the report from John. None of the officers had to be told twice. In the same manner as the exotics had appeared, the black and white Police cruisers rushed out in a flurry of red and blue flashing lights. John's Charger also joined the fray as he took pursuit of the red Porsche.
John's eyes carefully scanned the foreign sports car. "Nothing out of the ordinary." he thought. Suddenly, the Porsche careened to side, narrowly hitting two lamp posts, as it plowed its way through a dark alley. With lighting-fast reflexes, John guided his silver Charger through the narrow opening.
The Porsche had speed up, now a hundred feet off. John dropped the hammer on his car and the engine roared as it accelerated down the small road. The gap was beginning to close. Then, out of no where, came a huge garbage disposal truck via a small side street. The driver wore a look of horror as he saw the Dodge approach, though he would probably not sustain any injury in the case of a collision.
"Whoa there!" John pressed hard on the brakes. The tires squealed as his car skidded to a stop, just inches from mammoth truck. Quickly, he shifted to reverse and backed out as fast he could go.
When he reached the entrance to the alley, he pulled a J-turn and continued down the adjoining street. A couple blocks down was a park. John looked side-ways as he passed the playground and his eyes caught the distinct shape of the Porsche.
"Gotcha again." John said to himself. The Charger screeched as it changed direction to that of its target. There wasn't much traffic, so the driver of the coupe had no problem in accelerating quickly when he noticed the black car coming at him like a heat-seeking missile.
But John only smiled as the red car moved ahead. Reaching beside him, he put his hand on two large round cylinders and quickly unscrewed the valves with labels reading "NOS (Nitrous Oxide System)". John activated a switch and a red light appeared on his dashboard, which told him the system was ready use. Removing the top of the gear shift revealed a small round button.
"Catch this, buddy."
A split-second after pressing the button, the Charger redlined and quickly picked up momentum. Soon it was right alongside the Porsche. John threw a sidelong glance at the driver, but the tinted windows prevented a clear view. Turn his attention back to road made him wish he hadn't. Less than a mile ahead laid a drawbridge, and it was starting to raise up. There was no turning back now.
CHAPTER TWO
The buildings and traffic were blurred as the two car raced down the street towards the massive obstacle. John was pressed to his seat as he hit the ramp. Time seamed to slow down as both vehicles soared in the air. But no one could have expected what happened next.
The obvious fault of the driver of the Porsche caused it flip in mid-air. As the Charger hit the ground, the silver car went nose first, twisting the frame as it struck. Then it continued rolling, fast enough that the when it the ground a second time, a couple wheels and both doors were ripped away from the body.
John immediately slammed on brakes and pulled a three-sixty before halting. Finally, the Porsche came to rest in the middle of road. The officer jumped out to identify the driver, but in the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a flame which erupted from the rear of the totaled vehicle. John ran back and ducked behind his own car as the remains of the silver sports car disintegrated. Fragments and pieces of debris rained down.
Curious onlookers stood around the wreckage gasping and whispering to each other. Before long, the sounds of Arizona State Troopers could be heard in the background. Within moments the black-and-white cruisers were on the scene, followed by a TV-7 News van. The lead car was a navy blue BMW M5, which bore no markings affiliating it with the law enforcement branch. The red flashing light on the dashboard was its only giveaway. Out of it emerged a dark-skinned man of medium height. He wore a detective badge on the right pocket of his coat.
"Hello, Bilkins, you picked a lovely day for a visit." John spoke, not exactly meaning every word. "Still on top of things as always."
The detective was not impressed. He eyed John with a frown.
"And you, O'Conner, still leaving a trail of destruction wherever you go. As always."
"But we put away Drake and his gang."
"Yeah, we had a search warrant for stolen cash, which we didn't find. Right now, all we have Drake's men are some outrageous speeding tickets and destruction of property."
"You searched the cars, right?" John asked, "There wasn't any money?"
"None, if you don't count the 43 cents we found in the seat cushion of one of the Mercedes."
"You're absolutely sure those cars belong to him?"
"Yes, the registration checks out. However we will impound the cars for two weeks under the circumstances. Now if you don't mind, you're fired!"
"What?"
"I didn't stutter. The force has had enough of your stunt driver chases."
Detective Bilkins turned and left to survey the damage done. Some how, John got the impression that he was not at all well liked by the law enforcement official. He had been contemplating leaving anyways. To him, law enforcement was more politics than action. Soon, the black Charger rumbled quietly as it headed home.
"That was close, probably to close." Drake said. He was sitting behind a huge mahogany desk in a high rise office building of equal monstrosity. The building was located in the heart of Dallas, Texas; sandwiched between a parking garage and a Hilton Hotel.
Drake's office itself was decorated with objects and artifacts from all over the world, most of them weapons and torture devices. These things adorned the dark red walls and tan carpet. All other trim was accented in the same mahogany as the desk. Around the desk were three well dressed men, one of them smoking a cigar.
"So when can we expect payment, Drake?" the taller one asked, "Your little problem in Arizona didn't slow you down, did it?"
"Of course it didn't. Your cars worked like gems." Drake answered, lighting a cigar himself. "And the phony registrations really came in quite handy."
Drake stood up from his desk and walked over to the huge windows overlooking the city.
"The cars are already across the border and on the ship." he said confidently.
No sooner had he completed his sentence then his phone rang.
"Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen."
They obliged and quickly left the office. Drake answered the phone: "Drake here."
"This is Vince."
Drake seemed annoyed: "What's so important that you need to call me right now?"
"I've just spotted that black Charger that gave us trouble earlier."
"So?"
"I ran the plates through the DMV mainframe. The car belongs to Lt. John O'Conner, LAPD."
Drake sank back in his chair slowly as he pondered the news.
"An LAPD cop in our neighborhood." Drake mused, "They might be onto us."
"Anything you want me to do?"
"Yes. Kill him." Drake slammed the phone down on the receiver. Shortly after, he ushered the men back inside.
"Is there a problem?" one of them asked.
"A small one. It's taken care of now."
CHAPTER THREE
Back in Arizona, Vince kept a distance from John's Charger as he trailed in his personal car, a 1969 Chevy Camaro, dark red in color. Traffic was starting to disperse and the sky was now turning a darker shade of blue. Before long, the streets were awash in the glow of street lamps.
John was now on Highway 56 heading back to his apartment. The posted speed limit was 75 mph and the undercover officer made sure he was not moving any slower than allowed. He wasn't expecting something to go wrong, but just the same he didn't want to waste any time getting back.
Vince followed at a distance, never moving his eyes from the road lest he should loose his target. The hitman decided that he had to take this cop out of the picture soon, while they were still on open highway. Making up his mind, he shifted to third gear and slowly pressed the accelerator. The Camaro closed in on the black Dodge.
John looked through his rear-view mirror just as the dark red car was approaching. Through the Chevy's front window he saw that the driver was holding a 12-gauge shotgun. Quickly, he stomped on the gas and roared off.
"Shoot!" Vince muttered, "He must've seen me." The hitman also sped away towards the Charger.
The highway was nearly deserted so it didn't take long for the chase to pick up speed. John glanced only quickly at his speedometer. 120 mph and accelerating. His pursuer wasted no time in catching up. Soon the two cars were head to head, racing down the highway.
Vince pulled up his shotgun and aimed for the driver's window of the Charger. John turned his head just in time to see his enemy take aim. He quickly pressed the brakes and the Chevy blew right past him. But the hitman had fired and now three small holes were placed in the Dodge's hood.
"Shoot." John groaned. Fortunately, the damage was only skin deep. The buck shot hadn't harmed the engine.
Vince finally realized that he had met his match at driving. Coming up behind a semi, he veered right and took the first exit ramp. Right behind him was one fast and furious Lt. O'Conner. John glanced quickly at the green exit sign: "Phoenix". He pulled out his Glock 9mm pistol. Just in case, he thought.
The dark red Camaro cut to the right as soon as he was off the ramp. The Charger followed, narrowly missing being T-boned by a late model Mustang. The chase had also caught the attention of Phoenix Police Cruiser. It's red and blue lights flashed as it pulled a U-turn to join the pursuit.
Horns blared and tires squealed as traffic dodged the speeding vehicles. Vince had an edge, but the road was getting narrower. John saw his window of opportunity. He pressed the brakes and cranked the wheel hard to the right. The Charger skidded sideways and halted. The officer whipped out his gun and fired three rounds into the Chevy. The third shot hit its mark, striking the left rear tire of the hitman's car.
Vince lost control and spun out, hitting a light pole before stopping. He quickly grabbed his shotgun and jumped out of the totaled vehicle. Just as John ran towards the wreck, Vince cracked of a shot, causing his pursuer to duck behind a mail box.
When John stood up, gun trained, he resumed his chase. Soon he caught sight of the suspect. Vince had run into the parking lot of a 7-11 Gas Station. Across from him, a man was parking his Ducati 996 motorcycle.
The hitman threatened the rider with his weapon and hopped on the bike. By the time John reached the spot, his target was long gone. He walked back to spot where he left his car and exchanged information with the Policeman who had joined him in his chase. But John was met instead by three men in black suits. Their car was a black limousine with tinted windows. They bore the appearance of secret service men.
"Jonathon David O'Connor?" One of them spoke.
"That's me." John said slowly, "What do you want?"
"You. We hear you're no longer a police officer and we have a proposition for you."
"And if I refuse?"
"I highly doubt you'll back down from this one, John." A very tall man in his fifties stepped out of the limo. He had brown hair which was graying and he had the look of a man who had been through a lot of trouble in his day.
"Who are you?" John asked.
"You'll find out later, but we have to go now. There's too much at stake to wait."
John carefully thought about the offer. He couldn't go back to the force, so what did he have to lose? This might be a lucky break. On the other hand, they could be criminals. Struggling against his own will, he went with the former thought and stepped in the limo.
The ride in the limo hadn't lasted long, only a couple of hours. Once inside the vehicle, John noticed
the man who had called him by name held a cane. He also seemed to be withholding information, something the former officer didn't like at all. Could these guys be from the government? John thought, that would explain all the secrecy. Shortly, they had arrived at the gates to a large mansion. The limo stopped and the driver reached out to press an intercom button.
"Mr. Knight is back from his errand." He reported.
"Proceed." came the emotionless reply.
The gates opened and the limo was parked in front of the huge house. John observed the architecture and assumed that it once belonged to a very wealthy man. The group exited the car and followed the stairs up to the front door, where one of the men swiped a security clearance card through its designated place. The large wooden doors opened and the entire group mad their way upstairs to an office of sorts. When all were in, the tall man motioned for the others to leave.
"Alright, I've had it up to here." John demonstrated, "What is with all this secrecy around here? Showing up an accident scene; Riding in limos with tinted windows, and walking into huge mansions in the middle of the night. What is the deal with you people?"
"It's necessary believe me." The man answered, still calm. Motioning for a chair, he said, "Please have a seat. There's some explaining to do."
"It's about time."
"Are you familiar with an organization called the Foundation for Law and Government?"
"I knew it!" John said, "You guys are trying to pin that accident on me. Well go ahead and press charges on Phoenix PD. I don't care."
"We're not from the government, nor are we affiliated with them in any way other than the capture of known criminals. The Foundation for Law And Government is an independent organization founded by the late Wilton Knight. We work at fighting against criminals who operate above the law. Criminals like Wilhelm Drake."
"How do you know about him? His file is only available to the upper divisions of the investigation."
"Believe me, I have many resources, but I'll continue." He cleared his throat and began again, "You've been brought here because you're the best I've seen. You're the kind of crusader that prefers to shoot first and ask questions later." John smiled on the inside.
"So what's the proposition?"
"We want you as our first agent to complete designated missions in our new vehicle."
"What kind of vehicle?"
The tall man raised his hand, "I'm afraid I can't delve much deeper into that matter unless we have assurance that you are with us."
"What do I have to do?"
"Understand that if you agree, there will be conditions."
"Such as?"
"You can no longer visit or have any association with people that you know or once knew. Any information concerning your history will be completely erased; Driver's license, social security number, birth certificate, credit cards. Your current address will be vacated. We'll file your name into our mainframe where you'll officially reside until you die or are debriefed."
"Oh that's all?" John said in a sarcastic tone.
"Ready for the decision?"
John though long and hard about what the man had said. If he chose this path, he would have to follow it to the end. Then again, what was there to lose? All he'd ever known was not much. He spoke slowly; "I'm in."
The tall man bore a grin and smiled.
"Welcome to the Foundation for Law and Government. You are officially a man who does not exist. How do you feel?"
"For the moment, a bit odd," John answered truthfully, "Tell me more about what's going on. By the way, who are you?"
"My name is Michael Knight, but please, call me Michael. Follow me down to the facility."
"Facility? What goes on there?"
"Do you like cool stuff?"
"Yeah."
"Than I have a feeling you'll like it."
CHAPTER FOUR
Exiting the rear of the mansion, the two men approached a small, one story building. It appeared to be a simple construction, but the conversation that had taken place earlier led John to believe that what was in store would be much greater than a tour of a maintenance building. Upon approaching the entrance, Michael produced a key card and swiped it through the slot. The door immediately opened. Behind it lay an elevator of significant size.
"Wow." John mused, "You could fit a couple Hummers in here."
"That's just about what it's used for."
"No kidding? This thing is used for lifting vehicles?"
"Yes, but not Hummers."
The elevator descended slowly into a lower level. Soon, the doors slid open and John was met with a curious sight. Before him stood a room the size of a warehouse, though not quite as high. A few people in coveralls were walking about with I.D. cards clipped on their apparel. The walls were a solid gray and the floor was a shiny, lustrous, black color. Many different computers and other various machines were organized around the place. A large, black door was at the far end of the room. As John looked around, a woman approached Michael with a large folder.
"It's here." Michael announced to John.
"What is?"
"Your new identification." Michael handed him a security card with his picture.
"Great." John said, "Now I can open the door to the restroom when I need to go. Is this what we came here for?"
"No, over here. I'll show you why we need that elevator."
Michael was referring to the huge black door. Once again using his card, the portal slowly opened.
As John watched it slowly rise, he peered into it with anticipation. The door finally lifted and Michael smiled as he beheld the sight. The object of attention was two sports cars of the sort John had never seen. One was black, the other silver-colored. Their bodies were gracefully sculpted and appeared menacing and agile and almost reminded John of a Trans Am. From behind the mesh grille of the black one, a red light moved slowly back and forth with a sweeping motion.
"I've never seen a car like this." John said, amazed, "What is it?"
"You're looking at the Knight Industries Three-Thousand."
"How do I fight crime with this car?"
"These two cars are the only ones of their kind that exist. They are bulletproof, water tight, and, to a degree, fire proof. The engine is a dual turbine with 4000 horsepower that's capable of moving it to almost three-hundred miles per hour. It has a satellite communications display so you'll never get lost again, and jump jets so you'll never get stuck in traffic again."
John felt the hood of the car.
"It's so smooth."
"That's the Molecularly Bonded Shell you're feeling. It's what keeps the car almost indestructible. Go ahead, step inside and I'll continue."
John reached for the door handle, gave him a strange sensation when he opened the door. Michael noticed his expression; "It scans your finger prints before it will allow you to enter. It's a security precaution." The gull-wing door rose up, giving John a view of the interior.
Once inside, John's eyes surveyed the interior. The speedometer glowed with a green color and a small video screen was mounted in the center of the console. Above the steering column were three vertical LED columns that John wasn't sure what they were for. Below the console there were several buttons and switches. He sat firmly but comfortably in the black bucket seats. Michael pointed out some key features.
"Besides your basic rudimentary controls, these buttons on your center console will be used most often. This your turbo boost, which activates the jump jets. These two are your ski mode buttons; they will only activate the jump jets on either the right or left side of the car; quite useful for getting out of tight situations. You can trust me on that.
"This your eject button and it pretty much speaks for itself. Here's your grappling hook, CO2, and flamethrower."
"Flamethrower? I thought you were crazy before, but..."
"Shall I continue, or are you ready for a trial run, hotshot?"
"Yeah." John said, warming up the idea, "Where do we do that?"
"Testing grounds. Drive up to the elevator."
Somewhere across the street from Drake's office building lay a tall modern art sculpture in the center of a glowing water fountain. The light was sparse and gave an eerie feeling to the rest of the park, if it could be called as such. Drake himself sat at one of the many concrete benches with a tense and annoyed expression. Soon his composure changed as he saw a black speed bike approach and park nearby. The rider got off and spoke.
"We've got an issue here." Vince said.
"Correction." Drake said, "You've got an issue. But our whole operation might suffer from the effects."
"He got away and he'll probably be back. Just cause he's fired doesn't mean he's gone. This guy never quits."
"You sound like you know more about him than you're telling me."
"Let me put it this way; he has a way of pulling off the unexpected, so don't turn your back on him or else." Vince eyed his boss seriously. After a brief pause, he spoke again. "I didn't say this would be easy."
Vince walked away and hopped back on his new bike. Drake watched him carefully as he drove off and considered what the cost might be if Vince were to have an unfortunate 'accident'.
In a testing facility only ten miles away from Foundation headquarters, a small black spec could be seen racing around the outlying test track. The track was mostly a huge oval with obstacles and other hazards in the center. A few buildings populated the otherwise plain desert background. As for the red spec, it was the Knight Industries Three-Thousand, making paces around the oval. John O'Connor and Michael Knight were the occupants of the high-tech machine.
"After you finish this lap," Michael said, "head to the center ring to receive further instruction."
The car moved towards a huge concrete wall.
"Don't steer out of the way." Michael instructed, "Just keep going full speed until I tell you."
"You're joking right?" John said, "Wait, of course you're not."
The car continued its course, the wall getting bigger and bigger.
"Press 'Turbo Boost'. Now."
"Here goes nothing."
John pressed hard on the appropriate button and felt a jolt as the car momentarily lifted off the ground and soared over the obstacle. The sensation of almost flying was wonderful and reminded him of using that jolt of nitrous on his old Charger. They hit the ground solidly, but firmly.
"Wow! That was awesome!" John shouted.
"It's been a while since I've done that." Michael said. "I'd forgotten how fun that was."
John quickly looked around to see if any other obstacles dared challenge his invincible car. Just ahead were several concrete barriers.
"You'll probably need 'Ski Mode' to get through this, but hold on."
"Got it."
The car lifted up on its right side wheels and John very carefully guided it through the course. He had to make his moves well and was mindful of not over steering in order to prevent a roll over. When he had finished the task, John brought the car into the pit area and stopped.
"Well done." Michael said, "To be honest, I didn't expect you to do so well at all. I'm pleasantly surprised with your performance."
"Thanks, but I couldn't have done it without this car."
"I think you're ready for your first assignment."
"Lay it on me."
"Just like you, I suspect Drake is hiding something big that could potentially blow up in his face. Go down to his office building in Dallas and dig up what you can. You'll receive further instructions as you get there."
"What am I looking for?"
"Anything that will connect any of his cars with any of the drivers that we have on file."
"I'm ready, lets go."
John was even more exited to have some real action and to work for an organization that shared his views on what law enforcement was.
CHAPTER FIVE
"...That should do it for your briefing. Just remember to use the 'Silent Mode' option to sneak into the parking garage below the building. The Knight Three-Thousand can also jam surveillance cameras if the need arises." One of the Foundation's technicians, Bob, had just finished a run-down on the parameters on the mission to infiltrate Drake's office. "Any questions, Mr. O'Connor?"
"Yes, what do I do if Drake is there at his office?"
"Either find a way to get him out, or just wait it out. You have all night."
"That's all I needed to know. Thanks."
The tech nodded and then a 'Transmission Ended' message appeared a few seconds on the screen.
As John drove across the highway, he decided he wanted to listen to music.
"Darn, a multi-million dollar vehicle with a dashboard right off the Millennium Falcon and it doesn't even have a radio."
"Any particular station or style of music you had in mind?"
John was very startled.
"Who said that?" he demanded.
"Me." The three LED columns John had noticed earlier flashed up and down when the words came forth.
"The car?"
"Actually," the voice corrected, "I am not a car, I am the Knight Industries Three-Thousand. K-I-T-T for easy reference. 'Kitt' if you prefer."
"Well, 'Kitt'," John said, "Right now you can either turn on a radio station or shut up. I'm not listening to a car that talks and I don't care who put you up to this."
"No one put me up to anything. I was designed and programmed to interact with humans. Michael thought the Knight Three-Thousand would be much more useful if he kept me."
"What do you mean?"
"I am the program designed for an earlier vehicle, the Knight Industries Two-Thousand."
"So where is that?"
"The Knight Museum of Technology. Would you like directions?"
"No, I'd like to listen to some music. A good rock station will do."
"Very well."
An hour later, the sun was setting and bathed the city of Dallas in an orange-yellow glow. John parked across the street from the monstrous skyscraper, waiting for the gate keeper of the parking garage to change shifts. His patience was soon rewarded, the man left his post and John pulled to the gate, swiped a fake access card and rolled past undetected. Once inside, he found a suitable parking space near the main elevator. He quickly got out and took the large elevator to the fifty-fifth floor.
As the doors opened, John crept along the walls so as to avoid detection by the cameras. Following the hallways, he soon came upon a light coming from a network room. As moved closer, he started to discern two voices talking back and forth, one of them sounded like Drake's.
"...What do mean you came up empty-handed?" Drake said angrily.
"I'm sorry sir, but there is no information concerning Lt. John David O'Connor." said another voice, probably an employee.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying this man does not exist."
"No one can just disappear like that. Run another search."
"Alright, if you say so..."
How could they catch on like that? John thought, someone must have known about my trip home from the sting operation. No sooner had the thought entered his mind then he heard another voice enter the conversation.
"He's tricky, heck, I coulda' told you that."
"Vince. Find him soon or you're out."
"Gotcha."
John became alarmed and rushed back to the elevator. He took it back to the parking garage. As soon as the doors opened, he jumped inside his black car and peered through the tinted windows for the man addressed as Vince to appear. A few minutes later, a stocky man in a leather jacket came out of the elevator and crossed by the sports car, but he quickly stopped.
"What's he doing?" John thought to himself.
But what seemed to have spooked the man was not a noise or the presence of another person, it was the black sports car which he stood in front of that had alarmed him. His look of surprise turned to disgust as he turned and broke out into a run towards a Ducati motorbike.
"Shoot! How did he recognize me?" John said as started the car.
"I'm not quite sure." Kitt said.
"Shut up, I didn't ask you."
"Well there were no other humans around for you to address, so I naturally assumed that…"
"Yeah, Yeah. Let's just catch the guy!"
Pieces were quickly going together. The leather jacket, the black bike. This was the hitman in the Camaro who had tried to kill him! But how did he recognize John's car? That would have to wait till later, the agent had a job to do. He shifted into gear and punched the accelerator as he heard the whine of the Ducati's motor. The car's tires screamed as it jolted forward after its prey.
The black motorcycle spun around a concrete barrier and squeezed past the main gate. Alarmed. the guard punched the alarm system and the entire parking garage was flooded in red lights. Up a the entrance, John could see a chain gate falling fast over the opening. Resisting is own instincts, he plowed ahead, smashing through the barrier and ripping through it with ease. He activated his radar display. The Ducati was actually easy to detect because it was traveling much faster than the surrounding traffic. Soon a red dot appeared amidst the green city layout on the screen.
The biker was turning left. John's eyes quickly perceived the suspect's vehicle. The Knight Three-Thousand had already taken down the license plate and model automatically and told John that the vehicle was stolen. Vince was heading down a large open street, and whipped out a 9mm Uzi to take aim on his pursuer. The weapon light up as shots rang out. John instinctively ducked, but the rain of bullets bounced harmlessly of the car, leaving no trace of contact. The rider soon ran out of ammo and threw his gun sideways, continuing on his course.
John watched the biker spin around and shoot off into a small alleyway. He adjusted his direction to that of his target and picked up speed. John knew what he had to do; he reached down pressed the 'Ski Right' button. As earlier that day, the car lifted up on to it's left side wheels and barely cleared the narrow opening. Vince almost lost control when he spotted the black sports car in his small side mirrors. Panicking, he went faster still and was soon out of the alley with his pursuer a few seconds behind him.
The Three-Thousand planted all four wheels on the ground was catching up. But just ahead was a red light, halting traffic. A huge semi was currently crossing the intersection. The Ducati dodged right and then left, evading the trucker. John approached and cranked the wheel left and stopped next to the semi. He soon was off again, but the huge truck had severed the radar connection between John and the motorcycle.
"Where'd he go?"
"I'm afraid I can't track him, Jonathon. That semi has blocked my scanners."
The appropriate message was displayed on the screen and then the image of the city minus the red dot. John spent a good hour trying to locate the Ducati, but to no avail.
John headed back to headquarters. He had not found out anything about the drivers hired by Drake, but he had retrieved other important information concerning himself and possibly the Foundation. Shortly, he contacted the Foundation's secretary.
"Yes, I'd like to speak to Mr. Knight. It's extremely important."
"Right away, sir." The image changed to that of the man in charge.
"You found something, John?" Michael asked.
"Yes, but not what you think. Drake has caught on to me somehow, but he can't find info on me anywhere in his network. I have you guys to thank for that. He also hired a man by the name of Vince to do his dirty work of taking me out. He's the same guy who tried to kill me earlier on the interstate. I was going to follow him after he left the building, but he recognized my car somehow."
"Uh-oh." Michael said.
"What does that mean?" John replied.
"Come back to the Foundation and I'll explain."
The transmission ended.
"It sounds as if Michael needs to discuss something very important." Kitt said, "He's using that tone of voice again."
"What tone?" John asked, impressed the AI understood subtle voice inflections and at the same time a little annoyed that Kitt liked to talk at random intervals.
"The tone Michael always gets when a situation is serious."
"How long have you known Michael Knight?"
"Well, approximately ten years, four hours, and twenty-three minutes. Give or take a few seconds." Kitt answered, "I suppose by human terms we could be referred to as old friends."
"That's truly touching." John said sarcastically, "So why doesn't he drive you on his crazy missions?"
"He would've liked to, Jonathon, but certain conditions within the Foundation have restricted him from doing so. Logically, one must assume that is the reason he chose you."
"How's that?"
"Well, I find the similarities between you two are quite remarkable."
"Really?"
"Yes. You are both stubborn, hard to deal with, and extremely irrational at times."
John looked indignant.
"Well I'm sorry you have to put up with us, Kitt."
"There's no need to apologize, Jonathon. I have learned to positively interact with many different personality types. Since you and Michael's are not so different, I believe that we'll get along quite nicely."
"I'm overjoyed."
"Your opinion is noted as such. I would also like to say that –"
A persistent beeping sound emitting from the communications console cut Kitt off in the middle of his sentence. John pressed the appropriate buttons to receive it.
"What's it say?"
"Come quickly. Trouble at Foundation. Other car has…" static followed.
"Where's the rest?"
"I'm afraid that's all, Jonathon. We'd better hurry."
"For once I think I agree with you."
CHAPTER SIX
John raced fast through the desert road to get to his destination. The landscape was now bathed in the warm glow of the sun and Knight Three-Thousand was being pushed to its outer boundaries. The speedometer read almost two-hundred a couple times, but the driver didn't seem to notice. He arrived soon at the Foundation and was met with an unsettling sight. The magnificent gate that once graced the entrance to the mansion was now bent and tossed to the sides. John followed the path of destruction and the wide tire tracks to the rear where the garage was located. Here, tire tracks stopped and new set began, leading to the disguised underground facility. He got out and ran towards it with all he had. After reaching the elevator and taking it down, he came upon more surprises. The hidden garage was in ruins and a few injured technicians were being tended to by emergency personnel. He was quickly met by Michael and few others.
"What happened?" John asked.
"The other car." a technician said, "Some one stole it."
"How?" John questioned, "That's impossible."
"That's what we thought." Michael said, "We're still working on finding out who and how this happened. In the wrong hands, that car could be used for any number of things."
"Well, considering that we've concluded that it is indeed in the wrong hands, what's our next move?" John countered.
"We've got to find that other car no matter what." the technician explained, "This problem takes priority over busting Drake's scam."
"Where do I start?"
"You should be able to track it via its radio signature. It's the only one like it. We'll keep in contact with you via satellite. No guarantee it'll work."
"I have few hunches, lets hope one of 'em is right on." John said.
"Wait on minute." another technician rushed up, "This is for you."
"What is it? A watch?"
"Yes but if you press this button, the Knight Three Thousand will come to your location."
"Should come in handy." Michael said, "It was my idea."
"Thanks." John replied as he donned the wrist watch, "I'll be back."
John took the on-ramp for the highway towards Piedmont. He was giving it all he could without endangering the lives of other motorists. Soon, the Foundation called him up for an updated. Before he could respond, his answer was droned out by the sound of a huge helicopter. John looked up through the sunroof and saw a military-class cargo chopper. After finishing his report, the black car was approaching the familiar warehouse where John had staged the sting operation. John parked outside and activated 'Silent Mode'. He performed an infrared scan of the dilapidated building.
"Is it in there, Kitt?"
"I'm detecting one vehicle and two individuals."
The screen showed the presence of a single vehicle; currently not running with no one inside, and the two figures that were having a conversation.
"That's strange," Kitt said, "If that's the other car, it would give off a stronger heat signature."
John debated strongly about what he should do. If he tried to raise the Foundation, the other car may intercept his transmission and detect him. If he blasted through the doors in a grand entrance, he would have the element of surprise, but would be in big trouble if the car inside wasn't the one he'd been looking for. He decided to get up on top of the building and have a look. Remembering that the 'Eject' option would probably do the trick, he parked as close as he could and punched it. The roof retracted and John was sent up nearly twenty-five feet to land on the eaves of the old warehouse.
Using stealth to his full advantage, he crept closer to a broken window pane. Inside he saw a nearly empty interior, save for the two individuals and a very familiar silver sports car. That's it! he spoke to himself, but who are they? John tried to make out words of the conversation, but he was two far away hear.
What surprised him, though, was that the characters just left, leaving the stolen car there.
Not wasting any time, John removed the window and hopped through, grabbing a support beam for balance. In a few seconds, the agent made his way down to the cracked concrete floor, which was a yellow color because of the faded glass.
Walking over to the car, John reached out his hand and grabbed the door handle. Instead of gaining access, the handle blinked red and refused to open. He tried three more times with the same result. Then the silver car roared to life. John jumped back as it shifted into gear and spun around to face him.
"Uh-oh"
John turned his arm and pressed the 'call' button on his watch and dodged the car's first pass. The machine turned around again in an attempt to terminate him. Moments later, a crashing sound could be heard at the far end of the warehouse. It was Kitt, smashing through the wooden doors and rushing to John's aid. It spun in front of the other car and opened it's driver's side door. The agent jumped inside, pressed the 'Manual Drive' button and resumed control.
Looking up, John jolted sideways as the machine bent on destroying him missed again and plowed into one of the walls, leaving a good-sized hole as well as thousands of fragments of broken glass. For several minutes longer, both vehicles were locked in a deadly dual inside the abandoned warehouse. John glanced briefly at his dashboard for any ideas. Then he saw the flamethrower.
"And I thought you were crazy, Michael." John said to himself.
He flipped the switch and the heads up display told him the system was armed. John found the appropriate button on the steering wheel and waited for the right moment. The enemy was soon in sight. He punched the button and a ten-foot flame was emitted from behind the mesh grill John's car. He caught the other machine dead-on.
The enemy was now in trouble. The blast of fire had overheated it's engine and black soot covered the hood and front fascia of the other vehicle. It quickly pulled a reverse 180 and raced out of the warehouse. John followed in hot pursuit.
He didn't get far, the other car turned down to the rear of warehouse towards a familiar looking helicopter. The copter had been running so it was able to take off quickly once the cargo was inside. A voice came over the loudspeaker.
"Now, now Mr. O'Connor, that wasn't very nice of you to barbecue my new car. You have approximately fifteen seconds to exit the premises before you are treated to a little grilling of your own."
The voice was that of Wilhelm Drake himself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ignoring the sarcasm, John peeled out as fast as the Knight Three-Thousand could carry him. No sooner had he crossed the street than a deafening explosion rocked the entire block. The warehouse and some of the surrounding buildings had been leveled.
"Do you have him on your scanners?"
"Negative, John." came Kitt's reply, "I lost track of that helicopter in the blast."
Not a minute later, a few black SUV's and a large semi with a chess piece logo on its side arrived. The entire convoy stopped and Michael Knight stepped out of the first vehicle.
"You missed the fireworks show." John said as he approached Michael.
"I'm sorry, you could've been killed." Michael apologized.
"Not your fault, but your flamethrower worked like a charm." John half-smiled, "At least we know who ripped you off of that other car."
Michael and several of the others wore eager expressions.
"Who?"
"Wilhelm Drake. He's using a military issue copter to transport it."
Michael smiled big.
"Now we have something on this guy, we just have to prove it. What do you think?"
"I think he messed with the wrong organization." John said.
"Let's hope you're right."
"What's with the rig?"
"It's a mobile command center." Michael explained, "You can drive right up the back hatch for fuel, repairs, or a coffee break, if the need arises. It saves a lot of time when you don't have much to spare."
One of the techs drove the Three-Thousand up the ramp to the semi while Michael and John found some seats inside the trailer. The chairs were comfortable and the walls had a nice modern feel to them, with black paint and polished aluminum compartments. In a few seconds, Kitt appeared and was being serviced in the back portion of the rig. When everyone was set to go, the truck started on it's journey.
"Okay, Michael, tell me what you might know about this guy Vince." John said.
Michael cleared his throat and produced a tan file folder to John. As the agent studied the information, Michael talked;
"James 'Vince' Vincent was a loyal mechanic and comrade to Wilton's son, Garth. It was Vince who helped steal the formula for the Molecularly Bonded Shell and gave it to Garth, who in turn used it construct a monster of a semi truck that was almost invincible. After the truck, dubbed Goliath, was destroyed by an earlier Knight Industries vehicle, Vince turned to working as a hired hitman. We suspected that it was him who tried stealing photos of the Knight Three-Thousand while it was still a prototype. That explains his recognition of the car."
"You talked about an earlier Knight Industries car. What would that be?"
"The Knight Industries Two-Thousand. KITT was the Artificial Intelligence for that vehicle as well. It was also the vehicle I drove when I was an operative like yourself. It's in the Knight Museum of Technology now. In it's day it was quite revolutionary. Designed in part by Wilton Knight himself."
"Yeah that's what Kitt told me."
"So you've talked?" Michael smiled, "How do you like him?"
"He'll take some getting used to."
"Don't worry, I understand."
John focused back on the topic at hand.
"So we know it could only be Vince who helped Drake steal the other car, but how'd he pull it off?"
"I don't know. To tell the truth, I'd hate to suspect any of our operatives, but I don't see any other way he could've done it."
"That helicopter I saw on the way to the warehouse must've spotted me and warned Drake as to where I was going." John mused. The case was quickly taking on epic proportions.
"So do we have enough proof to raid his office building or what?"
"I like the way you talk, John." Michael said.
John smiled.
"Dallas is gonna have something big to put in their newspapers this week."
"You'd better fix it! If this vehicle isn't fully operational in an hour, we don't stand a chance against that blasted Foundation!" Drake was outraged when one his mechanics told him of the extent of the damage done to the stolen car. The millionaire and his mechanics were traveling back to the helipad atop Drake's office building in the cargo chopper. The aircraft pierced through the bright afternoon sky.
Drake turned back to one his scientists.
"Have you figured out the molecular composition of this bonded shell?"
"I'm sorry sir, but this car only has the base coat." the scientist said, "It's like primer on a normal car. From what it appears, the molecularly bonded shell hasn't even been applied."
"Are you telling me you have nothing? What about the computer?"
"Sir this car has no Artificial intelligence. All functions will have to be accessed manually by the driver."
Drake turned to face Vince.
"Is this all you got me!" he yelled, "A rolling box of gadgets? You might as well have stolen a BMW for all the good this will do us!" Vince didn't say a word. He just turned his head the opposite way. Drake turned back to the scientist.
"Keep working on it!" Drake commanded and the scientist nodded.
Presently, the chopper arrived at its destination. When it landed, the stolen Three-Thousand was backed out and pushed into the elevator along with all of the helicopter's occupants, save for the pilot. The dark green chopper then took off and left going due north.
The elevator went to a level below the parking garage that was separate from the rest of the building. It had been prepared in the same manner as the Foundation's garage. Drake had been constructing this room for hiding such large contraband as cars and other vehicles. Police would never find it so it was relatively very safe.
"Get to work." Drake barked, "I'll be up in my office waiting for the good news."
"How much longer to Dallas?" John asked one of the technicians.
"About a half hour." came the immediate answer.
"Do you have the blueprints of Drake's office on file somewhere?"
"I'm sure we can dig it up. Why?"
"Just thinking." John replied.
The tech shrugged his shoulders; "Sure thing."
John was growing restless waiting for them to reach their destination. It pained him to feel as though he wasn't doing anything. He needed to pass the time somehow. A few minutes passed and the technician presented the floor plans to Drake's office building. John thanked him and studied them carefully.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After John had spent nearly ten minutes looking the office blueprints, Michael came back into the living quarters portion of the Mobile Command Center. He noticed the young agent was thinking long and hard about something.
"You have something big in mind, don't you?" Michael predicted.
"How'd you guess?" John replied with a smile.
"Spill the beans, kid."
"I think we're gonna redecorate Drake's office."
"I hardly think," Kitt joined in, "that renovating the aesthetic properties of his work space will significantly increase our odds against him."
"You're gonna love this." John said, "Trust me."
No sooner had John finished his sentence, then the driver radioed back to them; "We've arrived at Drake's office building, Mr. Knight. I'm going to park across the street in that alleyway so we aren't to conspicuous."
"Very well." Michael approved.
"Showtime." John jumped up out of the leather chair and into the Knight Three-Thousand's holding area. He backed out slowly and then changed his direction to face the imposing tower of glass and steel.
Up in the office room on the fifty-fifth floor, Drake opened one of the six drawers on his massive mahogany desk and pulled out a silver 357 Magnum hand gun. He carefully loaded each of the six .45 caliber rounds into the chamber and spun the barrel just for good measure before locking the gun closed. He then gingerly set the weapon on the desk and got up to face the window.
Drake reflected on his plan. This new Foundation agent was proving to be almost to much for him. The criminal glanced thoughtfully at the gun lying on the desk; all he needed was one good shot and O'Connor would be out of the picture for good.
Down below, John was coming up to the sidewalk in front of the building. He waited under the carport a few seconds and called the Mobile Command Center.
"I'm goin' in."
A technician was alarmed.
"What did you say?"
Smash! The Knight Three-Thousand crashed through the broad glass wall which filtered light into the foyer. People ran and jumped out of the way as the black car rampaged through benches, tables, and plants. The tires screeched as John stomped on the brakes and halted in front of the elevator, almost pinning the doorman to the wall.
"Hey, you!" John shouted.
"Y-y-yes sir?" The doorman trembled at the sight.
"What floor is Drake's office on?"
Drake sat uncomfortably at his desk, still planning his assassination of John O'Connor. His thoughts were interrupted by his telephone ringing. Drake wore a look of disgust on his face and yanked the phone from the receiver.
"Front Desk, sir." said the voice on the other end.
"This had better be good." Drake spoke unsettlingly calm.
"Um, the Foundation agent, John O'Connor." The receptionist stammered, "Um, he, uh, wishes to see you in your office."
"What?"
The floor, beneath him started to shake a little as he the phone fell from hands. Drake grabbed his gun and held it out. Then he heard a strange sound like that of a roaring lion. He stepped back and the huge mahogany doors splintered to pieces along with some of the red walls. The desk that Drake had used so much was thrown through the massive windows. Through the destruction and falling debris stood the Knight Three-Thousand, a bit dusty, but other wise intact.
Drake was momentarily scared to death when the grill of the black car was face to face with him. The red scanner swooshed steadily back and forth. John tried to stomp on the accelerator to finish him off, but the car wouldn't budge.
"Move, Kitt! What's your problem?"
"I can't do it, John." Kitt said, "I am programmed to protect human life, I cannot kill him. You simply need to step out and detain him. I have scanned him for weapons, he is unarmed."
John complied and opened the door. He stepped out and cautiously walked towards the seemingly unconscious enemy. Then, all of a sudden, he saw a flash of silver pointed at him. A loud shot rang out and the young detective fell back towards his car. He had received a brutal hit to the left shoulder and was now bleeding severely.
Drake chuckled to himself as he stood up. He smiled at John..
"Well, you almost had me there, John. Changed your name, your place of business. That was a real clever trick." Drake delivered a hard kick to John's side. The agent writhed in pain.
"You're not invincible without your car, are you? You've caused me a lot of trouble, John, and I don't like people who cause me problems. People who aren't useful have a way of disappearing."
John froze and stared at his adversary.
"And people like you who operate above the law have a way of getting themselves killed."
With lightning-quick moves, John's feet folded up and kicked the open driver's side door. The door swung fast, knocking Drake squarely in the face. The criminal screamed in pain as he stumbled backwards, reaching for something to steady him. But he went to far and tripped over the broken window, and fell into the street below.
John crept to the edge to see Drake's body sprawled upon the asphalt in front of his mighty tower.
He then heard a call coming from his car. He limped towards the vehicle as fast as he could.
"...John? John? Are you okay?" Kitt's voice came into focus.
"I'm fine, Kitt."
"What happened? You have received a gun-shot wound to the shoulder. It is not fatal, but you should seek medical attention nevertheless."
John winced.
"I'll be okay. Wilhelm Drake just made his last trip downstairs."
"The other car is being delivered to one Drake's associates via helicopter. We have to stop it."
The Three-Thousand backed out of the destroyed office and into the elevator. Upon reaching the top, John happened to see the chopper. He decided to take it out first and ruin the other car's escape. Running full speed towards the aircraft, John activated the grappling hook.
The metal anchor pierced the tail fin and dug into it deeply. John shifted to reverse and jerked the helicopter sideways. As the machine drifted low over the helipad, the pilot jumped ship and John let the grappling line go. The helicopter, twisted in the metal cord caught on the railing on the side of building and came to a stop.
The other car swung around as if to challenge its counterpart. John revved the engine and continued the battle atop the skyscraper. The cars dodged one another's strikes. Both came dangerously close to the edge numerous times, but followed through with their duel consistently. John reached down for the flamethrower button. A message flashed on the heads up display; 'ERROR : Device Not Ready'.
"Shoot!" John pounded the dash.
But his attention was soon drawn to the elevator generator and its bright orange warning labels.
"Kitt, how many volts are in that generator?"
"Enough to disable my circuits, John. We'd better avoid it at all costs."
That gave John the perfect idea. Pulling a 180, he edged himself right next to generator. It wasn't long before his opponent caught sight of him. The other car wasted no time in charging towards its prey.
At the last moment, John peeled out of the way as the speeding car plowed head long into the small construction. Sparks flew in a dazzling shower as beams of electricity coursed through the machine. In a few seconds, the spectacle ended.
John walked over to the downed adversary and gingerly opened the gull-wing door. When he did, the lifeless body of James Vincent fell on the helipad floor. The agent stepped back and breathed a sigh of relief. That was the end Drakes tyrannical reign in the world of organized crime.
His eyes scanned the surroundings for the way down. Bingo, a parking garage just across the street and at the same level, too.
After John made his daring jump to the parking garage roof, he made his way back to the scene of Drake's fall, where police, reporters and Foundation agents had gathered. The corpse, or rather, what was left of it was hauled off in an ambulance bound for the nearest coroner and the former hitman Vince soon followed. After receiving proper care for his wounds, John was greeted by a familiar face.
"We couldn't have done it without you." Michael said.
"I'm fine, just a little sore."
"Mind if I ask you a question I asked earlier?"
"Go ahead. Ask away."
"How does it feel to be a man who does not exist?"
"Pretty darn good, Michael. Pretty darn good."
"Well," Kitt interjected, "I believe I need some service time back at the semi."
"What's wrong, Kitt?" Michael smiled, "A little too rough for your taste?"
"Jonathon drives the same way you do, Michael." The AI said with a hint of disgust.
They both chuckled and walked back to the Mobile Command Center where the Knight Three-Thousand was being serviced, knowing full well this would not be the end of their crusade against injustice and criminals who would dare to challenge the Foundation for Law and Government.
THE END