Chapter Six: The 1980s Just Called; They Want Their Car Back
Sneakers. As soon as they got back to Toronto, he was dragging Giles to that shoe store and he was gonna sit on the idiot until they got him a pair of sneakers. Boots were wonderful things…right up until you had to run in them. "Remind me again," Roy spat, panting in between phrases. "Why you thought it would be a brilliant idea to treat a thirty-year-old piece of junk like a stunt car?"
"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"
"Newsflash, genius," the detective hissed. "We trashed our only set of wheels! And you broke your wand!" Which meant no Apparition or Portkeys, because, sadly, they'd had to leave their badges behind and their phones were still in the custody of the Lyndhurst Flats Sheriff's Department. They were lucky Giles had been able to use the larger piece of his broken wand to enlarge his little black beaded bag; otherwise, they would've still been in prison shoes and jumpsuits.
Ahead of Roy, his partner slid to a halt, then darted left, avoiding the open field beyond the trees. The brunet kept pace, mentally cringing at the thought of leaving the scant cover of the orchard around them. Especially with the crooked cops and prison guards searching every nook and cranny for the escapees. Even with the lousy prison shoes slowing them down, they'd outrun Pink and Shep in minutes. Once they'd gotten out of sight, the pair had swapped the prison clothes for their own clothes, including two sturdy pairs of boots. While the boots weren't the best for running, they were at least halfway decent, unlike the prison shoes.
Giles slid to a halt again, throwing out an arm to keep Roy from running past him. The panting detective caught up and peered over the shorter man's shoulder. Blast. There was an exit alright, but four men with shotguns guarded it. They were scanning the trees, but looking for that gaudy neon orange, not two men in street clothes. Even so, attempting to escape past four gunmen was almost literal suicide. Roy muttered a curse under his breath, earning a glum nod. By mutual unspoken agreement, the pair ducked back into the orchard's trees and headed back the way they'd come, searching for another way out.
Sheriff Wallace growled to himself. City cops. All high and mighty, what did they know of life in the country? All smug and arrogant on their high horses. They had no idea of what it took to get things done. So a few palms got greased here and there, so what? So they did a few…favors for some out-of-towners. It never stayed in county, never troubled the good people of Sinclair. There were always extra funds for the politicians' pet projects, always another way to spruce up the aging roads and keep the towns nice and neat. It had been perfect until those stupid city cops turned up.
Fury pulsed. There was only one man in Lyndhurst Flats who'd be stupid enough to call in big city cops. Heck, rumor 'round town was his daughter was one of those big city cops. He'd seen the man's record himself, the idiot had been a cop himself once upon a time. Once a big city cop, always a big city cop. Well, if he wasn't going to play by the rules, then it was time and past to deal with the problem. Time and past to pay the fool a little visit.
The dilapidated old barn stuck out like a sore thumb in the neat, orderly rows of carefully kept orchard trees, already heavy with blossoms that hinted at the fruit to come. The roof looked as though it was but a breath from collapse, the wood so weathered that Roy had to wonder if the entire structure would rot away right in front of him. A length of chain and a padlock bound the doors, brand-new, gleaming, and plainly out of place.
Curiosity stirred; what was worth hiding in an old barn? Roy glanced at his partner, earning a quick nod. The two men crept to the door, holding their breath as Giles tapped the lock with the larger piece of his broken wand. Fortunately, it didn't backfire; the padlock hesitated, then clicked open. The wizard stripped the chain off the handles, tossing it aside and out of the way. He tried to shift the door; it rocked and let out a low creaking moan, but didn't move.
"Giles," Roy murmured, getting in beside his friend. Grim, the Auror nodded and the men leaned into the door, grunting as they strained. It took a minute, then the wood creaked in renewed protest and shifted, slowly moving outward. Roy adjusted his position, wedging himself into the slowly widening gap. With more leverage, the door picked up speed, squealing and wailing until it slammed into a stop neither man could overcome. Despite struggling for another minute, the door refused to budge, finally forcing the detectives to draw back in defeat.
As soon as they stopped, the smell from the barn hit them; both officers recoiled at the unmistakable stench of decomp. Roy edged away from the door, coughing at the stale, sour blast of air from the interior. Though he wasn't any happier, Giles advanced, lifting his right hand. "Lumos," he incanted; to his partner's surprise, a small white globe appeared above the wizard's head, hovering on his wand side. The tiny bubble of light revealed a dusty black car hood. The Auror frowned, gesturing with his hand. Slowly, the bubble expanded, brightening as it did so until the rest of the car appeared out of the darkness. Roy whistled under his breath. An old black Trans Am, with a scoop in its hood and the headlights tucked away. Curiously, it sported a dark bar right under the hood instead of a typical Pontiac emblem. The detective reached out and brushed the dust off, but no emblem emerged.
"Roy."
The brunet moved right, following Giles' gaze to the two bodies lying behind the car. Roy swallowed hard, gorge rising at the maggots crawling on the dead men. The darkness hid the rot but not the eyes; glazed and cloudy, they seemed to be staring right at him, almost accusing. So close, he'd been so close to joining them. One of the bodies clutched a set of keys, almost certainly for the Trans Am. The vast pool of dried blood made it clear that both men had been murdered inside the old barn rather than simply dumped. Despite the decomp, the bodies were easy to identify as the missing journalists.
"I guess we found 'em after all."
"Yeah," Giles conceded softly. Then he glanced at the car. "We've got wheels."
Part of Roy objected: they'd disturb a crime scene, this was a dead man's car, but he clamped down and forced himself to think logically. Escaping with their lives had just become even more imperative, especially with the gruesome murder scene before them. Now that they knew, now that they had proof, they'd become that much more of a threat to the crooked cops of Sinclair county.
Despite its age, the Trans Am looked light, speedy, and agile. Roy was confident he could drive it well enough to escape any and all pursuit. Between his years of experience as a cop and that tactical driving course his brother had muscled him into a few months earlier, those crooked cops didn't have a prayer of catching them. It was their best chance.
"Can you…" Roy gulped as Giles turned, one brow arching. "Can you summon the keys?" He could see them, but he really, really didn't want to get that close. Not if he didn't have to.
The Auror shifted back, making a face of his own when he spotted the keys' location. "I can try, but we'll lose the light."
"Open the car door," Roy suggested.
Onasi reared back, caught off guard, then shrugged and obeyed. As Roy had hoped, the vehicle's interior lights came on. Not much, but something. To his surprise, a glow also appeared just under the hood, the dark bar coming to life with a red light that trundled back and forth. Next to the open car door, Giles lifted his hand, shoulders tensed in either fear or intense concentration. The Lumos bubble winked out. "Accio car keys."
Roy held his breath – and not just because of the stench. He heard a rattling sound and cringed as his fertile imagination went to work. There was a soft whistle of air, then metal smacked flesh.
"Yes!" Giles half-cheered. "Lumos!" The bubble of light reappeared, in the exact spot where it had been before. Roy's jaw quirked, then he grinned when his partner held up the keys. The wizard grinned back, then tossed them to Roy. "You drive." This time.
"Copy," the detective replied. He turned his head, scowling. "We'll need to get the other door open."
The Auror huffed a sigh, but came back to the front of the barn. Together, the two men put their shoulders into the second door, weight and muscle combining to force it outwards. It creaked and wailed as metal objected to being moved. The wood fought, resisting their efforts, but even the most stubborn of materials was no match for Lane tenacity and Onasi stubbornness. Not with their lives on the line. When the door struck the stop, the partners strained a minute longer, then accepted defeat. Roy eyed the yawning space between the weather-beaten doors and resisted the urge to cringe. Not as much room as he wanted, but he'd have to make it work.
"Okay, let's get out of here, partner."
Roy darted for the driver's seat while Giles planted himself in the Trans Am's passenger side. The detective blinked in surprise; the Trans Am's interior was tricked out with lights, panels, and buttons. It was like looking at the 80s version of a space ship, only in a car instead. Even the steering wheel…it was more like a race car yoke than a steering wheel. Shoving aside the speculation and even the touch of awe, he jammed the key in, turning it; the engine came to life with a throaty roar. Roy turned the wheel just a touch, eyeing the door, then stepped down on the accelerator. The car launched forward, peeling out with the speed of a vehicle half its age; Roy was forced to yank the wheel sideways to keep from ramming right into the orchard trees outside the barn.
"Whoa," Roy muttered, gripping the wheel with both hands to keep the vehicle steady. "This thing's got a kick."
"Why thank you." Smooth, genteel, with the distinct edge of a Boston accent.
Roy jumped a foot, only just keeping the car from crashing. "Who said that?"
"I did." A yellow light blinked on in the corner of Roy's vision, illuminating something labeled 'Auto-Cruise'. Beneath his hands, the wheel moved itself, aligning with the orchard's dirt road while the car slowed to a sedate 20 MPH. In the center of what should've been the car's radio, a panel with three audio bars lit up, the bars extending out from the center as the mystery voice spoke. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am the voice of the Knight Industries Two Thousand, K, I, T, T; KITT if you prefer."
"Cool."
"Cool?" Roy half-shrieked. "The car talks and you think it's cool?"
Giles ignored him. "Do you transform?" he asked the car hopefully.
"No, I do not, Detective Onasi. Not unless you consider my Super Pursuit mode to be 'transforming'."
The wizard's brows arched. "You know my name?" Beside him, Roy shuddered.
"I did not prior to you and Detective Lane forcing open the door to that atrocious barn," the car replied. "Once you gained entry, it was a simple thing to scan your facial features and match you to the Toronto Police Department's database. Incidentally – and merely to satisfy my own curiosity, do your colleagues know you can use pyro and telekinesis?"
"Tele-what-si?"
Roy groaned. Great, this was just great. The dead guy's car could talk and access the Internet and hack government databases and it knew Giles had magic. "Don't answer that, partner."
"I was merely curious," the car objected, defensiveness audible. And seriously, the car could sound defensive? "A simple 'no' would have sufficed."
"You hacked a government database while Giles and I were getting the other door open and you want us to trust you?"
There was a pause as the car absorbed the argument. "I see. I apologize for alarming you, Detective Lane. However, I did not, as you put it, hack a government database. The Foundation for Law and Government has a long standing relationship with both the American and Canadian governments. As part of that relationship, the Foundation has access to the majority of existing law enforcement databases." Beneath them, the Trans Am came to a halt. "I would be happy to explain further, but it appears we are about to be interrupted. Two cars are currently blocking the only nearby access road out. They have not spotted us as of yet, but they will soon. I'm afraid the lack of adequate lubricant on the barn doors caused rather more noise than any of us might have preferred."
"Dang," Roy hissed, setting aside the whole talking car issue for a more convenient time. "Giles? Any way out on your side?"
The car made a huffing noise. "Detective, when I said that was the only access road, I meant it. There is no other access road within ten miles." It paused, then said, "I recommend using my Turbo Boost to jump over the vehicles blocking our path."
"There goes our stealth," Giles grumbled.
"Very true," the car agreed. "However, I fear there is no other option if we wish to depart this orchard. Shall I arm the Turbo Boost?"
The detectives traded grim looks, neither one liking the situation. To trust an unknown, even if it seemed reliable, wasn't something either man relished. Sadly, they were out of time and options. No backup, no weapons, and no more magic; Roy wasn't an idiot. If Giles wasn't tapped out, he was right on the edge; wandless took more raw power and his friend was used to using his now broken wand.
"Can you get us to the main road?" Roy asked.
"Certainly," the car replied. A map appeared on a computer screen mounted on Giles' side of the dash board, crude and outdated, but the route was clear enough. "Once we reach the main road, escape should be much easier."
"More room to maneuver," Roy muttered.
"Precisely."
For a moment, Roy clenched his jaw. He didn't like this, but what option did they have?
"Roy." Giles' voice was soft, unhappy, but resigned.
"I know, I know." The detective straightened in his seat, glaring at the dashboard. "Okay, listen, car; we don't trust you, but you're our only way out. You backstab us and I will find a way to pop every last one of your tires, understand?"
"My name is KITT," the car objected in a prim and offended tone. "In the interests of full disclosure, my tires are impossible to 'pop'; however, should I betray you, there is a computer override switch under the dash that can be used to deactivate me."
Roy grimaced; if the car turned on them, they probably wouldn't be alive to flick that override switch. Still, the car had no more reason to trust them than they had to trust it; assuming it wasn't lying, it had just exposed itself to deactivation by revealing the switch. "All right, where's this Turbo thingamajig?"
"If you look to the right of my steering wheel, there are several stacks of buttons. Turbo Boost is at the top of the stack closest to the steering wheel, but do take care. My eject buttons are right below it. Ejecting either one of you would be inadvisable at the moment."
"Great, that's just great," Roy snarked, scanning the panel. "A car with an attitude problem." He paused, spying the button between two red Turbo Boost indicators. "Do I press it now?"
"If you wish, I can activate the Turbo Boost at the most opportune time. That way, you can focus on driving."
The detective swallowed and nodded. He'd been banking on a regular Trans Am, not this suped-up talking car. Frankly, he had a nasty feeling it would take a racecar driver to handle this car without crashing, but what choice did they have? Lifting his head, he focused on the two patrol cars ahead of them, the four armed men inside them ready and waiting. "Giles. Don't say anything unless it's life or death."
"Copy."
"Car, KITT, whatever, same to you."
"As you wish, Detective."
On the dashboard, Auto-Cruise winked out, changing back to the green Normal just above it. The car started inching forward and Roy let it, breathing out as he rested his foot on the accelerator. Now or never. He slammed the accelerator down, focus narrowing to the obstacle ahead of them. The engine roared, speed slamming them backwards into the seats as the Trans Am shot forward. Shouts came from ahead; they'd been spotted. Roy held steady, forcing himself to ignore every ounce of training and instincts. They were going over; they had to. But even as the car flew, they stayed earthbound. Closer. Closer. Any time now, car.
A soft beep sounded, followed by a whoosh as something fired beneath the Trans Am. The car's nose rose, thrusting them skyward; g-forces ramming them even harder than the speed had. KITT flew, arcing over the patrol cars before landing heavily on the dirt road beyond.
The engine took over once more, powering them through the soft turf towards freedom. Roy stole a glance at the mapped course, then hauled the steering wheel left; the Trans Am skidded beneath him, but slid obediently onto the new course, darting for the main road just visible at the far end of the orchard row. Shouts and sirens echoed behind them, all of them ignored by the detective in the driver's seat. A few beats before the main road, Roy snapped the wheel right, slipping the car onto the main road with inches to spare between the highway's dividing lines.
"Very well done, Detective," KITT praised. Auto-Cruise winked on again. "If I may?"
"They're still after us," Roy protested.
"True," KITT granted. "However, it will take them some time to get those two patrol cars out of the way. By the time they do, we will be long gone. Perhaps I can finish my explanation from earlier?"
"Roy, let him," Giles put in. "They locked him in with those two bodies; I don't think he's on their side after that."
"Very true," KITT agreed, his voice turning sour. "Especially since one of them was my new driver."
Roy released the steering wheel, expression skeptical. "A journalist has a suped-up car like this?"
"No." KITT paused, as if considering. "One of the two men murdered was, as I said, my new driver; the other was a local journalist named Frank Reston."
Giles nodded. "Yeah, that's who me 'n' Roy were lookin' for. Who was the other guy?" He halted, then stuttered, "I-I mean, other than your new driver."
"I'm afraid his real name is classified and I was never given it; the name he went by was Michael Knight. All of my drivers have used that name; it's become a bit of an in-joke for my handlers at the Foundation."
Though KITT's voice was matter-of-fact, Roy picked up an undertone of distaste. "You don't like that, do you?"
For several seconds, KITT did not reply. Then he said, "No, I do not. My first driver took up the name Michael Knight after his previous identity was presumed murdered. He was shot in the face, requiring numerous surgeries, both medical and cosmetic. That others have used the name he was given by my primary creator and taken advantage of the reputation he established is intolerable to me, but I have little say in the matter." A breath, then the car continued, "My latest driver viewed me as little more than an outdated piece of scrap metal and often vocalized his wish that I be junked and replaced with a vastly improved model."
Roy winced; the hurt was impossible to miss. "And your first driver?"
"He was my best friend." Simple, matter-of-fact, and pretty much guaranteed to get both detectives' sympathy. They knew was it was to lose your best friend. Roy might've suspected KITT of manipulating them, but the sorrow and grief were too evident. Naked and unvarnished. Too much like him after Jerome, Giles after Revan, and his brother after Parker.
Giles cleared his throat, getting back to business. "So you and him…you came up here to help catch those dirty cops?"
The Trans Am bobbed beneath them. "Just so," he concurred. "They arranged to be arrested on a simple drunk and disorderly charge, just to acquire the lay of the land before launching an in-depth investigation. However, something went wrong. I was expecting to be impounded, but shortly thereafter, I was removed from the impound to that structure you located me in. By the time I was pushed inside, my driver and Reston were dead. I believe my keys were left with my driver as a…deterrent…against anyone attempting to use me for escape."
Roy shuddered at the memory. "Why not just bust outta there on your own?" he asked.
"My driver had activated my Manual Override, preventing me from accessing the vehicle controls. One of you managed to reset it," KITT explained.
"And you have no idea why they were murdered?" Giles questioned.
"None."
"Must've been something big, though," Roy murmured. "I mean, you don't just murder people outta the blue and Pink said Reston's column had been going for years."
The Auror nodded agreement. "He said Reston had been after that judge guy for years, too."
"Perhaps it was the involvement of a man named Zachery Callaghan," KITT suggested. "Mr. Callaghan is the one who contacted the Foundation and requested assistance."
Both detectives froze. "Callaghan?" Roy asked, tone frigid.
"Yes, why, do you know him?"
Roy's response painted the air blue.
"Roy, Roy, Roy! Cool it, partner!"
"He knew," Roy snarled, slamming the door panel. "He knew and he didn't say a word. Not. One. Word. We spent hours planning this thing and he knew it would backfire."
"Roy, stop," Giles ordered, expression just as rigid, just as furious. Grim, he reached down, tugging his black beaded bag off his belt. "KITT, Roy and I found a broken recorder inside the Lyndhurst Flats cell. You're a computer, right?"
"Yes, of course," KITT confirmed, surprise lurking.
"Can you get the sound off or something?" the Auror asked, pulling the device out of his bag.
"I can try," the Trans Am replied. Giles held the recorder close to the dashboard and an audible whirring filled the air for a minute or two. When it faded, KITT's audio bars lit up, discouragement audible. "I've been able to pull some of the data from the recorder, but I'm afraid it's too degraded for any sort of playback. The most I can discern is that Reston and my driver believed they'd observed the local officers with illegal firearms."
"Step up from drug smuggling," Roy muttered.
"But why?" Giles asked. "From what Pink and Shep said, they were making pretty good money with just drug smuggling. Why risk gun running?"
"Guys like that, Giles, they get a taste of it, they always want more," Roy pointed out. "But you're right; why go to gun running when they already know drug smuggling. Sure, they sound like pretty much the same thing, but gun running takes different techniques, different precautions."
"Perhaps one of their clients requested that they diversify," KITT suggested. He paused, then remarked, "I have accessed the local radio channels. It appears that our former pursuers are rapidly being detained. I rather doubt they will bother us any further."
"Team One." Roy grinned and yet, something nagged at him. Something they were overlooking… Oh crumb. "KITT? Do you know if the locals know Callaghan called your driver in?"
Next to him, Giles froze, eyes going wide.
"Not for sure," KITT admitted. "However, it may be possible."
He didn't want to do it. Callaghan had hung them out to dry, sent them in without intel and without backup. If not for two inmates with a taste for prison escapes, Roy had little doubt that he and Giles would've joined Reston and the nameless driver in short order. But… That was Jules' father. She – and Team One – had already lost Parker. He glanced at his partner, reading the same train of thought in the other man's eyes.
"For Jules," he whispered, earning a sharp nod. Then he gripped the steering wheel again and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. Auto-Cruise clicked off, the crude map by Giles lighting up with the route to Callaghan's home in Lyndhurst Flats.
"May I suggest my Pursuit mode, Detectives?"
That sounded…really, really fast. Roy swallowed, praying he didn't flip their suped-up, computerized getaway car. "Do it."
There was a soft beep, the light on the center panel shifting from the green Normal to the blue Pursuit. Beneath them, the engine roared with renewed vigor and the car shot forward at a speed that would make most racecar drivers green with envy.
KITT swooped around a turn, absently considering the two men in his cabin as he adjusted his balance and rate of speed. Detective Lane was doing quite well for a man with no prior experience driving such a high performance vehicle. Detective Onasi appeared to be intrigued by the idea of an intelligent computer, though KITT was confused as to why the man was unfamiliar with the common terms for the abilities he'd displayed in the barn. Lane was wary and suspicious, but no more so than Michael had been at first. Less, actually, given the man's willingness to trust first the Turbo Boost and then the Pursuit mode.
They knew who Callaghan was, that much had been made obvious by Lane's…colorful turns of phrase. And yet, unless KITT missed his guess – unlikely – they were sallying straight for the man on the off chance that he was in danger in spite of Callaghan dumping them into precisely the same situation that Reston and his late driver had been in. It was something Michael would have done. The computer nudged the accelerator down; he could handle the speed and besides, Michael would have wanted him to help.
The thought of Michael brought a familiar ache to his circuits; he missed Devon and Bonnie fiercely, but Michael had been his first and best friend. Michael had taught him street smarts, taught him how instinct and intuition could often be just as good as facts and logic. Michael had been the one to accept him as an equal, as a partner, the two of them united against any that stood in their way. They'd been an unstoppable team – until time and all of his friend's injuries had conspired against them. In the end, Tanya had won; Michael's body had never truly recovered from the havoc she'd wrought, something none of them had realized until almost the end.
Heartbroken, he'd accepted a new driver within a week, determined to uphold Wilton Knight's vision. Michael's mission, to stop those criminals the law could not – or would not – touch. He hadn't realized that most of FLAG's operatives saw him as an outdated, outmoded relic of a foolish, idealistic time. Hadn't realized that they would treat him like a tool, not a friend. Not a partner and ally. By the time he'd been locked in that horrid barn, left with two rotting corpses, the KITT Michael had known had been gone. Dry sarcasm and wit got him nowhere; none of them were interested in his experience and input, only in what he could give them – immediately. They didn't learn his systems the way Michael had, didn't program him with football stats and argue with him about the results. Didn't play chess against him and playfully moan about the inevitability of losing when you were competing with a computer.
KITT had no idea if the men who'd found him would be any different from the Foundation's parade of uncaring, callous drivers, but surely it was worth a try. Something new, something that might just give him a glimpse of what he'd been missing since Michael's death. Perhaps even a new lease on the life he'd promised Michael he would live for them both. His circuits throbbed again, but KITT set that pain aside in favor of focusing on his scanner.
They were within range of Callaghan's house, if only just. Another vehicle was heading towards the house, a vehicle that matched the profile and configuration of the sheriff's car; loathing shot through KITT's circuitry. He had not liked his newest driver, but still, his duty had been to preserve the man's life. That night, when he'd been shoved in the barn, the sheriff had been there and a scan of his gun had confirmed KITT's suspicions. The sheriff had executed both men himself. There had been no regret, no remorse. Just gloating.
"Detectives, I am detecting a vehicle heading towards Mr. Callaghan's location."
"Lots of cars in town," the telekinetic pointed out, but the tone wasn't hostile. More as if the man was seeking clarification as to KITT's conclusion.
In response, KITT brought the car's profile up on one of his screens, though he was careful to leave the map alone.
The man paused, cocking his head to the side as he studied KITT's computer screen. "Huh. Looks like a cop car, Roy."
Detective Lane hissed. "Hang it all; we need backup."
Backup? Hurt licked at the computer; they had him, why did they need anything else? Besides, who would they even call? Unless…his systems hummed, replaying the audio from inside his cabin through his processor again. Team One and the name 'Jules'; a cross-reference immediately provided the answer. Constable Julianna 'Jules' Callaghan, daughter to Zachery Callaghan and a member of Toronto's SRU Team One. And…ahhhh… Sergeant Edward 'Ed' Lane, newly promoted and brother to one Detective Royden 'Roy' Lane. Very interesting…
With a computer's speed, KITT flicked through the radio channels he could detect, pausing on each to listen. It did not take long to discover a heavily encrypted radio channel, one which was nearly impossible to crack; only a decryption program Wilton Knight himself had created managed to do the trick and even it struggled for ten whole milliseconds. An eternity in computer time.
"Detectives? I've located a radio channel for Team One. Shall I put you in touch with them?"
"Freaky," Detective Lane muttered, only to get whacked by his telekinetic partner. "Hey, I'm driving here!"
"Stop insulting the car," Detective Onasi hissed. "He did get us out of that orchard."
"Yeah, well, you ever get a look at the encryption on Team One's channel?"
KITT squirmed, though his electronic voice remained cool and even. "Yes, most impressive," he remarked. "I confess I'm somewhat surprised that they would send the two of you in without sufficient backup."
Both men bristled. "Not their fault Callaghan lied to us," Lane flared.
"It was supposed to be one night of recon, just like your guys," Onasi tacked on.
The computer wisely remained silent, particularly since the intuition Michael had struggled to teach him was pinging at him. Right along with a flag on Team One's file – the probable death of their former Sergeant in an undercover operation. Given that, the odds of the SRU officers knowingly sending their colleagues in alone on anything other than reconnaissance were so low as to be nonexistent. "My apologies," KITT said. "I estimate five minutes between our current location and Lyndhurst Flats."
"Roy."
Lane's lip curled, then he jerked a nod.
Onasi's attention returned to KITT. "Raise them."
"Certainly." The computer adjusted his own frequencies for 2.431 milliseconds. "Done."
The detective leaned forward. "Team One?"
"Giles?" KITT analyzed the voice coming through, wishing the SRU files came with voiceprints so he could get an idea of the face behind that hopeful word.
Another voice cut in, stern and rigid. "Onasi, OMAC code."
The telekinetic grinned, years dropping off him with the boyish expression. Dropping to a bass growl, he replied, "It's not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me."
"Copy that," the second voice acknowledged, a wealth of relief flowing. "Roy with you?"
"Yeah, we're together," Onasi confirmed. "He's driving though and, ah, it's a really fast car." A pause. "Like, we're gonna be back in Lyndhurst Flats in four minutes."
"Spike and Sam are there," a third voice piped up. "Should be at the sheriff's office, getting your phones back."
"We're here," yet another voice cut in. "We've got your phones and we've arrested the deputy who was gonna dump 'em."
"He's already singing," came a fifth voice. "Practically before we slapped the cuffs on."
"Spike, Sam, you guys get the sheriff?" Lane asked.
"Negative."
Onasi thumped the dash – but gently, just enough for the sound to carry. "We think he knows Jules' father is involved."
"My Dad?" Fear rang in the female's question. "He's going after my Dad?"
KITT weighed his options a millisecond, then slid aside the panel hiding his two most advanced speed functions. "Detective, Super Pursuit Mode will allow us to arrive within two minutes."
"What was that?" one of the officers demanded.
"Um, yeah…the car we're driving?" Onasi offered weakly. "It talks. Roy, you're not gonna…?"
Over the radio, the officers sputtered even as Lane jammed down the Super Pursuit button. KITT's speed panels deployed, the additional velocity sending his frame hurtling forward. The speedometer's readout blurred, racing past KITT's normal cruising speed of 150 MPH in seconds. His engine roared, the Passive Laser Restraint System activating automatically. Anxiety stirred; Michael was the only one of his drivers who'd ever used Super Pursuit Mode and that had been after they'd been partnered up for almost four years. Could the detective even handle the speed?
"Guys, meet us there," Onasi ordered.
"Assuming you two don't crash?" Sarcasm and fear rang in equal measure.
Internally, the computer gulped. He was holding steady, but Lane was dangerously close to the edge of control; only KITT's assistance was keeping them from a headlong collision. Every turn was marked with an overcorrection on his steering wheel; had Lane been on his own, they would've already crashed at least twenty times over. And yet, he had been the one to point them to Pursuit mode and the Super Pursuit Mode. Why?
But he knew why. They reminded him of Michael, both of them. The miles tore away under his wheels, his systems almost glorying in being stretched, in being used, not treated like last year's model. Not just a useless, helpless piece of junk well past his prime. Michael would've liked these men, been determined to save Constable Callaghan's father – and not so incidentally impress the latest lady in his path. Calculations flew, a touch of brake keeping them upright as they hit the town's outer limits. KITT's scanner registered another armored vehicle closing in, large and carrying two occupants. It wouldn't make it in time – the sheriff's car was already at Callaghan's location.
"Michael, deploy the EBS," KITT barked. "Deploy it now!"
"Giles!"
The Emergency Braking System's button was mashed, the panels deploying outwards even as the rockets under KITT's hood fired. Michael stomped on the brakes; the Trans Am slid to a halt right between Callaghan and the crooked sheriff. Bullets pinged off KITT's armored hide and the computer blanched. No, not Michael…Detectives Lane and Onasi. Why…why had he thought they were Michael? Slowly, KITT sank down on his tires, shame engulfing him. He'd…he'd wanted Michael back so badly that he'd completely lost touch with reality. Inexcusable.
"SRU! Drop the weapon!"
"Hands in the air! Do it now!"
Backup. KITT watched, numb, as the two uniformed officers closed in on the sheriff who'd murdered his latest driver, slamming him against his car and cuffing him roughly. Unnoticed, the Knight Two Thousand trembled, caught in the horror of what he'd done.
Michael…Michael…
Figured. Suped-up car with speed like Sonic the Hedgehog and bulletproof to boot. And yet, neither Roy nor Giles had missed it when KITT called Roy 'Michael'. The partners traded grim looks, understanding burning. Beneath them, the car was physically trembling, though it had surely known, better than they, that bullets could not harm it.
"Hey." Roy kept his voice low. "Hey, you okay, car?"
A noise that could've been a choked sob or maybe a name.
"Got a question for you," Roy continued, ignoring everything else except the car's audio bars. "Your first driver? When did you bury him?"
"Years," KITT gasped out. "Years ago."
"Yeah, I don't think so," the detective countered. "You're still carrying him around, aren't you? Letting his ghost hang out and haunt you all night long." Roy stopped, closing his eyes as memories of Jerome slammed into him. "You, ah, you think he would've wanted that for you, KITT? Or would he want you to live even if that meant letting him go?"
Beneath them, KITT's frame shook with renewed grief. Gentle, Roy reached out and tapped the buttons to close the super speed mode and the braking thingamajig. Then he pressed the button next to the dim Auto-Cruise on the radio console. The partners traded glances, then they got out of the Trans Am, the keys left dangling in the ignition. If the car chose to stay, great, but the brunet had a feeling it had been a very long time since KITT had been able to choose his own future. Maybe it was time that changed.
Roy closed the door, watching Giles do the same on his side, the weight of the day bearing down on his shoulders. Then he whirled to face Callaghan, lip curling. The former cop never saw it coming as the detective swung, punching him out.