Chapter 15 - Race Day
Alan was nervous that evening as he and Fermat pulled up to the raceway on their motorcycles.
He had never heard back from Gordon, and over the previous day and a half, Alan lost track of time. While working on the two race cars with Derrick and Stanton, he had kept an eye on the two of them, but they were not acting suspicious.
Alan passed through the security checkpoint into the heart of the speedway with Fermat close behind him. Strangely enough, it was one of the few things that Mr. Edwards had agreed to during the final meeting before the race.
He quickly hurried to the pit area, and was nearly in a full run until he heard Fermat call out. "Alan, will you hold on?"
Coming to a stop, he turned around just in time to see Fermat look at him with a worried look. "Y-you were never good at hiding things, Alan. Now tell me why I am really here."
Alan was taken aback by the question, but he recovered quickly. "I thought you wanted extra credit for your classes. What better way to do that than to see the cars close up?"
Fermat frowned, and then turned on his heel. "I guess some things really don't change. If you want to tell me the truth Alan, you will find me back at our rooms, were I should have stayed in the f-first place!"
Alan let out a breath of frustration. He had only told Gordon of his fears, but if anything was going to happen tonight, he would need Fermat's help for sure. He reached out a hand. "Fermat, wait. I'll tell you what's going on, but it will have to be low and on the way to the pits. I still have to help prepare for a race after all."
It wasn't until they reached the Edwards racing pit area that Alan had finished telling Fermat everything that he had overheard the day he was under the car.
Fermat was shell shocked. "W-why did you come tonight, Alan are you crazy? The Hood might very well have it in for you!"
"Shh, Fermat, I have my reasons and you need to keep it down. There are two other guys I work with here and- oh Stanton, Derrick, what's wrong?"
When Alan had walked into the heart of their pit area, he had noticed something wrong. One of the two race cars was gone, which was far from normal protocol since it was far from time for the start of the race.
Stanton walked over to him. "Plenty's wrong. Mr. Edwards is MIA and so is one the cars. One of the race officials came by and warned us that if he didn't show up in the next fifteen minutes that he would be disqualified."
Alan thought fast. Something was definitely going on, but he was going to need room to investigate this in his own way. "Stanton, I think I know where he might be. Go find the race officials and see if you can stall for time. Derrick, go check with the other pit areas - Mr. Edwards probably went to talk to one of the other racers."
Both of them nodded and ran out of the pit area, leaving Alan and Fermat alone.
Fermat watched in some confusion as Alan rushed over to a vid monitor at one corner of the pit area and powered it on. "What are you-"
Alan held up a hand as he watched a live video feed of the track come onto the screen. "Mr. Edwards' conversation with the Hood mentioned something about the President of the United States. Fermat, she's here tonight slated to kick off the start of the racing season. What time is it now?"
"Nine-fifteen, why?"
Alan groaned, "Then we're too late to stop what might happen." He pointed to a figure on the monitor.
"President Winters is already walking out onto the track."
--
Carrying a microphone, President Marilyn Winters smoothed her blouse down and stepped onto the grassy middle of the dirt racetrack, stopping only once to wave to Governor Saunders who had front row seats in the crowd.
She must have been breaking twenty different types of protocol coming to a race track clad in a red blouse, blue jeans and boots, but somehow she had a feeling that the ones that would care would be her press secretary and her personal assistant, both seemingly hell-bent on her maintaining the professional decorum of the highest office in America.
She stood at the starting line of the track and watched the numerous cars lined up ready to race, their engines already revving and straining for the task ahead.
Her Secret Service agents flanked her nearby as she lifted her microphone. "As your president, I would like to welcome you all to the tenth annual running of the Pan-America Racing Series. We have some good competition on the field tonight and it is shaping up to be an edge of your seat race."
The last part of the duty that she had agreed to was to wave the green starting flag. it had been placed in a holder a few feet to her right side. As she moved towards the flag she heard a slight hiss of air and that put her senses on alert. She hadn't survived a four year term merely on looks alone. She spoke quickly into her hidden communicator that she had clipped to the underside of her blouse collar. "Did anyone hear a noise?"
One by one, her secret service security detail reported in the negative, until one of them piped up quickly. "Madame President! Gas! Get to the rendezvous point!"
Before they had come to the race track, her security detail had come up with a contingency plan that they had reviewed dozens of times. She was no fool, she always listened well to the plans - after all, her life had always depended on it. Looking behind her, she saw that the hiss that she had heard earlier had been a gas canister placed at the bottom of the flag holder, and it was quickly emitting a pale white vapor that quickly spread throughout the area. Catching a whiff of the contents, she nearly choked up and held her nose as she broke for the nearby pit area. There was supposed to be two agents there that could get her out of this mess, especially since she was cut off from the rest of her detail.
President Winters had only made it five feet until her feet touched dirt track. Another few feet she would be free and-
In the confusion, a car roared up behind her and soon rough hands grabbed for her. The microphone that she had carried dropped to the ground.
She had had basic self defense training, but there was nothing in the books about outrunning gas and counterattacking a potential kidnapper. Marilyn swung around as best she could, but the gas was too overwhelming for her. Strength ebbing from her body, she fell into her kidnapper's arms.
--
Alan watched the video monitor in near disbelief as the car containing President Winters sped off the track and through the exit. The smoke had been bad, but not bad enough to obscure the car in question. So what he had overheard was true. "I've got to go. Mr. Evans has kidnapped the President and he's getting away."
He took a quick look back at Fermat as took off for the raceway's parking lot.
Despite his misgivings, Fermat ran after his friend, dodging people trying to flee the raceway in a near panic.
--
It had been a nearly claustrophobic experience, but they finally managed to make it to the parking lot and to their motorcycles.
Eyes wide, Fermat caught his breath and watched as Alan was doing exactly what he was afraid of. "Alan, I t-think that this is better for the S-secret S-service-"
"That gas on the field is taking them down," Alan countered as he slipped on his helmet. "Besides, I think we know those streets out there better than they do."
Shaking his head, Fermat couldn't argue with that logic. Pandemonium currently reigned at Polonica Speedway, and judging by the near gridlock of people trying to get out of the raceway and the growing line of cars trying to leave the parking lot, the authorities would need a miracle to be able to pick up the President's trail.
He grabbed for the helmet on his own bike. "T-then I better go with you Alan. S-someone's gotta keep you out of trouble."