DEADLY DRIVER, Page 23

  Bryce knew that if you wanted to get lost in a crowd somewhere Singapore was one city that could facilitate his needs. He didn’t know who had been involved in outing him. But he’d find out. As soon as he arrived in Singapore his life outside the cockpit of a race car would really begin to race.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The Marina Bay Sands is one of the top hotels in all of Singapore. Its location on the water provided views from Bryce’s Harbour Suite that were spectacular. He’d checked in after an uneventful flight from San Francisco and slept nearly ten hours straight, to the surprise of the flight attendants who had flown with him on other journeys across Asia. No coffee or food or movies until he took the Do Not Disturb off the sliding door to his suite.

  After the first three cups of caffeine and a liter of water got him moving, he was back to the happy-go-lucky, friendly and approachable person they’d flown with in the past. If a bullet was coming, there wasn’t much he could do to stop it. The only thing he could do was find out what had happened back at the CIA and hope the personal security that he’d hired for the race would be enough to hold trouble at bay.

  As long as they don’t have a Pete Winters on their payroll, willing to shoot an American driver out to win a championship for his country I should be safe – for now. He laughed as he replayed that thought in his mind. Who am I kidding?

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Friday’s qualifying session went well with Bryce winning the pole at a record pace, Tony Bishop taking second alongside him on the grid, and Dickie Jones in third right behind. The weather in Singapore had been dry, but the humidity was crushing. The heavy weight of the air and the heat made a July night in New York City or Philly seem more like a spring day.

  Jack Madigan finally turned up, explaining to Bryce that he’d hooked up with a lovely lady and turned his phone off to focus on her, the beach bars and the parties of Ibiza. He and Bryce huddled at his hotel the night Madigan arrived. They were both looking forward to confronting Jennings when she would arrive on Saturday morning for a breakfast meeting in Bryce’s Harbour Suite.

  Before then, a text came in from someone he hadn’t heard from in months, leaving Bryce dazed and confused.

  LANDING IN SINGAPORE SATURDAY AM

  CRITICAL WE MEET

  WHAT TIME - WHICH HOTEL?

  KYOTO

  “Shit,” Bryce said after reading it aloud. He stared out the window at the water and palm trees just below. “Think they’re flying in on the same damn plane?”

  Madigan looked at his friend and shook his head. “Who the hell’s Kyoto?”

  Bryce had never been involved in a serious relationship since he and Madigan had first connected back in their NASCAR days. The thought of a woman in Bryce’s life threw Madigan. After Bryce laid it all out for him, from their first encounter in the air to their time in Monte Carlo where he introduced his new girl to a very inebriated Madigan, and then the no-show in Montreal. Madigan took it all in and Bryce watched as Madigan’s expression showed more and more concern.

  “That was Kyoto – the girl in Monaco?” Bryce nodded. “And she works in DC?” He nodded again. “What if they’re working together?”

  The two men sat quietly for at least ten minutes, Bryce thinking through every element of the situation. He looked to Madigan, deep in thought as he made another pot of coffee, and realized just how tight a spot he was now in.

  Bryce couldn’t envision trying to have an emotional reunion with the woman in the midst of race fans clamoring for attention. They agreed that Madigan would go to the lobby to greet Kyoto and escort her to Bryce’s suite. She was an Asian beauty, but even in a hotel full of the exquisite creatures he knew his friend would spot her. Bryce texted Kyoto, instructing her to wait at the hotel bar’s entrance when she arrived and that Madigan would greet her there.

  As soon as she texted that she’d was there, Madigan headed out the door but turned to ask the question both had forgotten.

  “What if she and Jennings are there together?”

  Bryce thought for a second and then smiled. “We’ll double date.” He paused. “Bring them both. Who knows what the night holds.”

  *

  Looking for a beauty in a sea of beauties, Madigan thought as he walked out of the elevator and began to navigate the crowded lobby and headed for the bar. He scanned faces looking for anyone familiar. But he’d never met Jennings and wouldn’t have known her if he tripped over her.

  There – there she is, he thought as he spotted Kyoto. Despite having just flown for 24 hours to the other side of the world she cleaned up nice. The guy has great taste, I’ll give him that. Silky black hair tied back, black t-shirt, black tights, white sneakers, and a tentative expression. They’d only met once before, very briefly, in Monaco, and Madigan assumed she might not remember him.

  As he got closer he saw someone else approach her. At first, Kyoto smiled. But then he saw fear in her eyes as she looked down at something.

  “Shit,” Madigan uttered, finally recognizing the man standing in front of Kyoto. It was Chadwick from the CIA, one of the three musketeers who had just lost their jobs. “How the fu—” Madigan continued to approach. His mind raced. What do I do? Where’s the other one? Where’s Jennings?

  Was this all a set up and Kyoto was the bait?

  He got to within two feet of the couple and Madigan decided it was time to act. He reached out to grab Chadwick’s left arm, but the agent must have seen Kyoto’s eyes focus on someone approaching. He turned ever so slightly to display the compact pistol he was holding under a jacket he’d thrown over his arm.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Madigan demanded, ignoring the gun.

  Chadwick grinned. “Plan C – yeah, I think we’re working on Plan C at this point, buddy boy. Russo’s in jail back in Utah. Jennings – well, Jennings will be a no-show today. And Brownell, he’s babysitting back in Washington.” He paused. “Where’s Bryce?”

  Madigan looked to Kyoto and tried to sound confident. “Good to see you again, young lady,” he began. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She forced a smile. “Don’t you worry one little bit about this dipshit. We’ll sort this out, and then he’ll be on his way.”

  Chadwick stepped closer to Kyoto, pressing the gun against her. “Don’t get cocky, Jack. This bitch has ruined my career. My life. I don’t have much to live for now, except revenge. Killing her right here in this crowded lobby doesn’t faze me in the least.”

  “I was thinking more about you dying here and now. I can arrange that since you have nothing to live for.” Madigan turned to Kyoto. “You know this prick?”

  She shook her head energetically, eyes wide, terrified.

  “He’s part of a CIA goon squad. The shit heads who aren’t smart enough to do covert well, so they just keep them in a cage until they need someone to show up and scare people. This idiot came to Charlotte a few months ago and tried to talk me into killing Bryce. He said if I did, I would get a full pardon for everything these assholes have forced us to do.”

  Kyoto stared at Madigan.

  “I can see it in your eyes,” he continued, “that this is a world you’re not accustomed to. What are you—a CIA lawyer or something?”

  “I-I, yes, I work at the State Department,” she stammered. “And yes, this is all very new to me.”

  Madigan turned to Chadwick. “Let’s go upstairs and talk this thing out.”

  But before Chadwick had the chance to respond, three men came out of the hotel bar and recognized Madigan. Drunk as they appeared, they recognized him, greeted him loudly and fussed over the man they knew from racing. One stepped between Kyoto and Madigan, suggesting he come inside so they could buy him a drink.

  Before Madigan could use the interruption to his advantage, Chadwick took Kyoto by the arm and pulled her from them and toward a hallway bustling with hotel guests and race fans. By the time Madigan was able to separate himself from the boisterous threesome without making a scene, Kyoto and Chadwi
ck had disappeared into the crowd.

  *

  STILL COMING? WE’RE WAITING FOR YOU

  Bryce texted Jennings as soon as Madigan explained why he’d returned to the suite without Kyoto. After several minutes and no response from her, Bryce called her number only to get a voicemail response. They went over the conversation in the lobby, word for word, trying to figure out what was going on.

  Madigan finally said, “Who the hell is Brownell supposed to be babysitting?”

  Bryce thought for a moment. “Jon – Kyoto’s brother. That must be who they have. Double insurance. I can’t think of anyone else. There’s nobody in my life left for them to hold hostage.”

  Madigan nodded. “Me neither.”

  Bryce considered and looked to his friend. Their expressions the same, he found it sad. There was nobody else.

  “This is crazy,” Bryce muttered. He sat down and tried again to call Jennings. In the middle of his call a text arrived. It was from Kyoto’s phone.

  THROW THE RACE ON SUNDAY AND WE LET THEM GO

  Bryce ended the call to Jennings and tossed his phone across the room to Madigan. This was an impossible demand. Bryce couldn’t do this to his team, or to his country for that matter. He was racing for the U.S. in an international series that had seen only one other world champion since 1978. He had never quit anything and had never thrown anything ever, not even to let someone win a simple footrace to make them feel better. It wasn’t in his DNA.

  “We have to call someone, but I don’t know who,” Bryce said as he caught the phone pitch back from Madigan. “Everyone I know at the CIA is gone or—” He stopped suddenly. There couldn’t have been a worse time to remind Madigan that he’d had their handler and the man’s former lover killed.

  Madigan smiled. “I’m good, Bryce. We’ve made our peace.”

  Bryce shook his head and nodded. “Chadwick and Brownell are the only others I know of there.”

  Madigan’s eyes brightened.

  Bryce shouted, “Who?”

  “Call the frikkin’ president. You know the guy. Get him on the phone and ask him for help.”

  Bryce laughed, processed the idea for a moment, and then threw it out.

  “Jack, I don’t know who we can trust. I could call some friends back in PC or even people we have down in Coronado, but we’re talking about real spy shit here. I don’t know what orders or what allegiances might compromise us if we did.”

  “Bryce, even if you did throw the race, there’s no guarantee that asshole would cut Kyoto loose. He could say he changed his mind and tell you to do it again and again. You’d get kicked out of racing so fast the only thing you’d be driving would be a taxi.”

  Bryce laughed at the thought but soon gave it a little more thought. Madigan was right. He picked up the phone and texted Chadwick.

  DEAL

  YOU HAVE TO SIT IN THIS SUITE WITH MADIGAN FOR THE START.

  WHEN I CLIMB OUT OF THE CAR,

  YOU LEAVE THE SUITE AND LEAVE HER BEHIND.

  HE’LL BE ARMED SO NO GAMES

  Madigan watched over Bryce’s shoulder as he texted and then waited for a response.

  NO DEAL. YOU QUIT, SHE WALKS OUT OF WHERE WE ARE NOW

  As If they’d rehearsed their response, both men muttered bullshit.

  Minutes later, another text came from Kyoto’s phone. It was a video of her tied in a chair, her mouth was gagged, and her t-shirt torn at the neck. She was sobbing, her head down. Then her chair was kicked onto its side, crushing her left arm under it as it landed. Her muffled scream enraged Bryce.

  He turned to Madigan, who nodded in agreement. They’d take the deal. This prick held the high ground, and the cards they’d been dealt were worthless.

  Neither man spoke for some time, but then, Madigan looked across the room at him with something like hope in his eyes.

  “What?” Bryce said.

  “I know how to do this and you can save face. I will sabotage the electronics on the car so that when you use the clutch paddle at the start the car shuts off.”

  Bryce thought about the idea and then agreed to it in principle.

  “And I know who I can call. She owes me, sort of,” Bryce said. “She’ll be our Hail Mary.”

  Madigan looked at him and then watched as Bryce began to text someone.

  HAD A GREAT TIME IN PARIS

  I NEED A BIG FAVOR. BW

  “And who’s that?” Madigan asked.

  “Nobody special, just a Chinese spy.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Two days later, Bryce had moved from the Marina Bay Sands to the official F1 hotel for the event. This would add an extra layer of security to the ring he’d already placed around himself. On Friday, as Bryce jumped into the chauffeured SUV for the short ride to the Singapore circuit, he texted Kyoto’s phone once more. Again, there was no response.

  He’d given up on Jennings. He and Madigan had developed a plan of attack that might work. It was sketchy at best and could leave Bryce in a bad way with his car owner, sponsors, fans, and countrymen. It could also leave Kyoto in a dumpster much like the ones Bryce and Madigan had used from time to time.

  The practice sessions under the night lights went well, with the Werner and Kazaan teams each bettering the other’s lap times again and again, giving fans something to look forward to as the four drivers would forget the rest of the pack and fight for the pole on Saturday. Uncharacteristically, Bryce opted out of the usual meet-and-greets, blaming it on a cold he didn’t want to pass along to anyone else.

  During Saturday’s ride to the track, he and Madigan huddled one last time before putting their plan into action.

  “If they find out you’ll be fired, fined, and banned from racing,” Bryce reminded Madigan. “You don’t need to do this. I can just pull off the track and take the heat.”

  “No, my plan works better, Bryce. The engine will blow during Q1, and you’ll have to start dead last for the race. That way, when the lights go out and you stall the car, there won’t be nineteen more cars rocketing around you or crashing into you. Less chance of anyone getting hurt. If anyone finds the bug I’ll say I did it because I’m being blackmailed and throw myself on everyone’s mercy.”

  “All right. Fine. That’s how we’ll roll.” It seemed to Bryce the best they could do.

  “Of course, you’ll have to buy everyone dinner a dozen times to make up for the engine change. I just hope your friend Lee finds Kyoto before time runs out.” Bryce peered out the window at the Singapore skyline. Nothing more was said until they arrived. He hurried to his mobile quarters to change into his driving gear and get ready to go.

  He purposely continued to distance himself from his crew chief and engineers, keep up the act of not wanting to give them whatever bug he’d picked up. As far and he and Madigan could tell, nobody was the wiser.

  An hour later, Bryce was walking back to the pits from where he’d left his race car – the engine steaming hot fluids of all sorts as it sat lifeless in the first engine failure they’d suffered in months. Rival Bishop took the pole and the next day, Bryce would start the race at the opposite end of the field. Early the next morning, Bryce sent a text one last time to Kyoto’s phone.

  NEED PROOF OF LIFE OR NO DEAL

  Without a response, Bryce’s hopes sank. He was preparing to wave goodbye to his dream and the team’s dream of winning a second world championship. He cursed himself for having fallen for Kyoto. Then he cursed himself for even thinking like that. She was the first woman he’d had feelings for in a decade. In the hope of saving her life he’d willingly sacrificed his racing dreams. And now it appeared, the effort was for nothing. She might already be dead.

  He hadn’t lost sight of Kyoto’s brother’s dilemma either. He’d tried to find him using the internet, on Facebook, and all the other social media a Jon Watanabe might be on. Bryce kicked himself for not getting to know more about the guy, back when he and Kyoto were still together – where he worked would have been normal dinne
r conversation if Bryce had been able to keep his eyes off his sister that night.

  With no news from anyone, anywhere, Bryce tried his best to focus on the race to come. Lyn Whitehouse, his newest personal trackside aide, just in from her home base in Sydney, handed him his energy drink for one last swig before pulling the fire-resistant balaclava over his head and then strapping on his trademark yellow helmet with red and black striping.

  “G-day mate,” he said as he patted her on the arm, something he’d done to every aide he’d worked with since his debut in Formula One. It wasn’t part of a pre-race routine or to fend off superstitions. For Bryce, he knew there was a chance – although a remote one – that he might die that day during the race. It was just his way, a last touch of human contact before go-time. Some drivers had a wife or girlfriend to embrace. For Bryce, that simple touch would have to suffice as it always had.

  As the last crewman in charge of checking the driver’s safety gear and that communications were properly in place and ready for action, Madigan approached the cockpit from the opposite side and peered into Bryce’s helmet-covered eyes. The engine sounds all around them were deafening. Bryce noticed Madigan wasn’t wearing his headset and assumed that what he had to say was best kept between them. Bryce wasn’t the best at lip reading, but he understood enough of Madigan’s message.

  LEE FOUND HER. SHE’S OKAY. NOW GO WIN THIS DAMN THING!

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  *

  The flight back to Washington was intolerable for Kyoto. She thought back to the first time she’d flown over the Pacific alongside Bryce, the man now sleeping beside her. With eighteen hours left and a change of planes in San Francisco to come, she needed to keep her mind busy, numb it, or else cry the entire way.