Need for Speed Read online

  Sitting inside his Lamborghini, Dino smirked on hearing this.

  “Chump,” he thought aloud.

  But Tobey was on his way.

  At that moment, he was flying up the mountains in the Koenigsegg, tearing up the asphalt on the rapidly ascending roads. Once he was in earshot, his presence was quickly known.

  “Hold on,” Monarch told his listeners. “Do I hear a sixth car approaching? I can’t really see who, but . . . stand by . . .”

  When Monarch realized who it was, his voice went up another notch in volume and excitement.

  “My people!” he announced. “Tobey Marshall has just arrived! And he’s driving a Koenigsegg Agera! But hold on, my children—do the math with me—where’s the Shelby Mustang? Or do we even care?”

  Tobey rolled up to the starting line and let the crowd drink him in. He knew it didn’t matter to Monarch or anyone else that he was here in a Koenigsegg and not the Shelby. Just the opposite—it only added to the drama, the soap opera, which was what the De Leon and Monarch’s followers thrived on.

  But when Dino spotted the Koenigsegg, a soap opera was the farthest thing from his mind. He nearly voided himself on his hand-brushed Gallardo leather seats. Tobey was driving the car he should have burned a long time ago. Dino knew he’d been found out for sure now—and he knew there was only one person who could have snitched: Anita.

  He actually thought aloud, “I had Big Al hit the wrong person.”

  Tobey eased the Koenigsegg into his assigned slot, last row, next to the GTA Spano. He looked down at the “Pete 392” tattoo on his arm and felt a kind of tranquility come over him. Finally, all the bullshit was over with. Everything he’d done in the past two years—and in the past two days—had led up to this moment. Despite all the obstacles, the cops, Dino, despite everything, here he was, ready to race.

  This moment was what it was all about. For his mom, for his dad. For Julia. And most of all, for Pete. He tapped his tattoo twice for good luck and whispered: “Do or die little brother—this one’s for you . . .”

  Then came the words everyone had been waiting for. Monarch bellowed: “It’s time, gentlemen . . .”

  A portable dragster light grid had been put in place at the starting line. It held three yellow lights and one green. The racers revved their engines to full peak now—the noise was the loudest so far.

  Suddenly, the lights fell down the grid and the green light exploded in a puff of smoke.

  The six cars screamed off the starting line.

  The Bugatti was in first place in an instant, the other five cars right behind it. But the race almost ended before it could begin. The six supercars came very close to a massive pileup going into the first turn, which was a hard downhill right. Bunched together, door-to-door and tail to nose, they all took the corner like they were running on rails.

  Watching intently on his remote video setup, Monarch began barking like an announcer at the Indy 500.

  “English Paul in the Bugatti has taken the hole shot!” he yelled into his mic. “With Dino Brewster holding a tight second. Then we have Gooch’s Saleen, Texas Mike’s McLaren and Johnny V in the Spano. Bringing up the rear is little old Tobey Marshall. If the kid from Mount Kisco plans on winning this race, he’d better get his ass in gear!”

  Hitting 120 mph already, the cars were so close together some of their mirrors were scraping each other. The noise, the fire, the smoke—it was all mind-blowing. Exploding out onto a straightaway, Tobey was shifting like a madman. His speedometer was climbing by the second . . . 125 . . . 145 . . . 175 . . . As much as he loved the Shelby Mustang, the Koenigsegg was frighteningly powerful. The adrenaline rush was incredible.

  As the road rose ahead of him, Tobey settled in and started thinking strategy. He studied his nearest competitor: the GTA Spano, off to his right and just a few inches ahead. It was still early in the race, but he decided to make a move. He hit the gas and swerved right at the Spano. The sudden maneuver stunned Johnny V. He overreacted, sending him wide right and causing two of his wheels to go off the pavement.

  Monarch saw the move and became very excited.

  “Tobey Marshall and Johnny V are already battling for fifth!” he yelled. “Tobey is actually exchanging paint with the Spano, and wait . . . Johnny V is off the road!”

  Tobey watched the GTA go sideways behind him. He didn’t have time to think about it. He hit the gas again.

  “Okay, Johnny V has recovered!” Monarch reported. “But Tobey has already moved up a notch. He’s taken over fifth place!”

  The racers were climbing a hill now, each driver with the gas pedal mashed, each waiting and wondering where the road went from there.

  But, suddenly, a police helicopter appeared over the racecourse. It came out of the trees and was looking down on the supercars as they neared the top of the hill.

  Monarch was incensed.

  “Flying cops!” he shouted. “Like flies in my ointment, my children. The California Highway Patrol is in the air over our course!”

  The police helicopter was a Bell 412, a powerful, agile machine. Nose down, it was flying at full tilt just twenty feet off the ground. It was almost as if it was signaling the racers that they’d been found out.

  Monarch picked up a paperweight and hurled it against the wall of his secret studio.

  “Someone snitched!” he bellowed. “Someone spilled the beans to the fuzz! They might have been thinking they were doing some good—but take it from me, you add cops to this race and people will get hurt!”

  There was nothing the racers could do about the helicopter but keep going. They roared underneath the aircraft, all in a serpentine line, and at tremendous speed flew over the crest of the hill.

  But the copter immediately climbed, did a smooth 180-degree turn, and took off after the racers.

  Monarch was still supremely pissed.

  “Racers should race,” he yelled into his microphone, “and cops should eat doughnuts. This has just become a death race!”

  With the GTA Spano no longer beside him, Tobey was able to take over the middle of the road. He was now directly behind the McLaren and the Saleen S7.

  But as soon as he settled in behind them, two police cars appeared up ahead. Traveling side by side, lights flashing, sirens wailing, they were coming from the opposite direction and heading right at the racers.

  Tobey knew this was more than just an ordinary race for him. Of them all, he had the most to lose if the cops stopped the De Leon and apprehended the drivers.

  With this in mind, he became focused like never before. It was almost as if he began seeing everything just a few seconds ahead of time. The McLaren and the Saleen were in front of him. When he sensed the McLaren might go wide to set up his next turn, Tobey saw another opportunity to make another move. He hit his brakes while going into the turn and began drifting violently between the McLaren and the Saleen S7. The object of his desire was a space right between them.

  Monarch saw the gutsy maneuver and approved.

  “Tobey Marshall is going to roll the dice!” he yelled. “He’s trying to try to split the McLaren and the Saleen . . . Wow! . . . Ballsy!”

  Tobey successfully squeezed himself between the McLaren and the Saleen. But he didn’t want to stay there for long. They came up on a curve, still sandwiched together. But just when it came time to turn, Tobey hit the gas a second before Texas Mike did, and suddenly the McLaren was behind him. Just like that, Tobey was in fourth place.

  “Marshall’s balls have been located!” Monarch roared. “And they are large!”

  Tobey felt good about his move, too. The Saleen was right in front of him with the McLaren right behind. But the two police cars were still heading right at the racers, with a convergence speed of more than 250 miles an hour. And no one was giving up their position.

  Suddenly the race transformed into a massi
ve game of chicken, with the six supercars coming from one direction and the two speeding police cars coming from the other.

  Luckily, the cops blinked first.

  At the very last instant, both cruisers jammed on their brakes and skidded to the side of the road. Clouds of burnt rubber filled the air as they tailspun themselves onto the dirt shoulder.

  The supercars went by them like six gunshots. But the cops were not out of it. Both spun their cars around, gained the pavement again, and, sirens still screaming, began a pursuit.

  A short distance up the road, an unsuspecting civilian car was traveling in the same direction as the racers. Coming up on it at lightning speed was the Bugatti and Dino’s Lamborghini. Dino was drafting off English Paul and trying to time the moment before they both overtook the civilian car. But his indecision got the best of him. He swung out to pass the Bugatti, but acted too late. English Paul matched his speed and then some, closing the door on Dino. Slamming his fist against his steering wheel, Dino was forced back into second place.

  * * *

  But then more police interference came into play. The police helicopter appeared again, this time swooping in very low over the tops of the cars before heading farther down the racecourse. Once it was about a half mile in front of them, it suddenly pulled up into a hover. Then its pilot brought his aircraft down very low and went into a crab maneuver, flying sideways just a few feet off the pavement, essentially blocking the road.

  “The cops are trying everything possible to stop my race!” Monarch yelled into his microphone. “Get that bird out of here! People will die. Let’s hope English Paul doesn’t back down.”

  The Bugatti was the first racer to come upon the copter—but English Paul showed no signs of slowing down. If anything, he started going faster. The helicopter pilot saw this and panicked. He jerked up on his controls and climbed a few feet just seconds before causing a devastating collision.

  The Bugatti slid through the narrow space below the copter’s landing skids. In rapid order, the other racers safely zoomed underneath the copter as well.

  But the copter’s crabbing maneuver had really just been a delaying tactic, a trick to throw off the racers. Because yet another police car was waiting up ahead. Its police officer was preparing to throw a spike strip across the road. Any tire hitting it would explode immediately. As the racers were traveling practically bumper to bumper and in excess of 150 mph at the moment, such a blowout would cause a catastrophic pileup.

  The cop threw the spike strip out onto the asphalt nevertheless, just as the Bugatti was approaching. But again, English Paul was a real pro. Spying a narrow gap between the spikes and the cop who threw them, he expertly threaded the needle, zooming right through the tiny opening and scaring the cop half to death.

  The rest of the cars followed the Bugatti’s line and avoided the strip as well. Another police tactic had been foiled.

  Throughout all this Tobey was able to maintain his strong position and stay in fourth place. The farmlands of Mendocino were blurring by him now as he roared along at close to 160 mph, accelerating all the time. He hoped the cops would realize the futility of their tactics and just let them be.

  But no such luck.

  First one, then two, slowly moving police cars now appeared on the roadway, again heading right at the racers. These two were zigzagging back and forth in what law enforcement called a rolling road block. All the racers saw them and knew timing their way past them would be crucial in preventing another potential disaster.

  The Bugatti was on them in seconds. In another display of fantastic driving, English Paul perfectly split the two zigzagging police cars. Dino went right behind him, mimicking the Bugatti’s maneuver but coming very close to clipping both police cars in the process.

  The Saleen S7 came rocketing by next. Gooch expertly moved around the path of the first cruiser in a loud screeching drift that was a success. But the maneuver put the Saleen directly into the path of the second cruiser, which was now blocking its path.

  Doomed, Gooch had no other choice. He put the slanted front grille of the Saleen right under the second cruiser’s fender and launched the cop car as if it were going off a ski jump. The cruiser went completely airborne, spun around, and then came crashing to the ground. It skidded for a long time on its side before finally coming to a smoky, dusty halt, the cops inside mightily stunned.

  The Saleen had taken a fatal blow, though. It bottomed out and ground to a halt in a shower of sparks and smoke.

  Monarch came out of his seat.

  “The Gooch has been taken out!” he roared. “He’s completely gone! The Saleen is out because of police interference!”

  Luckily Tobey saw the whole thing, again like it was happening in slow motion. He’d watched English Paul start his maneuver and how Dino followed him through. But then Gooch caught it—rather heroically, but abruptly ending his race. Tobey came up on the Saleen’s crash just seconds after it happened but was able to rocket by the mayhem, bursting through the storm of smoke left by Gooch’s demise.

  When he could see daylight again, Tobey found himself in third place.

  “British Paul still holds first,” Monarch reported. “Dino is still in second, but Tobey Marshall has moved into third. We’re down to five cars, people!”

  Monarch was not only following the action on his video monitors. He was also hacking into the highway patrol’s communications as they tried to disrupt the race. Most of what he heard was typical Smokey stuff—locations and status, with some bitching about how none of their tactics had worked so far. But then he heard something that chilled him right to the bone. In among the static and chatter, someone spoke three words: “Deadly force authorized.”

  Monarch thought to himself, Are they going to start shooting at us?

  * * *

  The racers left the rolling hills of coastal Mendocino and entered the famous Redwoods Forest.

  They were stacked up again. Bumper to bumper, there was only a second between the Bugatti in the lead and the GTA bringing up the rear.

  The police copter was still overhead, but its pilots could no longer see the supercars because of the thick canopy of gigantic trees. But this did not mean the racers would have smooth sailing.

  Just the opposite.

  Tobey rocketed through the forest, still in third, stuck on Dino’s bumper. Suddenly he saw a bus in the lane straight ahead. At the same moment, a fully-loaded logging truck appeared, coming at the racers from the other direction.

  The truck driver saw the handful of racers approaching at 150 mph and blew his horn—but it was too late. He gave a few feet on the side of the road—and it was enough for English Paul, Dino, and Tobey to roar through. But the McLaren, the bus, and the truck all crossed paths at the same time.

  The McLaren’s side mirrors shattered in twin explosions of glass and carbon fiber. That’s how closely Texas Mike had to thread the needle between the bus and the truck. The maneuver seemed to last an eternity for him, but then he saw daylight and a long straightaway ahead of him and knew he was safely clear.

  The truck driver had no such luck. His rig jackknifed, its trailer swinging around and unleashing its load of freshly cut trees. Huge logs bounced down the road, one of them sideswiping Johnny V’s GTA Spano, causing him to lose control.

  Then, at the worst possible moment, another police car suddenly appeared on the racetrack. It had been driving behind the logging truck, but an instant after the truck driver skidded, the cruiser crashed head-on into the GTA Spano.

  Monarch was livid.

  “The Spano just took a cop car to the face!” he yelled into his microphone. “Our thoughts and prayers are with you, Johnny V! The winner’s prize is getting smaller because we only have four cars left!”

  * * *

  The remaining supercars raced through the strobing Redwoods Forest. They were rocketing along, all in a line, over
the two-lane blacktop, at 185 mph.

  But up ahead, law enforcement had yet another obstacle waiting for them—the first after Monarch had intercepted the “deadly force authorized” message.

  An empty cruiser had been hidden behind a huge redwood tree. Its engine was turned on and its accelerator was racing madly. The pack of racers, still flying along with just millimeters separating them, were unknowingly heading toward this hidden, empty cruiser, English Paul’s Bugatti still in the lead.

  Just an instant before the pack arrived, a cop standing nearby reached into the cruiser. His billy club had been keeping the gas pedal jammed to the floor. Now he put the car’s transmission into drive and murderously launched the cruiser right into the path of the oncoming racers.

  English Paul almost made it past the driverless cruiser; his car’s tremendous speed almost came through. But his back end was clipped by the cruiser’s front end, and the Bugatti simply exploded. The momentum from the blast sent the car spinning off the road and into the forest, where it pinballed off several of the ancient trees before finally coming to a fiery, smoky halt.

  Monarch was incensed. Suddenly he knew what “deadly force” meant.

  He told his listeners, “The Bugatti just got taken out by an empty police car. The cops are playing dirty and they’re playing God. And it’s not right, my children.”

  But as so often happens in racing, one driver’s tragedy was another driver’s opportunity. And so it was for Tobey.

  A moment before the Bugatti got wrecked, Dino had stood on his brakes and gone wide, avoiding becoming entangled in the carnage. It showed some outstanding driving on Dino’s part, but it was exactly what Tobey had been waiting for.

  Instead of hitting his brakes and mimicking Dino, Tobey stood on his accelerator instead and split the gap between the Elemento and the leftovers of the Bugatti wreck.

  It all happened in a flash. It was so quick, Tobey actually closed his eyes in the last instant of this maneuver—it was that tight and dangerous.