by Darin Gibby
Zissy’s final number was reaching its climax. Amid the screeching guitars and pounding drums, the fans clapped and sang. Addy heard an explosion as the fireworks display began.
This is really going to happen, Addy told herself.
She kept her foot steady on the accelerator, urging Hindy forward at a safe speed. She could now see fireworks exploding at the end of the tunnel. She’d managed to time her entrance just as Nate had orchestrated.
Addy was within twenty feet of exiting onto the track when four figures wearing black armor suddenly appeared, blocking her exit. Machine guns were leveled right at her windshield. One spoke into a megaphone.
“This is the Department of Homeland Security. Stop or we will be forced to shoot.”
Addy didn’t even pause to consider her situation. Nothing was going to stop her. She hit the accelerator. Hindy responded with increased speed. The gap between her and the federal agents was rapidly closing. Addy pressed harder and Hindy responded, threatening to mow over the black-clad agents.
Realizing Addy was refusing to obey their order, they stepped aside, just as Addy whizzed past them. As she did, she shot her hand out the window and pumped her fist.
The stadium lights were still dimmed, but the fireworks display provided enough illumination for Addy to find her way onto the outer track. With her window down, she could hear Zissy finishing the last words to her closing number. It was time to listen for the three loud explosions. According to Nate’s plan, the stadium lights would then come back on and her commercial would go live.
She peeked into her rearview mirror. A police car was right on her tail. She couldn’t tell if it was an escort, or one last attempt by law enforcement to stop her. It was rapidly closing in. Because she needed to time her position, going any faster was pointless. She looked again and saw another patrol car, this one with its lights flashing.
Zissy’s song ended with a flurry of brilliantly colored flashes in the sky. Three loud pops shook the stadium.
Addy gauged her position. In the dim light it was difficult to tell if she was at midfield. As the stadium lights began ramping back up, Addy looked to her left. She was directly aligned with the center stage poised on the fifty-yard line. The dancers were already streaming off the field, exiting the field at both end zones. An army of stagehands was barreling out onto the field, some already dismantling the props.
But Zissy was still atop the stage, arms folded, chin up. Defiant.
Addy had forgotten that she was there to announce her arrival. A man holding a tablet stepped onto the track and raised his hand, indicating that she needed to slow down until Zissy had made her introduction. When she did, the first patrol car crept up to her rear bumper. It flashed its lights and an officer jumped out. Instead of Zissy’s voice over the public announcement system, she heard the patrol car’s squawk box command her to get out of the car.
The hum of the crowd created by the fans chattering about the halftime performance was instantly silenced, riveting all eyes on Hindy and the flashing lights.
Addy knew she wasn’t going to get out, and she wasn’t going to halt. Instead, she gunned it. Zissy took this as her cue.
“Ladies and gentlemen, what you are seeing before you is the world’s first car that can actually run on water. Give a hand to my good friend Addy, and her revolutionary new vehicle, Hindy.”
Zissy began clapping and two spotlights illuminated Hindy. Addy kept her speed constant and shot her hand out the window, waving like a beauty queen in the Rose Parade. The spotlights shone into her eyes, making it impossible for her to see the large display screens at each end zone that that should be broadcasting the formula for Quinn’s catalyst.
To Addy’s surprise, Zissy kept with her impromptu monologue.
“Yes, you heard correctly. Addy is driving the first ever car to be fueled by pouring ordinary tap water into the tank. And what you see on these giant screens is the secret chemical that makes it all possible. But I won’t steal her thunder. As soon as Addy finishes her lap, she is going to come right up here and explain how it all works.”
Addy had gone the length of the field and was ready to make the turn at the far end zone. She eased the steering wheel counterclockwise, keeping an eye on the squad cars that were still tailing her. That was when she noticed a platoon of SWAT vehicles waiting to ambush her. One by one they screamed out of the tunnel and formed a barricade across the track, halting her progress. Armor-plated and constructed for battle, these war machines were poised to take her out.
Addy moved her foot from the accelerator to the brake. Soon Hindy would be motionless. In another eighty seconds, her window of opportunity would be over.
Once the crowd realized what was happening they jumped out of their seats and, with gusto, began booing the federal agents.
Zissy, microphone still in hand, voiced her frustration.
“Come on officers, that’s not playing nice.”
With state troopers behind and a Homeland Security team in front, Addy was boxed in. If she didn’t make a move now, it would be all over.
Addy cranked the wheel hard and hit the accelerator, barely avoiding the lead SWAT truck. But now she was headed straight for the goal post. Hindy was now driving on turf. While all of the dancers were safely off the field, dozens of stagehands were still scurrying about dismantling the production equipment. Addy swerved left to avoid an electrician who was coiling a length of wire. Then a hard right and she shot through the goal posts.
The crowd was now fully engaged, clapping and chanting “Ad-DY, Ad-DY.”
One of the SWAT cars followed, but wasn’t nimble enough, and scraped the side of the goal post, causing it to tilt.
Zissy started laughing, as did half the fans.
Addy increased her speed, flying down the left hash mark like a wide receiver zipping toward the end zone. When she approached center field, she spied the microphone stand that was set up for her speech. She stomped on the brake, skidding along the slick grass. Even before Hindy came to a halt, Addy was out the door and perched in front of the microphone.
“Welcome to history in the making,” she said, half out of breath. The entire stadium stilled. “Super Bowl Sunday is a day of celebration, so please join with me in celebrating a new way of life. You are all now a part of history, and none of us will ever be the same.” Addy again paused and took a sweeping view of the stadium. All eyes were fixed on her. The cameraman edged closer.
“As you heard Zissy explain, this car is fueled by water,” Addy said, presenting Hindy with a sweep of her broken hand. “Soon, none of us will ever need to go to a gas station, and there will be no further need for damaging oil exploration and extraction and pollution. Isn’t that something we all want?”
Some of the spectators began to applaud, followed by more, and more, until it reached a crescendo. It felt like electricity had shot up out of the ground.
Addy turned to the jumbo screen and lifted her hand. “And I am here to give you the secret of how to convert water to hydrogen. It’s right there for everyone to see. The inventor, who couldn’t be here today, sent me to tell you that he is donating his technology to you, to the world. That means everyone is free to use it. There will be no patents, no license fees, just freedom for everyone to enjoy. So embrace the technology! Change the world!”
The standing spectators cheered their approval, whistling and stomping their feet.
Addy continued. “A lot of people tried to stop this day from happening.” She cranked her head sideways, giving the SWAT team a death look. “But thank goodness they all failed.
“I know many of you have heard allegations that I stole this technology, or that I participated in the gruesome murder of a patent examiner. Nothing could be further from the truth. My law partner even sacrificed his life to get me here today.
“But I’m not here to point fingers or make accusations. I am here to ask you for your help. This technology needs to be part of everyday life, and I need you to he
lp make it happen. We need production facilities, improved fuel cells, better operating software. What place in the world is better suited for doing this than right here in Silicon Valley? Here is where the world’s most important technologies are born. You, of all people, right here in the heart of Silicon Valley, should understand.”
The crowd exploded, bellowing their approval.
“I invite those industry leaders and innovators to come look at Hindy. See for yourselves what Hindy is all about. I’ll be here to answer every question. I even have copies of the patent application that we’ve withdrawn from the Patent Office. So, as soon as the last second ticks off that game clock, please come be my guest.”
Zissy, still on the stage observing events unfold, didn’t want to wait for the end of the second half. She leapt down and rushed to Addy’s side. “And I’m going to be your first customer,” she said, then threw both arms around her and hugged her tight. Neither said anything as the applause reached deafening levels.
Together, singer and patent attorney waved at the adoring crowd. Addy soaked in the moment, hoping she could always remember how she felt right now. It was something nobody could ever take from her.
Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The cameras cut and Nate stepped forward and removed his headset. “Perfect,” he said. “But now it’s time to roll away the car and get ready for the second half. I have no idea what they’re going to do about that goal post. It looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”
Zissy gave one final hug and wished her well. The porky sheriff who had threatened to arrest her stood watching, arms folded. Keeping her promise, Addy approached him, hands out. The sheriff shook his head.
A team of workers pushed Hindy off the field while Addy, escorted by the sheriff, headed for the staging area. She’d barely reached the track when the SWAT team swooped down on her, cuffing her hands behind her back, asserting their authority over the local sheriff, and taking her into custody.
39
MOLLY PEELE WAS side stepping past a row of spectators, desperately trying to reach the closest aisle. The stadium lights had just been raised and the Super Bowl crowd was abuzz with what they just witnessed. She fumbled with the latch on her purse as she squeezed herself past a large beer belly.
“Ain’t no car that can run on water,” he said, holding his beverage to the side so that Molly could squeeze past.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Molly couldn’t help herself.
She wasn’t a big football fan, but an event of this magnitude in her own backyard was too large to delegate to another lawyer. The tickets were free, but bordered on being nose bleeders. The Justice Department always sent a representative to the Super Bowl, not only because of the large amount of criminal activity that always surrounded these events—counterfeiting, bogus game tickets—but also the very real potential for terrorist activity.
Molly fumbled for her phone while she watched a small army of federal agents escort Addy from the field while the players began trotting on for the second half. The restless crowd began to boo, then started chanting: Ad-DY, Ad-DY.
Peele quickly dialed Jesse’s number, held her phone to her ear and plugged her other ear with her finger.
“You won’t believe what I just saw,” she nearly yelled over the chant of the crowd.
“And you won’t believe what I just did,” Long replied.
As she skipped down the stairs, she explained how Addy had somehow managed to bring a car onto the playing field at the end of Zissy’s halftime show and claim it was running on water. She’d even posted the formula for everyone to see. The worst part was that Homeland Security chased her across field and then arrested her in front of a stadium full of people who were convinced Addy was telling the truth.
“They looked like imbeciles,” she ranted. “I think they’ve got her in custody. I’m running down to the field right now.”
“Why is DHS there?”
“Probably the same reason I’m here. We’ve got a major worldwide event going on. Someone probably called in a tip and they reacted without thinking.”
Peele reached the concourse and began looking for a staircase that would take her to the field level. She tried to weave her way against the onslaught of human traffic as fans pressed towards the concession stands. “What have you got?” she asked.
“Two dead and two wounded.”
Peele froze and pushed the phone hard against her ear. “Say that again?”
“Shaun Ritter, aka the tattoo man, and Jerry Wilcox. They’re both dead.”
“Wait, tell me more. What went down?”
“Let’s just say there was quite a shootout. Felt like the Wild West.”
“Did you shoot them?”
“Only Wilcox. Addy got Ritter herself. Looks like he broke his neck when she flung him from her semi.”
Recovering from her shock, Peele resumed her march. “What semi?”
“Looks like the one she used to get the hydrogen car to the stadium.”
“I’ll be damned,” Peele muttered. “Who’s injured?”
“Quinn Moon and one of the other terrorists.”
“Quinn?”
“He was with Addy.” Long explained how he’d received the tip of Addy’s whereabouts and how he’d rushed to find her.
“When I arrived, Addy had already fled, but she left Quinn behind as a hostage. When I stormed in, a bullet shattered my windshield, barely missing my head. I ducked and drew my weapon. After another shot tore through my headrest, I raised up and shot her in the right shoulder.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just a cut on my forehead when I bumped it rushing to get out of my car.”
“What about Quinn?”
“He’s fortunate that I got to him in time. Wilcox was standing over him with a gun to his head. Wilcox’s eyes were like saucers and he was foaming at the mouth. He was screaming at Quinn and kicking him in the ribs. I raised my weapon and told him to drop his gun. He said he was going to kill Quinn for stealing his invention and that he didn’t care what happened to him.”
“So you shot him.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Who is the woman?”
“Good chance she was the one who held Addy while Ritter punched her.”
“Any others?”
“If there were, they escaped. We’re casting a wide net right now, but we don’t have any good descriptions.”
“Is Quinn going to make it?”
“He’s in bad shape. Ritter and Wilcox beat him up pretty good. He’s on his way to UCSF Medical Center.”
Peele noticed a security guard and told Long to hang tight. She flashed her badge at the security guard. “I need an escort down to the field.”
40
ALTHOUGH HER HANDS were still in cuffs, that didn’t stop Addy from barking at the DHS agents, insisting that she be taken to Quinn. The Santa Clara sheriff had his hand held out, trying to calm Addy while he attempted to explain to a group of federal agents why Addy was so upset.
As Peele entered the tunnel, she noticed at least two cameras rolling, while several bystanders had their mobile phones raised, capturing the historic moment. In a matter of minutes, this confrontation would be all over YouTube.
Peele pushed her way through the circle of agents. “Okay, everyone stand down. DOJ is taking over. She’s in my custody.”
“Somebody please help,” Addy insisted. “Quinn, he’s being held hostage. They’ll kill him if you don’t do something now.”
“Everything is going to be okay,” Peele said in a calm voice as she approached Addy. “Quinn is alive, and he’s in route to the hospital. If you’ll consent to remaining in my custody, I’ll escort you to the Medical Center. Agent Jesse Long will probably beat us there. He has plenty of questions for you.”
“Let’s hurry,” Addy sobbed.
Peele waved to one of the agents. “Can you please get these cuffs off?”
While the handcu
ffs were being removed, Addy remembered her offer to show Hindy after the game.
Addy rubbed her wrists and looked up to Peele. “What about Hindy? I promised to show everyone.”
Peele glanced sideways to see if any cameras were still capturing their conversation. Then she looked over at the car that was now surrounded by a team of federal agents. “We’ve got a string of homicides we’re investigating, and that car is a crucial piece of evidence. As much as I would love you to show the world what’s under that hood, that car isn’t going anywhere until we’ve completed our investigation.”
“Okay, let’s go. I’ve got to see him.”
* * *
Addy rushed through the emergency room doors with Peele right on her heels.
“Jesse’s already got us a private waiting room,” Peele said.
The intake administrator stood when she saw the two women and directed them to room 207 on the second floor. The pair exited the elevator and turned left, then down a hall until they reached the waiting room.
Peele pushed open the door. Long was already standing, his shoulder resting on the back wall. He flipped off the television that was blaring coverage of the day’s sensational events.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” he said, tossing the remote onto the couch.
“I didn’t come here for a lecture. I want to know about Quinn,” Addy wished her voice wasn’t wobbling.
“What’s the latest?” Peele asked calmly.
“Quinn’s still in surgery. The back of his skull has a small fracture, and he almost certainly has a concussion, but they think he’s going to be okay. They are doing surgery for the gunshot wound on his shoulder. It may be tomorrow before you can see him.”
Peele waited a few minutes, letting the news sink in.
“I want to stay here until I can speak to him. I’m not leaving,” Addy announced.
Long glared at Peele, figuring the duty would fall on him.
“That’s fine, but you can’t be alone,” Peele said. “We’ll need an agent to stay with you.”
