Immediately Forgettable

Chapter 10

Back on the ground level, we headed for the rear of the building and a large hangar of sorts. There Jen signed out an all-terrain vehicle (run completely on King biofuel, naturally) and, with her at the wheel, we shot through the bay doors and down dirt roads, surrounded by various crops on either side of us. There were signs posted along the path, but Jen didn't need them. She knew right where she was heading, and was being coy about it with me, not wanting to spoil the surprise.

We were going deeper and deeper into the property, which never seemed to end. The Sun was still blazing, but lower in the sky, creating deep, long shadows across the fields. Quite honestly, if they were gong to kill me, this would be the perfect time and place. But the grin on Jen's face let even my paranoid mind know there was nothing to fear. And, yes, I know who Mata Hari is, but it's not like that. At least I don't think it is.

Off to the far left I could make out what seemed like a pair of decent-sized satellite dishes. They were getting smaller the further we went, so I knew that was not our destination. I pointed toward them and aksked, "That the communications for the compound?"

She nodded. "The main one anyway. There are a few others placed around for coverage. We have excellent reception pretty much everywhere." Of course — what would paradise be without good cell service.

We continued on. With locations disappearing from each consecutive sign, I used my trained powers of deduction to determine that we were heading to some place called the "Track" approximately two minutes before we actually arrived there. And, I have to say, it was pretty amazing.

Carved out amongst the fields was a full-size race track, complete with viewing stands and pit areas. As we came to a stop, Jen informed me that King wanted to prove the validity of his biofuels, so he created the most stressful situation a vehicle can endure – high-speed racing. He created a suite of racecars that run exclusively on his biofuel mix and put them through their paces. It worked so well that he started doing regular races there on Thursday nights, with trained employees at the wheels.

We headed down toward track level, where a few cars were idling and a crew was making adjustments. We headed toward the open hood of one of the cars, where a mechanic had his face buried. When we got there, he popped up and, seeing Jen, a bright smile kept across the grease-smudged face.

This was unfortunate, as it was a handsome, manly face. Dark curls on his head had the appearance of barely being touched, yet still seemed to fall in just the right place. The smile he gave Jen caused two deep pits to form on his cheeks, which complimented the soft dimple on his chin. And the splotches of grease on his face only served to make his teeth gleam a more perfect shade of white.

Jen introduced him as John Miller, and he extended his hand to firmly grab mine. "Nice to meet you," he said, giving my hand two short pumps before letting it go. The perfect manly handshake. I looked to see if there was a wedding ring on his other hand, but there was none. Maybe he didn't wear it to keep the grease off of it. Or maybe he and Jen had a thing going on.

I looked for any signs of a relationship between them, but there was nothing more than friendly banter. Me as John would have made something happen by now. Me as John would take full advantage of non-forgettability, my manly ability to fix things, and my deep and charming dimples to completely charm Jen. But that's just me. Hopefully John as himself hadn't done any of that.

As he gave us a tour of the garage, he proved to be much more than a manly pretty face. Master Degrees in physics led him to King Corp, where he was recruited by the man himself. He led us to a back office where computer screens lit the room and a scale model of his clean engine rested on a table along the wall.

He explained in simple terms, for the journalist in the room, how he was able to design a high-performance engine that ran solely on King's proprietary biofuel mix. Jen nodded along with me to show our understanding, and I was deeply impressed. I imagine Jen must be as well. John spoke of the future where all oil-based vehicles and appliances could be serviced by King biofuel, including tractor trailers and jet engines. Pure, clean fuel that had an abundant supply.

But my research had shown that corn-based biofuels also had a supply problem, which kept their pricing close to that of oil. John gave that confident dimple-enhanced smile, and said simply that Dr. King had that taken care of. And when said by such a capable man who had position to know, I had no reason to doubt it.

As impressive as all this was, things were about to get even better. John led Jen and I down to the track area where two racecars bearing King's logo (and face, naturally) were idling quietly. I looked toward the exhaust pipes, but saw no smoke. John followed my eyes, and explained, "Only output is a little hydrogen. And that's this engine. Even less in a typical car."

He looked at Jen. "You ready?" Jen responded with an enthusiastic, "Yes." John to me: "You know how to drive?"

Within seconds of my affirmation, Jen and I were each placed in one of the cars, buckled in by a series of straps and helmeted. I could hear John in my earpiece.

"Now Terry, you can take a few laps around the track. Jen will help pace you -- she's a shark out there, one of the company's best racers, but she promised to take it easy on you." I could hear the smile on his face. Jen's giggle came through over the airwaves.

I started to panic -- not because of the driving -- my CIA training covered that, and I was pretty good at it -- but that my distance to her would cause her to forget me by the time the race was over. As if on cue, a glow appeared in the dash and Jen's very cute helmeted face appeared. "Hi Terry," she said as she waved. I waved back, feeling better.

"These are test cars," said helmet-John. "So communication is very important. We use the cameras to keep track of you, and you can use them to keep track of each other."

I gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. "Well, go on then," said helmet-John. "Take 'er out."

Just by gripping the wheel I could feel this was a piece of precision machinery. I revved the engine and could feel the whole car shake with anticipation. I pressed the clutch and dropped into first gear. My heart was racing in time with the engine. This was going to be good.

I eased up on the clutch and the gear grabbed almost immediately. To compensate, I pressed down on the gas, but the precision vehicle needed a light touch, and not my heavy foot. The car jerked onto the track and I heard the engine roar in protest. I moved into second gear and felt that I was gaining control. Down the straightway, I was feeling good. Down-shifted and slowed a little too much on the curve, but I was definitely getting the hang of it.

The car preformed like a dream, and by the second curve I had found my pace, that is, until Jen blew past me, giggling over the headset mic. Time for a new pace. I gunned the car and it gave me what I asked for as I shot past Jen. "Gas is on the right," I teased into my mic.

The CIA had trained us well in defensive driving situations, and my instructors were guiding my way like Obi Wan in the (real) first Star Wars flick. But those weren't precision racecars, so it wasn't completely useful. Still, it got me through the corners all right, and Jen was keeping behind me, although I think she was just being nice. Either way, it was an exhilarating experience, and I was the having the time of my life.

After what seemed too short a time, I heard John say, "Okay guys -- bring 'em in after the next loop."

After I pulled in and got out of the car, I could still feel the car's vibration in my hands. It felt good, powerful. Jen got out of her car and saw me look at my hands, and then at her. She gave a knowing nod, as if to say, "I know, right?"

This was a hell of a first date.