Fast and Furious: Quick Rip (an excerpt)

Dom Helps Trump Escape

Russian shouts echo down the hallway. Many voices. Trump strides to the passenger side of the car. A wall aficionado if ever there was one, he pauses to evaluate the wall that Dom crashed through, appreciating its thickness and quality of construction, before getting in the car. Dom reverses out of the room and drives them away from the eastern European mess as a crew of Russian soldiers carrying AK-47s spills into the room. They survey the scene and look through the hole in the wall just in time to see taillights whiz away.

Dom drives into the night, down a deserted street lined with warehouses and brick buildings.

Dom: How bad is it?

Trump: It's bad.

Trump props his right elbow on the car door and flexes his fist, contemplating their situation.

Dom (smirks): Worse than the time you had me to your country club?

Trump: They have my son, Dom.

Dom sighs heavily. No one understands father-son issues better than he does.

Trump: And that's just the beginning. Things are going to get very, very bad for this country.

Dom: You mean, unless America's most-beloved billionaire teams up with a precision driver to take care of business, right?

Tires screech and the headlights of three Soviet-era Ladas careen around a corner in the distance behind Dom and Trump. The souped-up engines in the tiny vehicles roar. Dom checks his rear-view and tightens his grip on the wheel.

Trump: How many?

Dom: Three. This'll be fun.

Dom yanks the wheel to the right, taking evasive maneuvers.

Trump resets himself as Dom takes the car into a hard drifting turn. The three pursuing vehicles try to keep up, but one loses control in the drift and crashes into a light pole. The two remaining cars lost a little speed in the turn, but not enough for Dom and Trump to shake them.

Trump: Dom, I need to tell you something that might be very difficult to believe. Our country is at war.

Dom: With Russia?

Trump: Worse. There's a conspiracy of traitors in the U.S. working with the Russians and God knows who else to destroy America as we know it.

Dom's Chevelle merges onto a highway, the two Russian cars closing in. A Russian with an AK-47 leans out of the passenger-side window of the nearest car, and he gestures at his driver to get closer.

Trump: We have to lose these Ladas and get to the nearest Trump property. A-S-A-Pronto. (looking back and noticing something in the back seat) Dom, I think these Moscow mules are thirsty.

Dom gives Trump a begrudging nod, and Trump reaches into the back seat and grabs a six pack of Corona. He takes off his shirt and wraps all six bottles in it. Then he gives the package a wistful kiss and leans out the window to throw the beer/shirt package at the Russian car. The package strikes the windshield, bottles breaking and the beer-soaked shirt spreading out and sticking, obscuring the driver's view. The car careens off the highway, rolling in a dust cloud that eventually explodes into a fireball.

Trump: The intel we had was right. The money laundering, the ballots, everything.

Dom: Everything? Even the plot to get a foreigner with a fake birth certificate to run for president?

Trump: Kind of. Turns out that's part of a future disinformation campaign to sow doubt and exploit racial divisions. We'll have to be ready to knock that down when it crops up.

Dom: So where do we start?

Trump: New York. A small stock brokerage called JT Marlin. They're using it to funnel money from foreign governments into our elections. We need to get someone inside to track the money. You have to go undercover.

Dom: Are you nuts-

Shots pop from the pursuing Lada, and the rear window shatters. Dom and Trump duck and swerve. Trump points to a semi-truck ahead of them in the center lane.

Trump: Hey, do you think you could draw them in close, then slide under the semi to get to an exit?

Dom: We wouldn't fit... but a small foreign car might.

Dom shifts gears, and the Chevelle passes the semi and moves ahead of it in the middle of three lanes, matching its speed. The Lada catches up and begins to pass the semi on the right side. Dom drops the Chevelle into the left lane and reduces speed so the Lada and Chevelle are on either side of the semi. He teases the Russians, slowing the Chevelle so it's visible under the trailer, then speeding up to hide behind the truck's wheels. The Russian leaning out of the passenger side takes aim with his AK but can't get a clear shot. He shouts at his driver, who moves the Lada under the trailer in a move he thinks will be a surprise. But that's exactly what Dom wanted. As the Lada passes under the trailer and begins to emerge on the other side, Dom presses the clutch, shifts into Reverse, and holds the clutch down so the Chevelle coasts with the brake lights on. The Russian driver can't help it. Seeing the brake lights, he reflexively moves his foot to the brake pedal, exerting just the barest of pressure before catching himself, which is enough to disrupt the Lada's delicate position under the trailer. The Lada slows, dropping back just a few feet, and it's rear gets snagged under the truck's wheels and sucked under. The semi crunches over the Lada, ending the chase.

Dom shifts back into Drive, and Trump claps him on the shoulder.

Trump: See, Dom? You were made for this. You'll do just fine undercover.

Dom: But I'm a driver. I don't know anything about stocks.

Trump: It's the only way. You infiltrate the firm so we can trace the money. Meanwhile, I'll look into the fake ballots. They're probably being printed overseas and shipped in, disguised as DVD players or something. Once I figure that out, and after you bring down the firm, then we'll work on intercepting the fake ballots.

Dom: This is insane.

Trump: It's just your next quarter mile, Dom.

Exiting the highway into Manhattan, they soon arrive at a skyscraper with Trump's name written in glowing blue letters on the side. Dom pulls over. Trump hands him a business card.

Trump: Call this number. Someone will set you up with a new identity you can use to become a stockbroker. Who knows, maybe this is exactly what you need. Put a few miles between you and Lompac, and what happened to your family.

Dom: Dominic Toretto. A stockbroker.

Trump: One more thing. The day may come when our enemies make another move against me. Maybe they'll brainwash me and turn me loose with my billions to wreak havoc. Who knows, maybe they'll even replace me with a fat evil clone. If that day comes, don't let the Donald be something he's not. Protect my commitment to honesty, integrity, and the institutions of our democracy.

Dom: How will I know?

Trump ponders this for a moment before answering.

Trump: If I'm ever caught in a lie, ever, you'll know they got to me and I can no longer be trusted to protect America. Promise me you'll do whatever it takes to make America win.

Dom: If you're asking me to... I don't think I could.

Trump: The stakes are too high. Please, Dom.

Dom looks at the business card and nods. Then he extends his hand to Trump.

Dom: I guess it's like you always say, "Winning is winning."