The Driver's Syndicate

SEVENTEEN

A cool breeze was blowing through the garage, sweeping and swirling like an invisible plane at a stunt show. It was the same garage that housed a small group known only to those part of it as ESTORICA. Resting by a toolbox, a fan was spinning around and around, moving from left to right constantly to ensure that those nearby got their fair supply of air.
Truth be told, only one person was close by, and that was Gary. He had dragged a plastic chair out of a spare room, switched on the archaic fan and was sat reading a magazine. Full Throttle was a monthly supplement dedicated to reviewing classic American cars, as well as more recent models, frequently partaking in twin tests to see how far manufacturers had come since the birth of 'American muscle' as the magazine dubbed it. Since it had been launched, the magazine quickly became popular amongst its male-oriented audience, especially with the lucky readers  who owned a vehicle that had featured in an issue. Gary had a pile of these magazines stacked in the corner of his bedroom, most of which he had collected in his early teens. And soon enough, the latest issue would join the ongoing line-up once he had finished reading it. Then it would gather dust for a few weeks until the next issue came along. 
There was an article on page nine about a rich businessman who had purchased a Pontiac Firebird and fitted it with a body kit, which had caught Gary's eye. Aside from the rims and dual-tone paint job, the vehicle was near-identical to Rob's car. Even though the cops had finished examining it for forensic tests, they still hadn't given it back.
"Disgusting." Gary muttered to himself as he turned the page. In his opinion, all the owner had managed to do was make the car look worse from every angle, ruining a muscular and iconic design. Some cars look better with a body kit, but this definitely wasn't the case here. Gary sometimes wondered whether it was worth going to the trouble of costuming cars (visually at least) when they were still perfectly fine at stock. What did the people on the production lines think of those who intended to swap out drivetrains, bumpers, exhausts, the ECU and anything else that could be beefed up? Did they support such an idea? That answer depended on who you asked and what vehicle was the subject matter.
A phone resting on the toolbox suddenly went off. Gary immediately recognised the text tone, but decided not to answer. His thoughts had now turned to a debrief column on the next page of the magazine. This was where people would send in comments on a new car and decide whether it was stunning or a piece of shit. This month, however, the question was focused on if muscle cars could ever transition from petrol to electric and still keep potential customers interested. 
The door to the bathroom flung open and Lucas walked out. His hair was messy and sticking up at strange angles, and his eyes were bloodshot red. However, his voice was no different.
"You know, you are allowed to check other people's phones if a message pops up," he said, yawning.
"I didn't know that was a rule," shrugged Gary, his tone unconvinced.
"What's with your tone?" Lucas had guessed that he was in another of his moods, simply by the sound of his voice. "I just said you could check my phone if a message comes through."
"So I can do that, but I'm not allowed to look in your so-called bunker?"
"What have I told you about that subject?" Lucas sighed. Over the last few days he had spent some time in a room tucked away in the far corner of the garage that was several feet below ground level. Gary himself had been suspicious, unlike Lauren who had paid no attention to the matter. They hadn't kept secrets from one another since ESTORICA started, at least, none that would jeopardise the group's future.  
"I still don't know what the deal is with you and that bunker," Gary complained. "What are you doing down there?"
"There are some things that are best left a secret," was all Lucas said as he unlocked his phone. He looked at the screen for a few seconds. "I think Shane's sent us a photo."
But then his expression dropped.
"Are you all right?" asked Gary, putting the magazine down. "You look like you've been electrocuted."
Lucas stared at Gary, shock and horror plastered on his face.
"This is to do with Shane's mission, isn't it?"
A nod from Lucas.
"Well, what has he sent?"
Lucas replied, "Evidence."
"By evidence," questioned Gary, "do you mean-"
"Lauren!" Lucas interrupted. "Do you still have that copy of yesterday's New York Times?"
The door to the meeting room opened, and Lauren came out, wearing shorts and a vest, with a long sleeved shirt in her hands. "Yeah," she replied, "I left it in one of the drawers."
"Get it." Lucas demanded. "I think we need to have another EMMA."
EMMA stood for Emergency Meeting for Meticulous Assignments. It was an unusual acronym, certainly, but Lucas had chosen it for urgent and essential gatherings since it was easy to remember. Previously the word 'meticulous' hadn't been included in the acronym, though this had been changed prior to Shane's arrival. Whenever ESTORICA needed to get together to discuss something that concerned themselves or those on missions, generally over serious purposes, an EMMA was the answer. So far, only one of these had been called. This would be the second time.
Gary and Lucas entered the meeting room, with the projection board on standby. Lucas went over and began fiddling with the mass of wires behind. "I can't find the cable for phone connection."
"Well, why are you asking me?" Gary grumbled as he opened another pack of mints. "These machines, they're all just chips and bulky hardware to me."
"I was only wondering," Lucas said as he slotted his phone into a green connection port. "By the way, I told you not to suck those mints during these meetings."
"You did."
"Then I think it's pretty clear what you should do."
Gary rolled his eyes and stuffed the rest of the mints in his jumper. At the same time, Lauren came in with a copy of the previous day's The New York Times.
"Hold onto that newspaper for a second," said Lucas as he pressed the power button on the remote. "What I've got here is something that might provide a breakthrough."
The door to the room closed by itself. Now the three of them were alone, the EMMA could get underway.
"So what have we got?" asked Lauren.
Lucas eyed his friends. "Well, less than two minutes ago, at oh nine fifty-nine am to be exact, a pair of photos were sent to my phone. The first one was this."
Click. The image appeared on the board.
"It's a bit unclear," complained Gary.
"That's probably just the resolution," explained Lauren. "I don't think the dust filter has been cleaned for a while."
"Well what are we looking at, anyhow?" Gary took a step closer, squinting his eyes. "A tank?"
"Soviet-made BRDM-2." said Lucas. "They're still popular with armed and special forces, even though production ended in the USSR by 1989, when most Eastern European countries were breaking free from the chains of communism. This version seems as if it was built beforehand."
Then he changed slides, to be replaced with two black skid marks on a recently polished floor.
"Christ, those are enormous." Gary's jaw dropped in awe.
"For once, I have to agree with him," Lauren added. "I can't think of any other vehicle that could do that which isn't used by the military."
"Good point," said Lucas. "It didn't take me too long to work out the connection between this and the newspaper."
Lauren unfolded the newspaper and flipped it over to the front two pages, where the headline was written in bold letters.
"Jesus," muttered Gary.
"I know." Lauren added.
They remained quiet for a while before Gary spoke up. "Should it be that surprised the governor wants car insurance to become more expensive for seventeen-year olds?"
Lauren didn't take the question well. "You're meant to be looking at the main article, not the side story."
"Oh, right." Gary gazed over the report briefly, recounting every word in his head. "So what's the connection?"
Lucas gave him a hard stare. "The connection is this. Those skid marks you see on the projection board are a match to those ones in the newspaper."
The picture showed the exact spot where the Lancia Delta Integrale had been before Jagger had retrieved it. Any traces of flammable gasoline or other liquids were gone, with the skid marks left to bide their time.
"I think the BRDM-2, the one owned by the Presence, must have been the vehicle that rammed Grace off the road," continued Lucas. "What other possibility could there be?"
"He's the American equivalent of Sherlock Holmes," muttered Gary. "Always manages to put the jigsaw pieces together without hesitation."
"If he was," remarked Lauren, "you'd be a hopeless Watson."
"And that's not all." Lucas was really getting into his stride. "The stick of deodorant Shane mentioned to me was what caused the explosion. I did some research and found out that apparently, it is possible. If, say, a can was placed on a gas tank, and a match was nearby, about a centimetre away, it would force the aerosol inside the stick to compress. A gas tank would be destroyed in seconds, and since some of the ingredients in deodorant can react with gasoline, the odds wouldn't be in the vehicle's favour, certainly not a Lancia that's over two decades old."
During the time he had been speaking, Lucas walked from one area of the room to another. He deliberately avoided eye contact so his point would be made clear and firm, but when he was finished, he looked at Lauren and Gary with a confident and successful expression, which quickly reverted to irritation.
"Mints, Gary," he said, his voice almost hissing.
Gary stopped working on his savoury snack. Then he spat the yellow mint out, although he didn't see it land on the floor, right beside Lucas' shoe.
"You really act like a child sometimes," Lucas whispered, the hiss in his voice still audible.
No response.
"Don't you have anything to add?"
Gary thought for a moment, his face innocent. "Where do we go from here?"
The delivery was snappy, and his tone was similar to that of an accused person being framed for a crime they hadn't committed.
"I have a question," said Lauren, hoping to get back on track. "How exactly could have someone put that deodorant by the gas tank given its location?"
"Easy," replied Lucas. "I managed to get a copy of a report on the accident. It was sent to Amelia, but she posted several photos to me of what the cops had to say. And I found a note on page three that read, A faint footprint was found near the car, in a position close to where the gas tank was. Size of foot, a seven. The note itself was a last-minute addition, written in pencil, so it's not like Jagger will know of the note if he has a copy.
"But there was a mistake so minor it ended up being a vital piece in this puzzle we have. I came to realise that someone must have been there at the same time as Shane to put the deodorant on top of the gas tank. Jagger must have known Shane was meeting Grace and somehow, he knew that she was going to tell him about the rebellion planned to overthrow him."
"Do you think Jagger put the deodorant there?" asked Gary.
"I don't think so. The shoes that criminal wears are a size ten according to a file made by the FBI. There's not much possibility he squeezed into a pair of trainers three sizes down, and even if he did, then for what reason? It's more likely he got one of his new henchmen to do it for him."
"His new henchmen?" asked Lauren.
The projection board changed slides, showing a black-and-white photo of ten men waiting in a courtroom box. "These people call themselves the Vojska Ujedinjene Braće - or the United Brothers Army in English." Lucas cleared his throat before continuing; his attempts at correctly pronouncing Serbian hadn't gone smoothly. "During the Bosnian war of the early to mid nineties, they were responsible for the deaths of more than a hundred and twenty Muslims of Bosnian descent, in the midst of the Srebrenica massacre. After the war they were arrested, tried and found guilty of multiple acts of genocide, rape, as well as sexual violence, each of them receiving fifteen-year sentences. After getting out on probation a while back, they formed an alliance and have since been involved with ongoing conflicts in Myanmar, Ethiopia, and Syria."
"So they're Bosnian Serbs?" asked Gary.
"I would assume so," said Lucas. "Not much is known about their past before the war started other than two of them are actually brothers. The rest of them have no known living relatives."
"But why has Jagger hired them?"
"Why do you think?" said Lucas. "They're people who kill, kidnap or physically hurt anyone they so please. They don't care about how much pain they cause or what it is they have to do to extract information from someone so long as they get what they want. Information is probably less important to them as causing a person great misery; they bask in doing such a task. Jagger needs people with a personality as vile as his. If he was aware that we were spying on him, he'd leave the job of taking us away to them."
The picture disappeared. "I should point out that whilst these men are considered a threat, we are not the only ones who have them on our radar."
A map of the world had popped up on the slideshow. Many countries were highlighted in red, and alongside there was a table indicating which ones they were.
"Currently they are wanted in sixty-nine countries, including all the member states of the European Union." said Lucas. "That is a bold figure compared with the Presence's one."
"I guess that's because they've been involved in events you see on the news," Lauren added. "I mean, when was the last time you saw a story that featured the Presence?"
"The police chase that occurred last week?" questioned Gary. "That was only the previous Wednesday. I think the BBC covered something on the matter."
"He's got a point," said Lucas, almost apologetically to Lauren. "A Ferrari being used to blow up squad cars? A Shelby dragging a SWAT unit? That sounds like something only Jagger would do."
"All right," admitted Lauren. "But putting that to one side, how many other stories have there been?"
Neither of the boys spoke.
"Exactly. None."
Outside, the sound of birds flapping on the roof filled the silence the conversation was posing. Recently, they had been perching there for no reason, much to the annoyance of Gary. He had tried to make them go away, before his plans had been shut down by Lauren, a keen animal-lover, someone who opposed testing in labs on creatures of any kind.
"So what do we do about Shane?" asked Gary.
Lucas didn't reply at first, even when he was given a look that made him feel stiff and uncomfortable. In the end he said, "We do nothing."
Gary was clearly shocked. "You can't be serious. You're telling us we should do nothing?"
"There's not much choice we have," Lucas protested. "If we tell Shane anything about these men or the truth behind Grace's accident, he'll probably be even more paranoid than he already is. I believe if we let him find out for himself, the situation won't escalate any further."
"But-" Lauren began.
"Lauren, I'm not going to start an argument with you," interrupted Lucas in a much sterner voice. "We cannot risk Shane's life even if it means keeping personal details. If he knows about the United Brothers Army, then it'll potentially cause Jagger to think that he's a fake. That man wouldn't want anyone finding out their true identity, even the racers inside the Presence. Might give off the impression that things are gonna get militaristic. Given the severity of the situation at the moment, we need to keep calm and take the right amount of steps."
"And if he finds out?"
"Then we say to him that we know about them too," said Lucas. "We tell him that Amelia gave us this information."
"That's not a particularly convincing story." Gary muttered to himself.
Lucas pretended not to have heard this remark. "I just don't think we can go kicking down the door until we have the right level of proof. We're not much closer to solving the case of Rob's murder even with these new pieces of information. There's still no hard evidence. It doesn't seem right for us to move in yet." He paused. "I have nothing else to add, really. But if any more messages come through, I'll let you know."
"Is there anything we can do?" asked Lauren.
"Not for the time being," said Lucas. "I need to go through a few more files and send them to Amelia. You guys can just leave this down to me."
"Then that's settled," remarked Gary, turning on his heel and digging back into the pocket where his mints lay. Lauren followed behind. The door to the meeting room swung open, letting the breeze flow through the frames. Gary was about to reach for another mint when he was interrupted by Lucas. "Ahem."
"Yeah?" Gary replied, his voice innocent once more.
Lucas pointed at the mint that Gary had spat out, a tiny ant crawling along the sides, struggling to reach the top.
"Oh, that?" said Gary. "You can have it."
Then he strode away, closing the door behind him.
Lucas buried his face in his hands, and not because of Gary's behaviour. He hadn't told the others about the one thing which could turn the tide of the mission. It had been three or four days since he had last seen Shane in person, and every time he thought about it, maybe it should have been mentioned for both their sakes. Why had he let himself be persuaded to keep this to himself?
He went over to the projection board and switched it off. As the power shut down, Lucas thought about whether to tell Gary and Lauren about this one secret only himself and Amelia knew. But was it really a secret? Or in this case, had it become a lie?
I have nothing else to add, really.
That alone was false. But should it have been brought up? The one piece of information that could result in another shake-up for Shane's mission? On first thoughts, probably not. Lucas had been adamant that nothing he had said just now was to be passed on to Shane. Whilst it was another step closer to unveiling the truth behind Rob's murder, these facts were likely to make him overreact. If he knew that Jagger had hired ten men to keep a high-profile criminal safe, all of whom were involved in the worst genocide on European soil since the days of the Holocaust, then Shane would find the walls closing in on him. And even if he was told about the one piece of information Lucas had on his deck, there would be no chance that card would be dealt. The mission had been going on for too long now to consider pulling him out so suddenly.
Yet at the same time Lucas knew it should have been said. Not telling his friends was wrong, since they had stuck with him for as long as ESTORICA had existed. If they were aware that he was hiding a crucial piece of the puzzle when in reality, it was for the better of this mission, it would make him no better than Jagger was. Locking the truth away where nobody would look for it. A leader would never do such a thing even when desperate.
After several minutes of thinking this over, Lucas left the room, dialling a number on his phone. He would tell Amelia about the henchmen and how Grace had died, with the latter being more relevant. After that, he would tell the others about the one piece of information he had kept to himself. And then later, he would text Shane telling him to call as soon as he got the opportunity.
If there was no reply within twelve hours, then action would need to be taken.

At the other end of the garage, Lauren had started cleaning the windows of her Nissan 370Z. Grime and dirt were reflecting off the light from a window in the far corner, highlighting the worst-hit areas. Not far away, Gary had settled back into his chair and was continuing to read his magazine.
"I had a thought this morning," he said after a while.
"Did you now?" asked Lauren, in a voice that seemed to say, save your ideas for someone who actually gives a damn about them.
"It was only a brief one," Gary continued, "but I thought to myself, we know where Jagger's hiding out, right? So, why don't we call the cops and let them raid the area?"
Lauren put down her spotted cloth. "I don't think that's gonna work. There's probably some people there who pose no threat to our country's security. Besides, Jagger's probably got contacts closer to here who could alert him of any suspected raids. As soon as he gets word, he'll make some kind of great escape and take the others with him."
"That's why I said it was brief," said Gary, turning his attention away from the magazine and facing Lauren. "I knew that wouldn't be a good option."
Silence again. 
"Though, to be honest, I don't think Shane's gonna run into any issues," Gary added.
"What do you mean?" asked Lauren, in a concerned voice. By now she had moved on to the rear lights and trunk.
"Look at it this way. Shane's a pretty responsible guy for his age. If I know him, he'll be treading carefully throughout the mission, avoiding any unnecessary footsteps. And even if he has got himself in deeper water, I think he'll be able to manage it."
"Your point being?"
Gary slammed his magazine down and sat up in his chair. "My point is, what could possibly cause Shane to blow his cover?"