THE THOUSAND DOLLAR RACE: A Colt Ryder Thriller by J.T. Brannan

Author:J.T. Brannan [Brannan, J.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grey Arrow Publishing
Published: 2022-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

As Mendes piloted the car expertly through the city streets at dizzying speeds – first a right past the Google building on Valley Street, then a left on Terry Avenue that seemed to be upon us within the blink of an eye – I felt like I was at mission control at NASA, nearly overwhelmed by the data I had to process as the car rocketed through downtown Seattle.

I was alternately checking the various apps and police scanners, looking to see where the units were deployed, and looking up to get eyes-on the actual environment, in case there was something there that the instruments had missed.

The traffic was light, and Mendes took it around the occasional vehicle that was in our way, pushing hard even at this early stage. He wanted to be out of Seattle as fast as possible, before the authorities realized what was going on, and began to close off the city with roadblocks.

Before long, we were flying along Mercer Street, before taking a wide curve on the slip road that led to I-5, headed south.

We overtook the Aston DB4 as we rounded the curve, blasting past it at over a hundred and twenty.

“One down,” Mendes said with a grin, clearly enjoying himself.

We merged onto the highway, and after checking all of the monitors, and with one last physical check, I gave Mendes the all-clear. “We’re good to go,” I said. “Nothing on the radar. Punch it.”

“Yes, sir,” Mendes said, the grin still on his face, and he buried his foot into the throttle, causing the car to surge forward with an unbelievable accelerative force, even though we were already doing well over a hundred.

I had a lot of things to check, but I glanced over at the speedometer, saw with some amazement – and a little fear – that we were already doing one-seventy. What added to my amazement was that the car obviously still had a lot to give. One-seventy in this thing, being driven by a guy like Mendes, was like doing a hundred in an average car. Fast, but controlled. I just hoped I’d be able to hold my own, when it was my turn to get behind the wheel.

We were approaching the turn-off for King County International Airport, and one of the apps bleeped to let me know that a police unit had been spotted three miles up ahead. I double checked the police band, verified that a car was in the area.

“Start slowing down in about a mile,” I told Mendes, “then keep it steady until we get past the airport. Police unit up ahead.”

“Got it,” he said, and a mile later – which seemed to pass in no time at all – he began easing up on the gas, bringing us down to the posted limit nice and smoothly. We carried on along the highway, using the opportunity as we drove along at what seemed to be a ridiculously slow pace to take a sip of the nutrition drinks that had been prepared for us.

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