Crash Alive (The Haylie Black Series Book 1)

by Christopher Kerns

  “Okay.” She put down her phone and faced Vector. “Years ago when cities wanted to track traffic patterns, they installed big magnetic loops underneath intersections. The loops would count the passing cars and it worked fine as a simple counter. But the problem was that it couldn’t track where those cars were actually going; it had no idea which intersection the car would head to next. These days most cities in the US, and over here, have switched over to roadside Bluetooth scanners to track traffic patterns.”

  Vector rubbed his chin. “So, any Bluetooth device that’s part of a vehicle is being tracked by the government?”

  “No,” Haylie continued. “Any device that’s in a car gets tracked. Mostly phones. Each time a car passes one of these scanners, which are all over the place, the unique ID of that phone is recorded so that the city knows the traffic patterns for individual vehicles. It’s a much better system for tracking congestion and traffic than the old magnetic loops, but it has obvious privacy concerns.”

  Vector chuckled, gesturing up to the CCTV camera angled down at their very conversation. “Privacy is something we’ve kind of given up on over here.”

  “The stingray gave us the Bluetooth MAC address for a phone,” Haylie said. “That’s the unique ID we need. We just need to throw that ID into the Department of Transport’s database and do a lookup for its last known location.”

  Vector stared back at Haylie. “Bloody hell, that’s going to work. I’m totally going to get sacked for this, but it’s worth it.”

  With a few keystrokes, Haylie sent the phone’s information over to Vector. He flipped open his MacBook and logged into the DOT’s system with his credentials. He made his way to the list of available databases and connected his local MySQL database tool. With one or two queries, he now had a list of recent locations for the phone’s Bluetooth ID. Sorting by date, he scrolled to the top to find the most recent.

  “Give me those credentials,” Haylie said. “I’m going to create a quick web service to pull fresh data down to my phone every few minutes.”

  “Why do you need to do that?” Vector asked.

  “Because we’re going after them,” Haylie said. “Right now. And laptops don’t do so well on motorcycles.”

  Vector checked the results and plugged the latitude and longitude into Google Maps. “Good lord,” he said, “this phone was ten blocks away … just three minutes ago.”

  “Let’s go.”

  > > > > >

  As the floating parade of boats made their way down the Thames, their choppy wakes broke the clear reflection of yellow light glistening off the water. The busy shoreline smeared into a mirror of gray and white, mixed and spackled together like a watercolor, all flowing in tandem down the waterway.

  The Mercedes sped safely across the Waterloo Bridge, high above the cold waters below. The brothers sat comfortably in the back seat, each staring out his own window, planning their new empire.

  “We need to execute this flawlessly,” Benjamin said, running his fingers across the wooden accents on the car’s door. “I want Crowne to understand that he made the right call.”

  “At this point, success is going to depend a lot on the team already assembled on the ground,” Walter said. “We’ll need to make sure we contain this guy—Santos—who’s been leading the charge up until now. We can’t have a coup on our hands.”

  Nodding, Benjamin turned to Walter, eyeing Martin in the front passenger seat. He lowered his voice. “Stability is key in the short term. But then we need to start testing some radical moves. Push forward. Bring in as many tech and strategy guys as we can find; we need plans that will get Crowne’s attention. I want South America to be the brilliant gem that is admired by the rest of the globe. A model of success.”

  “Calm down for a second,” Walter whispered back. “Think about where we are. We’ve made it. We’re part of the leadership team for The Project. This was our goal. I think we should just enjoy it, while keeping the peace, of course. We don’t need to start strutting now; we don’t need to keep proving ourselves.”

  “There’s always something else to push for, Walter. Always. Today, we’re in charge of a continent, but we’re still taking orders from someone. If we can grow South America faster than the other territories, we’ll be calling more shots for the entire globe.” Benjamin watched the passing lights in the night. “There’s always another rung on the ladder.”

  As the Mercedes glided through backstreets, the driver took a quick left down a deserted city road. Walter rolled the window down to see rows of mixed dark and light gray garage doors, blue dumpsters, closed storefronts locked for the evening. The car rolled slowly, swerving around parked trucks and stray trash bins.

  “This isn’t the way to the airport,” Walter said, loud enough for Martin to hear.

  The brothers saw Martin shuffle in the passenger seat as Walter leaned forward to make his voice clearer. “Martin,” he said, “where are we going?”

  The interior lights clicked on, causing both brothers to shield their eyes from the sudden rush of white. As their vision adjusted, they saw what greeted them in the front seat: the barrel of a pistol pointed in their direction.

  “We’re going to make a pit stop,” Martin said, turning to face them, a twisted smile creeping across his face. “We have a few things to take care of before the two of you decide to show the world how smart you are.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Covent Garden - London

  March 11th, 10:04PM

  “Left turn coming up!” Haylie yelled into Vector’s ear as they sped across the London night.

  The motorcycle twisted through the narrow streets, slowing slightly at crossroads and roundabouts, heading southeast. Haylie hung off the back edge of the leather seat, her left arm wrapped around Vector’s waist. She pressed her thumb on the ‘refresh’ button at the center of a makeshift web page, pinging the Department of Transport’s database for the third time in the last few minutes. She whispered under her breath, hoping for a new result, but no new location appeared.

  “Any new data?” Vector yelled over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “Nothing yet. Based on the last two data points, they are headed south across the Waterloo Bridge,” she yelled back, hitting the button again. “By the time we get there, we should have something new. Just keep going.”

  A taxi darted out in front of them, causing Vector to slam on his brakes. Haylie threw her other arm around his waist, throwing her full weight onto the center of the seat; her eyes flicked down, checking to make sure she still had a grip on her phone.

  “We need to get moving,” she yelled past heavy gasps of air. “C’mon, drive this thing.”

  Haylie was pulled backwards as the motorcycle accelerated, veering sharply around the taxi and flying down Wellington Street. They wove through a sea of cyclists, late-night theater crowds, and taxis as Haylie saw a dead end over Vector’s shoulder. Fifty feet of sidewalk, framed by a cafe and bright red telephone booth, stood between them and the other side of the road. Across the sea of traffic, Haylie could see what looked like the on-ramp to a bridge in the distance.

  “Hold on,” Vector yelled. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

  They swerved between the black iron poles which stood at attention like pawns on a chessboard, lining the sidewalk’s edge. They skipped across the walkway and blindly shot straight through four lanes of traffic. With vehicles on every side, only missing bumpers and tires by inches, they flew past a mishmash of squealing brakes, honking horns, and shouting drivers. Gunning the motorcycle up the left side of the on-ramp, the cool breeze flowing off the river sent a shiver down Haylie’s spine as she pulled her phone to her side to check for new data.

  “Waterloo Bridge, just like you ordered,” Vector yelled as they rode above the Thames.

  Refreshing the web page with a quick flick of her thumb, Haylie squinted her eyes against the rushing air. She scanned the data, checking the embedded Google Map fo
r new coordinates, and pulled the screen closer.

  “Okay, new contact point,” she yelled into Vector’s ear. “The corner of Cornwell and Brad. It’s on the other side of the river. They’re making their way into the side streets.”

  “I don’t know where that is. You’re going to have to get me there,” Vector yelled back.

  “I got it,” Haylie said, “but step on it. This contact point is just thirty seconds old. We can still catch up.”

  Haylie held on, tightening her grip around the seat with her knees, as Vector sped across the bridge, swinging left at a traffic circle and sailing around the building at the center, its dark glass window panes reflecting shards of light like a giant kaleidoscope in the London night. They cruised down Stamford Street as Haylie instructed Vector to take the next right. Pulling onto a one-lane side road, Vector slowed the bike.

  “It’s coming up on the left,” Haylie said.

  “Do you have any sort of plan for what we’re going to do once we find them?” he asked, pausing at a T-intersection with a slow roll.

  “We’ll follow them,” Haylie said, checking the phone again. “If we can stay out of sight, they should lead us right back to their headquarters.”

  They cruised down the quiet road as they approached a giant brick bridge blocking their way. Haylie saw a road sign affixed onto the corner reading ‘Brad Street.’

  “Okay, we’re here,” Haylie said. “Let’s check for a car that would belong to our guys. Something nice, I’d guess.”

  Turning past a bakery perched on the corner, Haylie peered over Vector’s shoulder as he rolled along at a low throaty idle. She focused her eyes down the long, deserted street. There isn’t anyone here. Checking back down to the coordinates on her phone, she looked for any other signage or markers.

  This should be the right place.

  Gliding slowly across an intersection, they approached a white van parked on the right-hand side of the road. “Keep going, this doesn’t look right,” Haylie said. As they cruised past one last crossroad, Haylie could see a dead end two blocks down.

  “I don’t see anything. Maybe they’re still moving?” Vector said.

  “I don’t know—there aren’t as many Bluetooth sensors on the side roads,” Haylie said. “They have to be back here somewhere.”

  Haylie looked down yet another side street as the rumble of a train rolled above them, the click-click-click of wheels sending thumps deep into the asphalt. She paused to watch the passing boxcars as her eyes slowly trailed down to the tunnel below. Nestled under the bridge was a Mercedes, the tail lights glowing red in the black night.

  “Stop!” she whispered, grabbing Vector’s head and tilting it to the right. He hit the brakes, killing the ignition and extinguishing the bike’s headlight. Vector and Haylie watched the car for a few moments without saying a word.

  He turned over his shoulder. “So now what?”

  “We wait. I don’t think they’ve spotted us,” she whispered. “We’ll sit here, nice and quiet, until they make a–”

  Haylie was interrupted by the loud screech of squealing tires as the Mercedes took off in a straight line, disappearing into the night. After catching his breath, Vector rotated the motorcycle’s ignition key.

  “Okay. Time for plan B,” Haylie shouted, holding on to Vector and flipping out her phone.

  “What did you say?” Vector yelled as he accelerated, gaining on the Mercedes. Both vehicles passed under the bridge and down the narrow street. “Crash, what the hell is plan B?”

  Racing past apartment buildings and into a short sprint down a one-lane alley, Vector squinted to see a T-shaped intersection ahead. The car fishtailed to the left, sliding across the slick pavement and nearly onto the opposite sidewalk, the assembled pub crowd frantically scattering out of its path. Gaining ground on the Mercedes, Vector cut the corner to the left, bumped across the curb, and followed in close pursuit.

  While hanging on to Vector for dear life with her left hand, Haylie cycled through phone apps with her right, finding one with choppy graphic borders and a series of buttons each displaying a different alphanumeric code.

  “Have you heard of Harlon and Mathers, those two hackers from Michigan?” Haylie yelled as they sped behind the car. “I’ve got an experimental version of their car hacking project. We’re going to try it out.”

  “Experimental?” Vector yelled back. “What do you mean, experimental?”

  “They’ve used it on a few different systems, but the commands aren’t fully documented.” Haylie flew through the list of auto makers. “Each car’s wireless system is unique; different suppliers and manufacturers. We’ll have to just do some trial and error here.”

  “Well you better start trying stuff; these guys aren’t slowing down,” Vector yelled back.

  “Mercedes uses a cellular connection for its navigation system,” Haylie yelled as her eyes flicked up from her screen. The car accelerated past a construction zone as Vector stayed in its wake. “Stay close; if I find the right combination, I should be able to shut down the engine.”

  “I’m trying!” Vector said, speeding across an intersection and back into another tunnel.

  “Closer!” Haylie shouted. They flew past a graffiti-covered wall, feeling the motorcycle climb in altitude as they approached a bridge on-ramp, this one heading back across the Thames. The air grew thick with moisture as the motorcycle’s engine buzzed near capacity. Vector increased their speed, almost ramming the car’s rear bumper with his front tire.

  Haylie tapped the app’s connect button a few extra times for good measure. The app’s connection progress bar circled and spun, finally pinging Haylie with a mechanical ding and a slight vibration to the device.

  “I’m connected,” she yelled into Vector’s ear. “Stay with them and I’ll try to kill the engine.” Looking down at the app’s wireframe-like interface, she saw a mix of nonsensical buttons, all marked with different test labels. What the hell, let’s just start trying some. With a shrug, she selected the top right button marked ‘4FR56X8’ and pressed down. As she fixed her eyes on the Mercedes, she waited for something dramatic to happen.

  Nothing did.

  “Are you trying it?” Vector yelled back. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Just stay close,” Haylie shouted, looking through the list of remaining codes. “There’s a lot of commands to work through.” This stupid thing isn’t working. She hovered her thumb over the next button, moving clockwise, and pressed.

  Still nothing.

  > > > > >

  The brothers ducked down, their hands flying over their ears, as the car’s radio blared at maximum volume.

  “What are you doing, idiot?” Martin yelled at the driver. “Turn it off!”

  “I didn’t do anything, sir,” the driver yelled back as he clicked the radio off. “It just came on by itself.”

  “Just like the windshield wipers just turned themselves on, too?” Martin yelled back. “Just drive the damn car!”

  Walter turned to check the motorcycle, its headlight still weaving left and right about twenty feet behind. He swiveled back towards Martin, who was now frantically alternating his view between the front and rear windows, switching every few seconds, his pistol still aimed at the back seat. Walter could have sworn he saw Martin’s hand trembling, but it was hard to tell with all the violent movement in the car.

  “Lose them!” Martin yelled, spit flying from his mouth. “This wasn’t part of the plan!”

  > > > > >

  “Are you sure you’re using that thing the right way?” Vector yelled into the wind. They came down off of Blackfriars Bridge to the base of a traffic circle, hanging a tight corner around the left bank. Leaning into the curve, Vector stayed close on the Mercedes’ tail.

  “Shut up and keep your eyes on the car,” she replied. There are too many damn choices on this thing. Scrolling to the last page of buttons, Haylie saw a screen with only two remaining. She exhaled and pressed the top le
ft button.

  A loud shriek filled the air as the tail of the Mercedes began to drift right, the front of the car sliding left. The car skid into a violent spin as Vector hit the motorcycle’s brakes as hard as he could.

  “That was the parking brake!” Vector yelled, yanking at the handlebars and steering just out of the car’s path. He veered the motorcycle to the right, fishtailing slightly across the wet pavement and sliding the back tire towards a light pole standing in the center median. Haylie shifted to her left to try and regain her balance as the bike continued to drift out of control, but it was too late.

  Damnit, this is going to hurt.

  She pulled back her outstretched right hand as she fell backwards off the cycle. She landed on the pavement with a skidding thud, her phone and glasses flying off in two separate directions. She felt a rush of pain across her entire right side.

  Stunned and dazed from the fall, she pushed herself up onto her elbow, the grit of the asphalt digging into her flesh. She rubbed the back of her aching head, checking for any blood, but finding none.

  Looking back up and down the street, she saw that Vector had managed to maneuver the motorcycle to a full stop without crashing, but the momentum had pushed him halfway down the city block. She searched across the pavement to see her phone lying fifteen feet away, screen cracked with a spider web of glass, still glowing blue.

  Just then, Haylie heard the roar of an engine. The Mercedes, now spun around and facing back in the direction of the river, had her directly in its path. The headlamps illuminated her fallen frame, casting long shadows down the black pavement.

  Oh no.

  The car spun its wheels, screeching down the road, aimed right at her. Haylie crawled on her hands and knees, pulling herself towards her phone, scraping her palms with glass and gravel as she made her way, arm over arm, trying to reach the light of the screen. She heard the humming of pistons as the driver shifted gears and accelerated at her. She could feel a rush of wind approaching as she continued to push forward.