Lies, Spies, and Apple Pies - Part 2

John raced after Laz. Even though Laz was driving a van, he was weaving in and out like he was insane. His van veered on and off the road to escape, leaving a trail of chaos in its wake.

The wind and debris kicked back at John so fast. At this speed, if he blinked, he could hit something, at the same time, it felt like he was about to be hit in the eye. Then, a screen popped up in front of him.

<<<>>>

[Loading… Now accessing F.O.C.U.S: Field Operative Cybernetic Uplink System. Now live. User Identification: John Nero.]

[Classification: Spy]

<<<>>>

Can’t you see I'm in the middle of something? John thought as he swerved in and out of traffic.

<<<>>>

[Mission: Acquire codes, destroy the satellite, take down Agent Hawk aka Laz and prevent the CIA from getting their hands on a doomsday weapon.]

[Reward: Increase in Data XP, Possible Skill acquisition option: Cycler]

[WARNING: Success in this mission will probably result in termination from the CIA and possible jail time]

[Do you accept?]

<<<>>>

The screen popped up with a “Yes” or “No”.

What kind of f’d up mission is this? Do you know I'm gonna get fired?

<<<>>>

[There is a 95.999% chance of immediate termination]

[This is due to insubordination, recklessness, manipulation of the FOCUS tracking system (which is government property) and impeding a government mission for your own needs could be seen as traitor-ish activity.]

[Acquisition of codes can also be seen as possession of a “weapon of mass destruction” and classify you as a domestic terrorist or regular terrorist depending on location]

<<<>>>

Laz sped in front of a car and slammed on the brakes. The car slammed on its brakes as well, and John weaved just in time to miss the car, but his arm slammed into the side mirror, destroying it.

Oh great! You know you’re the best at giving out good news! If all these bad things are going to happen to me, why are you encouraging me to do it? Aren’t you government property?

<<<>>>

[I have calculated that your hypothesis of misuse of the weapon has a 97% chance of occurring.]

[I do not think mass destruction with this weapon will pan out positively for you because of your relationship with it. You could get blamed for its use and be decommissioned.]

[“Thrown under the bus” as they say.]

[This would result in a loss of FOCUS.]

<<<>>>

So?

<<<>>>

[With the destruction of the satellite, there will be no logical reason for decommissioning and will result in harsh reprimands instead.]

[This is based on their approval of our actions to stop Peter.]

[I do not wish to leave.]

[Without you, I am offline.]

<<<>>>

John was shocked by its honesty. The system not only confirmed his suspicions but was now telling him to do what it believed was the right thing. He also felt like it was begging for its life. Was the FOCUS just trying to preserve its own life by being bonded to a host, or was it genuinely concerned for his safety?

<<<>>>

[I can hear your thoughts.]

[I am concerned.]

[You and I are one.]

<<<>>>

John forgot it could read his mind. He turned to Mango, who was still clinging behind him. “Hey! Is your FOCUS giving you a mission?” he yelled.

“What?” asked Mango. “Why would it do that now? It popped up back at the safe house before we left!”

That’s right, thought John. Mango just wants to clear her name from the list, and that’s when she thought about it. She doesn’t care about the codes. Her missions would be tailored to her and what she wants or needs to accomplish. I’m still figuring out how to use this thing, but that could also mean that killing me is part of her mission again. However, the priority seems to be clearing her name, or she would’ve killed me already. That means I can still trust her for now.

John gave a sigh of relief. The screen flashed again.

<<<>>>

[Do you accept?]

<<<>>>

The screen popped up with a “Yes” or “No”.

Let’s do it!

<<<>>>

[Mission: Start!]

<<<>>>

A timer started on the screen from zero.

John floored the motorcycle as hard as he could. Laz was flipping the van in and out of traffic, but there were only three lanes. John figured the pattern would be predictable. There’s only 3 lanes: left, right, or middle, and if he caught up, it wouldn’t matter. He banked hard to the right, into the bicycle lane, and sped up.

Laz had been stuck on the right side for a few minutes now, and the other two lanes were too clogged with traffic. John weaved in and out of people riding their bikes, who cursed at him as he sped past.

A few even threw things at him.

A piece of bread smacked Mango in the back of the head. She turned around, scowling, and flipped the person off.

“What’s wrong with these people?” Mango shouted.

“They’re Italian,” John said. “They don’t like people disturbing the peace.”

Laz looked in his side mirror and saw John quickly approaching. He veered the van up onto the sidewalk and smashed through a fruit cart, sending oranges, melons, and other fruit flying into the air.

John had to veer around the debris, which forced him deeper onto the sidewalk. Fruit flew toward his face, and he ducked, swatting a few melons out of the way with one hand.

Now they were deep in pedestrian traffic. People screamed and jumped out of the way as the motorcycle barreled through. John dodged a man carrying a tower of boxed wine, then a woman walking a small dog.

Then he saw that he was barreling toward a mother with a stroller, blocking the entire sidewalk.

“MOVE!” John shouted, but she didn’t hear in time.

She looked up just as they were almost on top of her. John veered hard to the right, nearly clipping a bench, and was forced down into an alley.

“Oh, great,” Mango said. “Now we’re gonna lose him.”

“No, we’re not,” John said. “Take out a map of the area.”

“What?” Mango asked, confused.

John spun the motorcycle down another alley and into a tight marketplace. Vendors screamed and dove out of the way as the bike tore through narrow lanes between knickknacks and pottery booths. A stack of ceramic bowls toppled and shattered behind them.

“Sorry!” John called out. “Mango, take out your phone now!”

Mango pulled it out and searched for a map.

“We're still in Parco dei Castelli Romani, just outside Rome,” she said, showing him the screen.

“Hold it up,” John said.

She held the phone in front of his face. “Focus, activate skill: Analyze.”

<<<>>>

[Activating skill: Analyze.]

[Analyzing map...]

[Map area now analyzed.]

<<<>>>

“Use Laz’s last known route. Estimate his path into central Rome,” John said.

<<<>>>

[Route calculated.]

[Projected path to central Rome displayed.]

<<<>>>

“Show the interception from our location.”

<<<>>>

[Analyzing optimal interception…]

[Route now found. Turn right in 1 meter.]

<<<>>>

“Hang on!” John yelled.

He turned sharply, heading down a stone ramp and straight into a flight of stairs.

Mango screamed, “You really need to learn how to drive!”

“You’re welcome to drive!” John shouted.

They bumped down the stairs and careened into a garden. Gardeners screamed and scattered. One dropped a pot of flowers that shattered on the front of the motorcycle, spraying dirt and petals in John’s face. The dirt got in his eyes and mouth and blurred his vision.

“Ugh,” John grunted, spitting dirt from his mouth. “Fertilizer!”

Mango rolled her eyes, grabbed a loose piece of her sleeve, and wiped his face with a quick but firm stroke. “Hold still, drama queen.”

<<<>>>

[Left in 2 meters]

<<<>>>

He turned hard and accelerated.

In the distance, the van could be seen pushing through an intersection, horns blaring around it.

John shook his head, vision returning just in time to see the stone edge of the garden rapidly approaching. “Wait, you stupid FOCUS! This is off a–”

The motorcycle launched off the edge of the garden like a rocket, sailing into the air. John clutched the handlebars while Mango gripped his waist tighter, her knees pressed into his sides for stability. They slammed back down onto the street, wheels screeching dust before catching traction. Mango's knees then jabbed into his sides, and he grunted in agony.

<<<>>>

[Approaching Laz]

[Interception: 2 minutes]

<<<>>>

They raced down the narrow street. Up ahead, a police car was waiting in a speed trap. As soon as he passed the vehicle, a cop threw on his lights and went after him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” John said as a police cruiser pulled out and gave chase.

He jerked the bike hard right and merged onto the highway, tires barely staying on the pavement. He had to keep up with Laz, or else this was all for nothing. The police would understand…probably.

Up ahead in the left lane, a white van swerved between cars.

Laz.

“There!” John shouted. He leaned into a tight lane split, gunned the throttle, and pulled up beside the van. He banged his fist on the metal side.

“Laz! Pull over! Now!” he yelled over the wind.

The van jolted sideways as Laz swerved into them, bumping their bike with a screech of metal and rubber. Mango used her foot to push them away from the van. John adjusted the handlebars, stabilizing the bike before it could fishtail.

“Fermo! Fermo!” shouted the Italian officer over a bullhorn from behind.

“Uh, John?” Mango called nervously from behind him.

“What?” John snapped.

He turned and spotted a convoy of flashing lights. There were dozens of police cars and motorcycles trailing them.

“Get ready,” John said.

Then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. The police, who were gaining rapidly, suddenly peeled away, all at once exiting the highway. Sirens fading as they all turned them off and slowed down.

Mango’s face curled in confusion. “Why did they do that?”

“What’s happening?” John, eyes locked ahead.

“I dunno,” she said, scanning the road. “They just vanished.”

“What do you mean they… aw, fuck.”

John knew better. They hadn’t vanished. In their place now came something much worse. He could hear them from afar and coming closer. A fleet of motorcycles with their riders in black tactical gear and reflective visors, weaving through traffic with precision.

John’s grip tightened. “Let me try to talk to them!”

Laz peeked out his driver’s window, spotted the riders, and cackled. He veered off the main road and shot up an exit ramp.

John followed but slowed to let the cycles catch up to him. The other motorcycles swerved hard, skimming the edge of the ramp’s curb. One of the black-helmeted men pulled up beside them. He turned his head and lifted his visor.

“CIA,” he shouted. “Pull over now, John!”

John must’ve seemed like an insane person to him. Dirt caked his face, and the air stank of exhaust and sweat. Nevertheless, John had to convince him to keep going. “I am CIA!” he yelled. “You don’t understand what’s going on!”

“I don’t care,” the man barked. “Do it now!”

John had a feeling he wasn’t going to ask again. The rest of his squad caught up with them.

“I don’t want to be that guy, man. You know I’m not going to do that.”

“I would strongly suggest you do, sir. These orders are coming from the top. You have to stop pursuing Agent Hawk immediately and back off.”

“If I do that, a lot of innocent people will die. I can’t let that happen! I’m doing my job!”

The agent drew a pistol and pointed it at them.

“Sorry, sir,” he said. “So am I.”

Without a second thought, Mango reached into her jacket, pulled a knife, and flung it. The blade flew cleanly through the air, slicing through the hole in the visor and into the agent’s eye. He screamed, lost control, and his bike veered sharply left, crashing into a building.

John was stunned! “What the hell are you doing?!”

“You wanna get out of this or not?” Mango asked.

“Dammit! Why can’t it ever get done the easy way?”

John cursed and popped a wheelie to dodge broken glass. The remaining riders opened fire, bullets zipping past them. Civilians screamed and ducked as cars swerved and braked all around. Some cars started to slow as bullets hit their vehicles.

One bullet hit a car’s tire ahead, blowing it out. The car spun sideways, blocking their path.

“Hang on!” John yelled.

He yanked the handlebars and swerved left, wheels hitting the sidewalk again. People jumped out of the way, knocking over tables, chairs, even a stand selling knock-off leather bags. A bag exploded across his chest with random items, straps tangling his handlebars.

He ripped it free just in time to dodge a lamppost.

Behind them, the tactical riders were still closing in. There were three, maybe four left.

John gunned the engine harder.

The concrete was uneven, peppered with cracks and trash bins. For a second, the bike tilted on a raised curb and then launched into the air, back towards the street. He hit the side of someone’s car hard, busting out their driver's side window. On sheer instinct, John landed with wobbly control. A knife slipped from Mango’s hand and clattered onto the street.

“Be careful,” she yelled. “I don’t have an unlimited amount of these, you know.”

“It’s not like I’m driving for our lives or anything,” John said.

Mango put away her knife and pulled a pistol from under her dress and returned fire. Her bullets forced the bikers to spread out, breaking their formation.

One rider crept up on the passenger side. He raised his Glock, and Mango caught his wrist mid-motion, shoved his arm upward, forcing him to fire into the air. Sparks and debris rained from the buildings and fire escapes.

She slammed a knife into his elbow, slicing the tendon. He screamed, and she yanked the blade free. Then he tried to stab her, but she pushed on John’s back and leaned to avoid it. Then, she jammed one of her own between the front spokes of his bike.

The front wheel locked, and the biker was launched over his handlebars like a rag doll, slamming into the back window of a parked car.

Another agent swerved up from the rear. Mango hurled a knife. The biker ducked under it. However, in dodging, he over-corrected and slammed directly into a lamppost.

Two more still chased close behind.

“We can’t do this forever,” Mango said.

Up ahead, a narrow catwalk clung to the side of an old warehouse.

“Hang on,” said John as he yanked the motorcycle left, cutting through a rusted gate into a back alley. The bikers shot past it, skidded to a stop, then reversed and followed.

“FOCUS!” John yelled. “Get me onto that catwalk!”

<<<>>>

[Analyzing path…]

[Calculated route found: stairwell on right, entry through residential structure required.]

<<<>>>

He gunned the accelerator, careening toward a narrow stairwell and launching the cycle up the steps. He didn’t even hesitate.

CRASH!

John’s cycle exploded through the front door of an apartment. A mother screamed, clutching her child on the couch. The kid spilt the bowl of cereal he was eating on himself.

“Sorry!” John yelled, steering through their living room and narrowly avoiding their TV and a stack of toys.

He smashed through the glass balcony door, wood and glass spraying in every direction.

The first biker following slammed into the coffee table, flipping forward and smashing into the wall. His bike stopped half-through it, leaving a giant hole.

The second biker tried to brake and slide onto the catwalk, but the old metal railing snapped under the force. He tumbled, crashing two stories down into a trash dumpster.

John barreled onto the catwalk, clotheslines whipping across his face. Shirts, boxers, and bras slapped him relentlessly. Even one being some red lingerie.

Mango ripped them off one by one, muttering, “Seriously, who air-dries lingerie like this?”

“You ready?” John asked.

“What?” Mango asked.

“Take the handlebars!”

“Excuse me?!”

“We’re directly above Laz! I need you to steer this thing!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Something extremely stupid.” John said nervously.

Mango shifted, reaching forward to grab the handlebars from behind him. John stood up slightly on the bike, his knees braced against the seat, eyes focused forward.

“Keep it steady,” he said.

“I'm trying!” Mango snapped. She strained to keep the bike steady.

John stood, the wind whipping around him. He closed his eyes and took a breath that barely did anything to slow his pulse.

“This is really, really stupid,” he muttered to himself. He stretched a hand back behind him. “Gimme one of your knives.”

Mango reached down and handed him a curved archery knife.

John tightened his abs, sucked in another breath, and leapt off the catwalk.

For ten seconds, he was nothing but momentum. Airborne. Arms out. No guarantees that his speed would keep up.

WHAM!

His body crashed onto the top of Laz’s van. His ribs rattled, pain lancing through his torso. Two of his ribs had just snapped like twigs. He could feel the pain reverberate through his body. The impact nearly knocked the breath out of him, but he didn’t stop moving. His adrenaline kept him responsive.

He slammed the knife into the metal roof, dragging it like a hook to slow himself. Sparks flew as the blade carved a long gash down the center of the van. His body skidded backward, but the blade caught just in time, stopping him from tumbling off.

<<<>>>

[Warning: You’ve broken two of your ribs]

[One of your wrists is sprained]

<<<>>>

Clinging to the knife embedded in the roof, John panted, chest heaving. The edge of the van’s rear roof now loomed behind him. He released the knife, scooted to the side, and began inching his way toward the passenger window, the ground rushing past in a blur.

Inside the van, Laz glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the motorcycle. Mango was riding it alone. He chuckled. “One down. One to go.”

He didn’t see John sliding toward the side of the vehicle.

John reached the window, grabbed the roof frame, and launched himself through the open passenger side with a grunt. He kicked into the van feet first.

He struck Laz’s arm with brutal force. Laz shouted instinctively, yanking the wheel hard.

The van fishtailed. Tires screamed. Then it flipped.

Mango held her breath as it became airborne. The van tumbled again and again until it slammed through the brick wall of a bakery with a thunderous crash.

Cakes, cream pies, and display trays exploded outward. Powdered sugar filled the air like smoke. Apple pie filling streaked the walls. The bakery sign snapped in half, dangling above the wreckage.

Mango skidded the motorcycle to a stop as she watched the van plow halfway into the building.

“John!” she called, eyes wide.

She looked around for a descent point and spotted a nearby fire escape. She gunned the bike forward, leapt off as it tipped, and let it crash to the sidewalk behind her.

She sprinted across the asphalt to the smoking remains of the van. It was embedded in the storefront, nose down, rear wheels in the air still spinning.

“John!” she yelled again, running to the driver’s side.

Inside, John was coughing. He was alive but clearly dazed, covered in pie crust, glass, and frosting.

Mango yanked the door open and peered in. “Where are the codes? Where’s Laz?”

John shook his head, rubbing his eyes. He looked around. No sign of Laz.

“Damn it,” he said, blood trickling from a cut above his eyebrow. “He must’ve slipped away when I blacked out for a sec.”

Before Mango could respond, something struck her on the shoulder. She turned to see a short Italian woman in a housecoat wailing on her with the bristled end of a broom, shouting at full volume in a flurry of angry Italian.

“OW! Hey! Cut it out!” Mango shouted, ducking as the broom came down again. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The woman continued screaming, jabbing the broom at Mango’s ribs like she was swatting a rat.

“She’s telling us to leave,” John said, dragging himself partially out of the crushed van and wiping blood from his brow with the back of his hand. “But we’ve got bigger problems than a few smashed cakes and some collateral damage.”

He ran out of the building and looked around, scanning the rooftops and alleyways. His fingers curled into fists. “Laz won this round….”

<<<>>>

[Mission: FAILED]

[Acquiring Skill Cycler: FAIL]

[Data XP processing]

[I do have good news]

<<<>>>

Really? thought John.

<<<>>>

[Yes. You will probably not be terminated for preventing the CIA from acquiring the codes because you did not get them]

<<<>>>