CHAPTER 4

Advanced Tactical Software Solutions Building, Denver, Colorado

The next day, Dillon and Sammy pulled into the parking lot in front of the ATSS building. The guard at the gate checked their names against the approved access list and gave them temporary visitor badges. The slender pieces of embossed plastic hung around their necks on a cloth cord and putting it on made the butterflies in Dillon’s stomach multiply. Conversely, it made the normally verbose Sammy quiet and subdued.

After they’d parked, the two men looked at each other, eyes wide. "We're here," Dillon said in a low voice. "They had our names, and we've got visitor badges, and we're going to do this!"

"Yeah, man. It ain't no joke and it ain't a dream." Sammy rubbed at his mouth with one hand. "We're gonna be in the big events now, man. No more cheap-ass pots, no more patchwork repairs on the car."

Dillon put up a hand. "Let's not take a victory lap just yet. They didn't say they were going to sponsor us, just that they wanted to talk with us. And we have to do this simulation thing. It's part of the interview, I bet. Guess they didn't see everything they wanted in the recordings."

His gunner put out a hand, and Dillon gripped it hard. "We show 'em what we got, Dill, just like in the arena. You drive, I shoot."

"And we take it all in the end. Let's do this, Sammy."

They had just gotten their gear bag out of the back of the car when Sammy's face went pale. He turned and vomited briefly into the bushes that lined the lot. "Just nerves," he grumbled at Dillon's raised eyebrows. "I'm fine now."

The guard at the entrance smiled at them and motioned them to a set of stuffed chairs. "I'll call up and let them know you're here. An escort will be down to get you."

They sat, the enormity of the situation starting Dillon's mind spinning. This building, with its sleek gray and chrome decor, was so far beyond his experience. The people coming and going seemed inconsequential to the large media display screen hanging over the lobby. It cycled through a series of images, armored cars, helicopters, light tanks, even an airship. None of them were autoduelling vehicles, however. His anxiety took another hit as he realized that.

A tall, brown haired man in jeans and a leather jacket strode towards him. He held out his hand when he approached. "Gentlemen, Eric Williamson. I'm the Director of Field Operations for ATSS. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Dillon managed to get a 'Thank you for the chance' out, despite a throat suddenly gone dry. Sammy only nodded.

Williamson looked over at their duffels and said, "You brought your driving gear? Good. Bring that along and we'll find a place to put it until you need it. This way."

The two of them hurried to keep up with the long-legged stride while they were led further into the building, then to an elevator bank, and finally up two floors. The elevator doors opened onto a scene that looked to Dillon out of a science fiction movie.

Most of what he could see was taken up by a room full of computers and a mockup of a car. It faced a blank wall, although he saw a set of projectors on the ceiling. Cables ran everywhere, and the hum of electrical equipment filled the room, even though there was no one currently using the stuff.

Their guide led them past all this, although he motioned for them to drop their bags here. "We'll be back this way," was all he said.

A corridor took them on a twisting, turning dive deeper into the building, although Dillon was pretty sure they were now headed back towards the front. His estimate proved true when Eric opened the door into a conference room, its huge windows overlooking the front parking lot. The occupants in the room grabbed his attention quickly enough, however. He recognized Nico Battaglia before the man stood up from his seat at the head of the table. A young woman was seated next to him, although she barely looked up when they entered, her attention on the laptop in front of her.

"Gentlemen, Mr. Battaglia, CEO and president of Advanced Tactical Software Solutions. Sir, Mr. Dillon Hodges and Mr. Samuel Casey, as requested."

His mind numb, Dillon walked forward on auto pilot, holding out his hand. The larger-than-life figure enfolded his in a firm but gentle handshake. Sammy got the same, and then they were motioned into chairs at the table.

Eric took the empty seat next to Nico, and the two of them sat next to him. The former autoduellist smiled and winked. "I know, I know. Still can't believe you're here, right? I remember when I was young and an amateur, and my first sponsorship. Heady stuff, right? Well, put your minds at ease. We're going to talk like normal people here, and we'll talk about things you know, like racing and dueling."

"What kinda deal are we talking about, Mr. Basher?" Sammy leaned forward; eyes bright. "What are your team colors?"

"In a minute. This isn't going to be your normal kind of sponsorship. There are a few things that we need to go over." He tapped on the control panel sitting on the table in front of him, and the display screen at the far end of the room lit up. An image filled the screen, that of a grinning metallic skull backed by a set of playing cards. The caption below it read, 'Dead Man's Run'.

The CEO gestured at the screen with a broad grin. "This, gentlemen, is the contest we're looking to compete in. The AADA is running it, of course. Fully sanctioned event. It'll be a nationwide contest, and you could be part of the team representing Colorado and the Mountain West."

The image changed to show a map of Colorado, Deseret, Wyoming, Montana, and the Dakotas. A route traced in purple ran from Denver to Salt Lake City, up to and then across Montana, and ended in western South Dakota. Red circles surrounded certain cities along the way.

"This is what's known as a road rally, gentlemen. It's a race from checkpoint to checkpoint, overcoming obstacles along the way. At each overnight stop, vehicles will have the chance for repairs and resupply of ammunition and other expendables. At the end of each leg, there'll be an arena event for additional points. The endpoint is near Sturgis, South Dakota, where there will be a grand finale event to top all the others. Each city that is competing in the contest will sponsor a team, composed of as many driver/gunner pairs that qualify. All competitors on a team will work together until the last leg is completed. The finale event in Sturgis will pit the survivors against each other in a winner-take-all event."

Dillon barely heard what the former autoduelling champion said after the announcement of the rally. His mind was already tracing the route on the map, calculating times and distances. He didn't hear Sammy's laugh and scornful reply.

"A race? That's what you're pushing? What the hell, man? We don't race. We get into the arena, and we win! The arena where the action is, not some highway drive to Nowheresville. What kind of bullshit sponsorship is this?"

Eric leaned forward, ready to defend his boss' honor, yet Nico put a hand on his arm. Then, smiling slightly at the gunner, he said, "It's a full sponsorship, Samuel. We supply the vehicle, mechanics, and all expendables. All you need to do is drive, shoot, and win."

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Sammy put a hand on Dillon's shoulder. "You hear that, Dill? He ain't said what happens after the race. They're just gonna cut us loose or what? And what happens if we lose?"

Dillon started slightly at the touch, his focus on the map broken. "Lose? We won't lose, Sammy."

"Damned straight, but it's not for us, Dill. These guys are looking for patsies to take a chance on a one-time thing. We ain't gonna be their guinea pigs on this. Come on, let's go." He stood up from his chair, pausing when Dillon didn't get up.

The young driver looked back and forth from the screen to the head of the table. "You haven't said what the prize is. For winning the whole thing."

Nico's smile broadened. "Ten million dollars."

Dillon could swear his heart skipped a couple of beats, and the roar in his ears nearly drowned out Sammy's response. "How much of that do we get?"

Eric answered this, a smug look on his face. "If you take first place, each of you will get five hundred thousand dollars. Lesser place results will get correspondingly lower compensation."

"Five hund–," Sammy choked off a laugh. "That ain't even ten percent! And you guys pocket the rest, of course. Just like a corporate suit. We take all the risks, and you take all the money."

Dillon tapped the table. "That is a pretty small payout, considering the pot."

Eric waved a hand in the air. "Considering that ATSS is putting up the vehicle and all the logistics, as well as our name, we consider it a fair offer, Dillon. Additionally, we will pay for one year's Gold Cross membership, commencing immediately upon contract signature."

Turning to look at his gunner, Dillon said eagerly, "You hear that, Sammy? That's worth more than just getting paid. We could work some tougher events with that kind of insurance."

"Yeah, and what happens when the year is up? Back to the small-time stuff we've been doing. No, Dill. I told you, this ain't for us. Let's get out of here." He reached down to tug at his driver's arm, a look of dismay crossing his face when the other man didn't move.

"I want to hear more, Sammy. I… really think we need to consider this."

Throwing his hands up in the air, Sammy snapped, "You stay then! I ain't listening to any more of their crap." He turned to go, stopping at the doorway of the conference room with a confused look on his face.

"Eric, please escort Samuel to the exit. Let the lab know we won't be using the simulator, and then rejoin us. Dillon can remain and ask his questions."

The tall man frowned and left with Sammy in tow. Basher smiled back at Dillon. "Well now, it's just us. What else can I tell you about the rally to get you to sign on?"

Dillon looked up from the tabletop. "Five year's Gold Cross membership. And a three-year sponsorship deal after, no matter the results."

The big man's eyes went wide. "That's… quite the counteroffer. What makes you think you deserve something like that?" To his right, the woman looked up from her screen, eyes narrowed.

The young driver swallowed heavily. "Sammy and I are pretty damn good on the amateur circuit, or you wouldn't have come to us. Still, we compete in Class 3 or below. The pot for this event puts it way above that. If you could have found someone at that level to compete for you, then you wouldn't be talking to us. So, we're your last shot at getting a team into this event."

Basher laughed. "Nice analysis, but your aim is off. You are our first choice, and congratulations on that. However, you're also not our only option. There are other crews out there we can interview if you decline, or your price is too high. Or if your gunner walks away."

Dillon let out a shaky breath. "Sammy runs hot. I can talk him around, although you have to give me something to work with. He really wants that sponsorship deal."

"And what do you want, Dillon?"

He looked over at the map for several seconds. When he spoke, his voice was low. "I want to drive. I want to compete in something big, where I can prove that I'm not just a step above Killer Kart night."

The two people at the head of the table looked at each other, and the woman turned her laptop screen to him. Nico read it and frowned slightly, tapping his fingers on the table. "A post-event sponsorship is a big ask, Dillon. Even just a year. ATSS isn't in that business, and it's not just simply slapping our logo on your car. I'm afraid it's far easier to increase the amount of your winnings or the Gold Cross membership. I'm willing to put another two hundred and fifty on the table for each of you, either in winnings or membership fees."

The young man gave him a weak smile. "Then I'm in. And I'll convince Sammy. How long do I have?"

"We have to submit our paperwork three days after the announcement. This gives you at least five days to get him onboard. And in the meantime, we'll have to start interviewing our other crews, just in case you're unsuccessful." He stood, offering his hand.

Dillon stood also, reaching over to shake the former autoduellist's hand. Once again, he marveled at the controlled strength in that massive grasp. "I'll do my best, sir. I really want this opportunity."

Motioning to the woman, Nico said, "Kayla, if you would escort Dillon to the lobby? He's got a lot of convincing to do."

The young woman rose and headed for the door, tossing a "Follow me" over her shoulder.

She remained silent all the way to the elevator, pausing while he grabbed his duffel. While they waited for the car to arrive, he felt the need to say something, anything. "So, um, you work for ATSS?"

With raised eyebrows, she tapped her corporate badge on the lanyard around her neck. He felt his face flush and stammered, "Yeah, I guess you do. What do you do?"

The elevator dinged and he jumped. When the doors opened and she went in, he heard her say, "Weapons research and programming."

"Oh… that's… um, pretty cool, I bet. You get to play with all the stuff before it goes out."

The woman crossed her arms and gave him an exasperated look. "Eric was right. You really don't know how to talk to people, do you? In a non-competition situation, I mean. You were plenty confident when you were playing that counteroffer, but now… it's like your brain went on vacation. Just like in the post-event interviews."

The heat in his face grew and he hung his head. "You've seen those? And you guys still want to sponsor us?"

The doors opened to the lobby, and she motioned him out. "We can get you some media training. Teach you what to say. Most of the time, you're just repeating the same phrases in different ways. No, we want you guys because of your driving. The question I want answered is, do you know why we want you? I mean you, specifically."

A little taken aback at the personal attention, he shook his head. "I thought you wanted us as a crew."

"Well, we need a crew, and the two of you are linked together. Think long and hard about that, Dillon. What is it you bring to the table that made you our first choice?" She stepped back into the elevator without looking back at him.

Sammy was waiting for him in the car, his gaze focused on something in the distance. Even when Dillon tossed his duffel in the trunk, he remained where he was. He remained silent on the drive back to their garage, not even looking at his driver.

At the garage, Sammy got out first and went to open the trunk. He was standing there, duffel in hand when Dillon came around the car.

"Come on, Sammy. It's a good deal, even if it isn't what we thought it was."

"It's a good deal for you, Dill. Not for me." He hefted the bag and turned around.

"It's good for both of us. Look, Basher is bumping up the winnings by–"

"No. I'm not doing this. I'm not part of this anymore, Dill."

Confused, Dillon moved to stand in front of the man. Sammy's face was resigned, and there was a hint of anger in his eyes. "Not doing what anymore?"

"Not playing second fiddle to you. I'm tired of you running the event and I have to take whatever you leave me. Tired of low stats and a crappy reputation. Besides, we know they want you, not me."

Completely confused now, Dillon asked, "What do you mean, they want me? They asked for both of us to come in. And low stats? We've got the best win-loss ratio in Colorado, and we've never had a car shot out from under us. That's not crap and you know it."

"You know what your problem is, Dill? You're not a team player. Well, I'm not on the team anymore, so I don't have to put up with you." He pushed past Dillon and headed for the street, leaving the parking lot behind.

***

Kayla sat at her desk, watching the two men while they left the parking lot via the security cameras. Their body language made it obvious the crew was breaking up, if not broken already. She shut off the feed and pulled up the specs for the vehicle she was designing for the Dead Man's Run. Despite her earlier misgivings, this had been a real challenge for her, and she was leaning into it with all her focus. Most of the data they used previously was for an open field battle for the military. A road rally wasn't the same thing by a long shot. It would be all forward and rear combat at high speeds, with the occasional side shot at someone who pulled alongside. She'd needed to build a lot of new simulations to come up with the data to validate the design. These pushed the limits of their targeting software, and it was a true challenge to come up with solutions to work around them.

And now it was all going to go down the drain. Without a crew to operate the car, ATSS wouldn't be able to show off what they could do. What she could do. Oh sure, they could probably get another crew, but nobody drove like Dillon did. All her work, her ingenuity, would be lost because of one man.

The obvious solution was to find a gunner somewhere else. A person who not only knew weapons and knew the tactics for using them. For instance, someone who'd studied hours of sims and devised a playbook for different situations on the open road. Someone who could work with Dillon.

I just have to tolerate Dillon for about two weeks, give or take. I can do that.