IGP Formula Motorsport Racing League
Chapter One: A New Talent
McCarthy sat in a hard, wooden, stiff-backed chair, his hair was the colour of black ink, short and spiked; his clothing was plain, white T-Shirt and Blue jeans with black running shoes. Before him was a table made of the same hardwood as the chair, it was to this that his hands were cuffed to via a small metal loop so even if he wanted to he couldn’t move his hands more than a few inches in any direction. opposite him were two more chairs exactly the same as his own, beyond was a section of mirrored glass to which he promptly rose a middle finger. On the left hand wall was a small window covered by a sheet of metal grate and on his right a plain wooden door in front of which stood a police officer.
McCarthy had been sitting in the interrogation room for what seemed like hours, he had just been interrogated by two burly officers who seemed to take joy in trying to make him frightened. Just the thought of those two made him smirk, he had been through his fair share of good cop bad cop routine, it was then that a slender woman in a grey pencil skirt and blazer pushed open the door behind the officer who stepped back, she raised up her identification to which McCarthy was able to see was an FBI ID badge. With a nod the woman dismissed the officer who promptly left closing the door behind him, the FBI Agent sat opposite McCarthy and started looking through file which had a photo of him paperclipped to the top. While she read McCarthy took in her appearance, she was a brunette, hair neatly tied back in a bun, but he could tell it had some length to it. It seemed she had rarely if at all been in the field, her hands were too soft and smooth to have held a gun too often.
“You have quite the rap sheet Mr McCarthy,” the agent stated at after few moments as she lifted the top sheet she was looking at to the one under it, “Street Racing, AVT, Grand Theft, but now you’ve stepped up the game, getaway driver,” the agent finally looked up to McCarthy, “what's this now, the fourth heist in six weeks? Not looking good for you at the moment, they’re talking about putting you away for 15-20 without parole,”
“I’ve done time before, no different” McCarthy replied calmly, it was true he had served time before several small stints mounting up to several years,
“I can see that, a collective total of four years for various reasons all of which can mount up to almost a third of your life. Is this a path you really want to continue?”
“I don’t get much choice in my life options, no one hires a driver with my background, what else can I do now but wok for criminals,” McCarthy sat back looking almost deflated having another person read out his wrong doings in such as way as he realised just how much of his life had been thrown away since he could reach the pedals in a car,
“What if I told you that I am heading a new rehabilitation scheme courtesy of the FBI and the current state of the prisons being overcrowded?”
“I would say you’re wasting your time, what could I possibly do if they’re trying to send me up the river without a paddle?”
The agent closed the file and pushed it to the side,
“You take this opportunity, and this ..” she tapped the file, “..Disappears, you’ll have a fresh start and maybe a new career. You have skills behind the wheel McCarthy there is no denying it, but you are wasting them on people who will turn on you at a moments notice. Try this scheme out and maybe you might change your life.” The agent stood heading for the door, she had deliberately left the file in McCarthy’s reach, “You have three hours after that they’re taking you to booking to be tried, convicted and sentenced, I’ll expect and answer before then,” she opened the door, “I hope for your sake, it’s the right one.” With that the agent left the room.
The moment she was gone McCarthy reached for his file, pulling it towards him he scanned through it, reading up on just how much information the police and FBI had gained on him over the years. Everything was written in that file, from his various addresses to his height, description, vehicles he had either owned or stolen in the past, old haunts that he used to hang out in to escape the law. There was very little the FBI didn’t know. He gave a sigh, closed the file and lent back as far as his chained hands would allow. Whatever this rehabilitation scheme was, it had to be better than a life inside a six by eight cell. The only sound around him was the creak of the chair under him and the clink of metal on metal from the chain.
McCarthy didn’t know how long he sat there for deep in thought of the possibilities that were open to him, it was a clear fifty-fifty toss up, “Fine I’ll do it,” he said to the ceiling before sitting up and letting his chair drop back down with a clunk, part of him knew the agent was watching and listening behind the glass.
The following day found McCarthy seated on a plane, his hands and feet were again cuffed so he couldn’t run if he wanted to, beside him was an armed officer in a black stab vest and across the isle was the Agent who he had since found out was named Crawley. Agent Crawley had been on the phone before they had gotten into the plane talking animatedly to whoever was on the other end, McCarthy only caught snatches of the conversation, the seemed to be talking about procedures and contracts, now she was pouring over yet another file, this one was thicker and in a binder, trying to have a look at some of the pages was difficult, most of it was text which he couldn’t quite make out, but he did spot a layout of some kind, he still didn’t know what he was heading to, but he did know he was heading to some sort of HQ over in England.
Mike was sat at his desk a hand resting on his head as he poured over a report that had been faxed over to him. His office was like any other, filing cabinet in the far corner, a window that overlooked the premises, his desk was made of thick beech wood, a door sat in the left hand wall to which a knock came, “Enter,” Mike called as he looked up to the door, trying to make himself seem less flustered which was hard in these days. His team were practically rock bottom of the tables, no drivers wanted to join their team anymore and they didn't have enough money left over to even think of buying a driver. This was why he had been pouring over the faxed report, it detailed the conditions of the new agreement that he had spoken at length about over the phone to an American FBI Agent Crawley. According to the report the driver they had signed for was convict, he was to be signed with the team for one year as a rehabilitation order in accordance to a new scheme that had been put into place over there, this agreement was the first to be signed and finalised as a full contract.
Through the door walked Mike’s Technical director Pepijn Wuyts, who had a true german attitude, harsh, unforgiving and brutal, but he was fantastic at his job, they had been able to keep up with the back of the mid-fielders because of his extensive knowledge. “Boss, I ‘av concern for new driver, he be prisoner of America ya?”
Mike nodded, “Yes, it’s not an ideal situation for any of us, but we are on the ropes here, without this contract he would only have Lizzie as a driver and to only have one driver in a two car Sport such as this would be suicide for the company,”
“I understand, but can we trust ‘im?”
“In accordance to the situation report i have before me, he should be managed quite well, as i understand it there is an armed officer who is to escort him wherever he goes, he’ll have a tag that is linked to a proximity box that will be with us here at all time so he won't be able to go beyond track limits,”
“That is good ya, but vot about while he is here, he could cause issues ya?”
“He could, but can’t the officer assigned to escort him will be here too,”
Hours later McCarthy looked out of the back window of the unmarked police car they were being escorted in to the HQ they were heading for. He wanted nothing more than to be out of his chains but until he wa tagged they wouldn’t allow it. The HQ was a huge complex with several buildings surrounding a large parking area, as they approached McCarthy got a view of the logo on the side of the building, “CEX General Motors?” He questioned as they pulled up, with difficulty McCarthy stepped out of the car, with his hands and feet chained he could only make small strides and they moved inside the largest of the buildings around them.
Inside there were many people bustling around importantly, some with parts on carts, others with stacks of papers and files. The building seemed built for function rather than style, everything was there for a purpose and nothing more, one woman however caught his eye, She was tall with short spiky bleach blonde hair, she was donned in a Racing suit, the suit itself was mostly black with its arms and legs covered in red, the red sections outlined by three stripes of white black and then red again, all in all the effect was good, the woman turned towards him and her deep chocolate brown eyes fell upon him, “you won’t race too well with your hands tied,” she called to him in a Welsh accent, before he could reply the officer behind shoved him forward with his gun.
After a meeting with the Boss, a man named Mike Carter, who seemed stretched to breaking point, perhaps it was other matters, but having a convict as driver couldn’t have helped his stress levels. It was made completely clear what McCarthy was to do at the facility, he was to become the second driver in a racing team that was on the rocks in terms of performance and money. His ‘contract’ was for the year, in which time McCarthy was to use his talents for the good of the team, it was agreed that he would not be paid during the year as he was still classed as a convict and under their ruling, he would be accommodated, but only to basic needs nothing more. His goal; to prove himself capable of learning and controlling his ability for the benefit of others and not crossing the law, he would be assessed by Mike and the rest of the team on his performance throughout the year.
McCarthy left the office, out of chains but now with a fancy new anklet that was the Tag device they were using to monitor him. He rubbed his wrists, having cuffs on for that length of time wasn’t comfortable. “Right, Agent Crawley tells me you have a lot of talent and that is the first thing on the agenda, to test where you are strong and where you need work,” Mike was telling him as they left the offices and headed for the test track, as they went McCarthy saw even more people here, many were in White and Black Pit Crew gear. These men and women were pushing Tires on specialist trolleys, pouring over simulation data or even looking at several monitors on the pit wall, these monitors had things like temperature data, lap times, weather conditions and even the status of the car, the last screen however was blank as the data for the car was not ready yet.
The test track itself was designed in such a way it had all sorts of corners, from sweeping bends to chicanes to tight hairpins. Alongside that were several different sections to the track, one section was a regular standard track, the second section consisted of road surfaces and the final section was set within a desert-like scene complete with fans dotted here and there to create the effect of sand being blown onto the track. All in all McCarthy thought it was a great way to test any car in all conditions.
“And this is the car you’ll be driving,” Mike said as they came to the pit bay, McCarthy paused for a mom
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