Deadly Driver


An excerpt…. Working in a sub-basement 4 x 4’ cubicle at CIA Headquarters in Virginia was the polar opposite of the high-life Formula One driving champion Bryce Winters was living. But when an introverted analyst named Jon discovered something he felt like he’d just scored a victory of his own. The CIA had noticed the bodies pile up overseas, but it wasn’t until Jon noticed what they had in common – they were all tied to auto racing events. As soon as “The Company” knew where to focus they eventually zeroed in on Bryce and his accomplice – Madigan.

Late one night on a yacht Bryce had rented as a party boat for friends and sponsors at the Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi, two non descript men wearing white golf shirts and tan khakis and an attractive blonde woman in her mid-30’s and a red blouse with tight white capris discreetly presented their credentials and followed him to a suite below deck and read him the riot act. They showed Bryce what they had on him, CCTV of him and Jack dumping a body here, a body there. They explained that they intended to prosecute, or perhaps share the info with other interested parties. Bryce and his partner in crime begrudgingly accepted their deal. The woman, Joan Myers, would become his handler.

He had been immediately drawn to her and she, the professional that she was, read him like a book. If Bryce did have an Achilles, she could be one. He insisted on her codename though. She’d be Nitro because she was a knockout. Nitro being short for Nitromethane, a chemical used as a fuel primarily in drag racing because it packs a very powerful punch. So much so that in 1995 domestic terrorists used the material to destroy the federal building in Oklahoma City. He thought the name was very fitting. Myers was dangerous and like the potent chemical, both had a sweet scent.

Bryce had always wanted to give it a try and had suggested today’s activity as cover for the meeting that would soon take place. He’d ridden in this sort of vehicle many times before, particularly in countries where kidnapping VIP’s is a regular occurrence. His celebrity made the academy jump at the chance - the photos of him behind the wheel would wallpaper their social media. With members of the U.S. State Department there for training, it all fit together nicely. Then he heard what would normally have intrigued him, a set of high heel shoes clicking down the hallway. As the sound came closer and closer he looked forward to seeing who was driving them. When the woman entered the room his sense of intrigue vanished.

“I heard it took a while for you to get used to the weight of an 11,000 pound armored SUV out on the course. Did you have any fun?” she asked through an awkward smile as she approached him. She exuded confidence but his celebrity tripped her up. He’d seen it before.

Bryce stood, extended his hand, and introduced himself. The woman shook his hand, passed him her card, and took a seat opposite him at the table. This one’s all business, no cleavage, nada, he thought. Not a field op, I bet.