38

WITH TEARS STREAMING down her face, Addy barreled down the 101 Freeway. The heavy traffic she’d experienced on the way to get Hindy had subsided, because fans were now glued to their television sets.

She switched on the radio and turned the dial until she found the station broadcasting the football classic. They had a live feed from the field, and the captains of both teams were watching the head official flip the official coin to see which team would receive the kickoff.

Addy did a quick mental calculation. At her current speed, she estimated she had another thirty minutes, well past her allotted time. She only hoped Claire would hold her post-halftime spot. She assured herself that if Zissy had insisted on introducing her, they wouldn’t yank her from the lineup just for being late. Addy pressed down harder on the accelerator. Going a few miles an hour faster could shave off a few precious minutes.

Addy listened while the kickoff punched the ball into the end zone, and the game officially began. A car commercial blared over her speakers, followed by one from a fast food chain. Addy prayed for something—anything—to stall the game. Her prayer was answered when a wide receiver went down on the following series, and she listened while the announcers speculated about the extent of the injury.

By the end of the first quarter, Addy had reached the 237 Freeway leading to the East Bay. She gently veered the semi left, then took the exit onto Blazingwood Drive. She slowed for the first light that had just turned yellow.

As she did, she noticed steam boiling out from the hood, near where she’d collided with the Suburban. She held her breath when the light turned green and she put her foot on the accelerator. Just a few more blocks, she pleaded. A few lights later, she took left on Tasman and Levi’s^® Stadium loomed in front of her. A wave of emotion came over her as she realized her ordeal was almost over.

The cargo entrance was on the far side of the stadium, requiring Addy to pull her load past the length of sports temple. She could hear the roar of the crowd as play resumed. The game was now well into the second quarter. Halftime was only minutes away.

She attempted to take her first right past the stadium and into the main parking lot, but it was barricaded. A Santa Clara policeman in full uniform was standing in front, arms folded. He shook his head when Addy slammed on her brakes to avoid a collision. He waved for her to continue on.

Addy stuck her head out the window. “I’ve got an important delivery for the halftime show.”

The officer stepped forward, then halted as he studied the mangled front end of the semi. He continued sauntering past the front tire of the tractor until he noticed a small round hole. He poked his finger into it. Steam was still billowing from her engine and the officer reached out and fruitlessly waved his hand through the cloud.

Addy didn’t wait for him to ask any questions.

“I should be on the VIP list, or whatever they call it. There’s going to be a live commercial, right after Zissy performs. In fact, she’s announcing me. I’ve got to get the props into the stadium so that they can be set up in time.”

The officer lowered his sunglasses. His face was oversized, with a thick moustache. A clipboard was tucked underneath his arm.

“Got a name?”

Addy hesitated, wondering if she should tell him her real name. If the officer realized she was wanted for questioning, that would be the end of her quest. But Claire wouldn’t have given any other name.

“Addy, and the future age car we are going to demo is called Hindy.”

The officer’s forehead puckered. He studied the first page, then flipped through the remaining sheets. The crowd inside the stadium roared again.

“Please,” Addy pleaded. “It’s almost halftime.”

“Sorry, I can’t find you on the list. Everyone’s checked in by now. You’ll have to move on.”

Addy considered punching through the barricade, just like she’d done with the Suburban, but realized that would only attract unwanted attention and an army of law enforcement.

In her side-view mirror she watched a white, boxy-looking van pull up behind her. The door opened and a woman wearing a white jumpsuit emerged. Her matching white cap contrasted against the black hair billowing out beneath the cap. Addy watched her, wondering why this truck had boxed her in.

“Okay, if you’re not going to move, I’m going to need to see your driver’s license and registration,” said the officer holding out his hand. “And I’m going to want an explanation of how this happened,” he said as he pointed to the wisps of steam rising from the mangled hood and the bullet hole just a few feet below.

“Please,” Addy pleaded. “I’m telling you the truth. I’ve got to get inside that stadium.”

The woman in the white jumpsuit reached the officer. “What’s the problem here?” she said. “She’s blocking traffic. Lots of people have jobs to do around here. You know how many linens I’ve got to clean tonight?”

The officer raised his hand to halt her progress. “I’m taking care of this. You’ll have to wait.”

Out of her peripheral vision, Addy watched in the mirror as another white-clad figure slipped out of the van and disappeared behind the trailer. Then she understood. This woman was there to distract her.

“Your license ma’am,” the officer insisted.

Addy was out of options. If she didn’t do something now, she’d be arrested and never make it into the stadium. And in just a few moments, this second linen cleaner would be inside her trailer, dismantling her new Hindy. Even if she got through security, she wouldn’t have a functioning car.

She did the only thing she could think of. With both fists, she leaned hard on the horn.

The semi belched like a trombone on steroids. The officer yelled in her direction, but she could only see his lips moving. She looked toward the stadium, avoiding eye contact. The officer began pounding on the door, but she wouldn’t release the pressure on the horn. The banging continued, then she heard a loud crack when he hammered his baton against the window. He struck again, and she felt a shard of glass cut her face. Still, she kept the horn blaring.

Then she saw a woman half-dashing, half-waddling through the parking lot as if she were a penguin, followed by a host of security guards and men dressed in suits. When she got closer, she began flailing her arms, almost a warning to stop the shrill screaming of the horn.

Claire? Addy wondered. From her dainty voice on the telephone, Addy had expected a slim, shapely-looking woman, someone you might find on a morning news show. Instead, Claire was short and heavyset, with close-cropped hair that was thinning on the top. And she swayed from side to side while she lumbered toward the semi.

Addy watched the linen cleaners climb back into their van, reversing course. Addy released the horn and watched Claire stomp around the front of the truck and tug on the officer’s shirt. He stepped down to confront her, and Addy opened the door to eavesdrop.

“What are you doing?” she insisted. “This is the halftime show. Are you crazy?”

The officer’s mouth hung open, clearly nervous that maybe he’d crossed the line.

The woman shook her head. “I can’t believe this.” She shoved him aside and flung the door wide open.

“Addy?” she said.

“You must be Claire. Sorry I’m late. Are we still on?”

“That depends on whether we can get you set up. Can someone please move these barricades, and get the bay doors open? We’ve got to pull this semi inside.”

Addy didn’t argue. She waited for a few of the security guards to part the barricades and wave her through. With Claire as a pacesetter, Addy followed suit, winding her way through the parking lot and up to the loading bay where the large door was just being raised. She pulled through and entered the safety of the tunnel.

* * *

It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust from glaring sunlight to the artificial lights in the tunnel. With her eyes widened, Addy watched Claire use hand gestures to beckon her onward until she reached a giant staging area.

Side halls veered off to the coaches’ offices and the players’ rooms. Directly ahead was a column of light opening onto the grassy field.

Organized chaos—and maybe not even organized—was the only way to describe what was going on. Straggling players from the AFC team were hammering their cleats on the cement surface in their hurry to reach their locker room.

But they were overwhelmed by the hundred or so dancers nervously prancing in place as their moment of fame had arrived. They’d be doing a floor routine while Zissy belted out the words to songs like You’re My Man, while lasers and fireworks burst throughout the stadium.

Zissy was a safe choice for the network, young with a tinge of innocence, yet with an air of seduction, no chance of a wardrobe malfunction, and immensely popular, especially with the millenials.

And Zissy was into all things green, was a practicing vegan, lived in a solar-powered home, and drove an electric car.

Like an army of ants, makeup artists, costume designers, and choreographers were frantically putting the final touches on the dancers, dotting on a smidge more rouge here, adjusting headdresses there, and checking necklines.

Addy spied Zissy near the end of the tunnel. A producer was adjusting her microphone while she smoothed on a final coating of lipstick. She watched Claire push her way through the dancers and whisper a final set of instructions into the ear of the platinum-selling artist. For a moment, Zissy’s eyes met Addy’s. The singer gave her grin and a thumbs-up.

A wave of relief made Addy dizzy and weak for a moment. She was going to get her introduction, and the live commercial was going to happen. The world was going to learn the secret, and then nothing could stop it from becoming a reality.

What amounted to a makeshift pit crew swung open the trailer doors, connected a ramp and rolled Hindy down. Addy rushed over. The first thing she noticed was the bullet hole through the driver’s side window. She ran her hand along the doors, then the hood, searching for any other damage.

“Somebody shoot at you?” said one of the pit crew.

Addy wiped her brow. In all the commotion, she’d almost forgotten what she’d just endured, and what Quinn was probably suffering even now. “Long story, and we don’t have time. Just know that what you see here is more valuable than solid gold. You’ll hear it all when I get out on the field.”

She felt a tapping on her shoulder. Claire was beside her with the producer and a cameraman. “Boy am I glad to see you here! Zissy’s been driving me nuts asking about you, not to mention everyone at the network. We have ten minutes until you’re out there. I need to walk you through the logistics. Meet our producer, Nate. He’ll be running the show. Any questions, he’s your man.”

Addy took a quick glance, seeing a tall, slim figure with no hair. She immediately turned back, still fixated on Hindy, carefully watching as her pit crew polished her car, wiped the windows and inflated the tires. “Good to meet you, Nate. Can we talk while I’m getting Hindy ready?”

“Sure,” the producer said. “And yes, you get started, we’ll tag along. By the way, I love the name of your car—got a cute ring to it.”

“It’s named after the Hindenburg airship,” Addy said, “not because of how it went up in flames, but because it was a totally new way to quickly cross the Atlantic.”

With Claire and the producer in tow, Addy made her way to where the pit crew was furiously finishing up the shine on her car. The producer had his own headset, perched on top of his bald head. Like the rest of his crew, he was wearing black jeans with a matching T-shirt.

“It’s going to be tight. You’ve only got a ninety-second slot, which isn’t enough time to take a lap around the track and then give a speech. So here’s what’s going to happen. The moment Zissy finishes her song, there will be three loud pops from the last of the fireworks. The house lights will come on, and Zissy will give you a plug. By that time, you’ve got to be on the track, making your lap. The announcers will come on, say how great the performance was and how they are all looking forward to the second half. You should then be past the far end zone. That’s when the live feed officially begins.”

“So you’ll capture the last part of my lap?”

“That’s right. When you get to the fifty, hang a hard left and come right out onto the field. There will be an army of stagehands poised to clear the field, but they’ll be on the other sideline, behind you. If I’ve timed it correctly, all that will take thirty seconds. That will give you a full minute to tell your story. As soon as you get out of Hindy, there will be another cameraman and a microphone stand. Got it?”

With her eyes still trained on Nate’s shiny head, Addy nodded while simultaneously leaning down to fish for the hood latch. Her swollen hand knocked against the grill and she jerked it back with a gasp and stifled a moan. She tried again with her other hand, and it slipped through.

Claire looked at Nate and raised her eyebrows. “You get bitten by a snake?” Nate said. “Your hand looks like a balloon.”

“It’s nothing,” Addy said as she tugged on the latch and the hood popped open a few inches, hoping he wouldn’t notice the gash above her eye.

“You have a change of clothes?” Claire asked.

Addy looked down at her yoga outfit. The vial holding the catalyst was half poking out above her breast and she could see a ketchup stain on her right thigh. Thank goodness the blood was invisible. She hated to think what her makeup looked like, or how oily and stringy her hair must be by now. At least she still had her ponytail.

“It’s been a long day,” Addy said. “Got anything I can wear?”

Nate snapped a few commands into his headset. “I’ll see what we can dig up. And, do you have your speech ready? Remember, you have one minute.”

Addy froze. How could she have spaced out about something this important? She had no idea what she was going to say. Telling what had happened just in the last two weeks could take hours. She needed a documentary, not a few sound bites.

Addy lifted the hood to reveal the fuel cell. It didn’t look anything like the one she’d had in the original Hindy, or even the one Quinn had used for the demonstration with Examiner Johnston.

The vivid stadium lights were suddenly dimmed, lowering the luminescence in the tunnel. It was then Addy realized that the team of dancers who’d been chattering like magpies had disappeared onto the field. The fans hushed their chatter.

Addy heard the public announcer boom out the name of Zissy Spaeth. The crowd suddenly erupted when they heard the first familiar chord of Zissy’s most recent number one hit.

Claire stripped off a page from her clipboard. “I was afraid of that. I’ve made an outline, based on some of the things Perry told me. I’ll put it on your seat.”

Perry. Her eyes burned with tears that would have to wait until later.

Claire reached over and put her arm around Addy. “I’m so sorry. But this is what he wanted. You’ve got to do him proud and go out show the world that innocent people have been murdered to keep this technology hidden from them.”

Addy nodded. The song went into the second verse and Addy knew time was running out. She slipped the vial from her yoga shirt, contemplating where it was supposed to be introduced into the fuel cell.

“One more thing,” Nate said. “On the big screen, we’re going to flaunt your magic formula. Perry told us that the whole world needed to see it. That was the only way everyone would know what was being kept from them. The only problem is that we don’t have it.”

Addy sprang into action. She ripped the clipboard from Claire’s hand, took up the pen that was attached and began feverishly sketching it out.

“Here,” she said, handing it back. “Get one of your graphics experts to tidy it up and flash the formula in the largest font you’ve got. Perry is not going to have died in vain.” She ducked her head underneath the hood to locate the chamber for the catalyst.

The rhythmic beat and melodic tones of Zissy’s next song began. A bead of sweat dribbled across Addy’s temple and stung her eye. She shook off the droplets of sweat and continued her search, running her finger over a set of brightly-colored plastic caps. She popped one off and looked inside, then another. None of them looked like what she was expecting. Where does the catalyst go? she asked herself.

Suddenly, Addy froze. She could hear Claire arguing with someone. She craned her neck and peered over the fuel cell to see what was causing the commotion.

“We need to speak with your guest.” A police officer wearing a forest green uniform, hands resting on his hips, was confronting Claire. From her vantage point, Addy couldn’t tell if there were any other police in the vicinity. Reading the insignia on the officer’s shoulder, she could tell he was from the local sheriff’s office.

“That won’t be possible,” Claire sniped. “In less than five minutes, that car is going to be sitting on the fifty-yard line, and Addy is going to tell the world about a car that can run on water. Believe me, you don’t want to be the person responsible for keeping that from happening.”

“I’ve got a warrant for her arrest.”

Addy swallowed as she watched Nate motion to his cameraman. A red light on the camera illuminated. From here on out, every word would be documented.

Addy shot up, banging her head on the hood. She grabbed it with her injured hand, doubling the agony, as she strode into the officer’s personal space. “Trust me, you’ll want to see this. Just give me five minutes, that’s all I’m asking. Five minutes to show the world that this car, this very car sitting in front of you, is going to change everything. You, my friend, are part of history. Gasoline is a thing of the past. Believe me, you don’t want your name to be in every newscast as the officer who stopped the show, who rained on the Super Bowl. Just let me do my thing, and then I’ll turn myself in.”

Claire rushed forward, snatching a few papers from her clipboard. They were the documents Addy had obtained from her Freedom of Information Act request. Claire smashed them into the sheriff’s chest. “Here, read these. They’re government documents admitting they have a secret program to stop Addy’s patents. How’s it going to look if you’re part of the government’s conspiracy to stop this technology? Come on, give her a chance. Innocent until proven guilty—correct?”

Addy smiled. This was Perry’s doing. He must have given the papers to Claire.

The officer looked back at his partner, who’d now joined the discussion, and scratched the back of his neck. He sauntered over to Hindy and kicked the front tire.

“This car? On water?”

“You got it. Imagine what it’s going to be like.”

A faint smile broke on his face and he shook his head. “This I’ve got to see. But I’m coming out on the field with you. Consider yourself in my custody.”

“You can ride with me if you want,” Addy offered.

He shook his head again. “That’s okay, but don’t do anything stupid. When you’re finished, we’re going to the station. I’m only doing my job.”

“Deal,” Addy said, holding out her good hand.

Addy had barely buried herself back under the hood when she felt another tap on her back. Nate was holding an oversized 49ers jersey. “I’m afraid this is all we have, but it’s better than what you’re wearing now.”

She snatched it and threw it on over her yoga shirt, then dove back to her work, clueless that the jersey came nearly to her knees.

As Addy ducked her head beneath the hood, she noticed a plastic bag that was taped to the bottom. It contained a neatly folded piece of paper. She ripped the bag off, tugged out the paper and unfolded it on top of the fuel cell. It contained step-by-step instructions for how to load the catalyst, as well as the start-up protocol. She ran her finger down the steps, frantic because Zissy was now into her third song.

Following the instructions, Addy located a red handle and gave it a gentle tug. A hinged door opened, revealing a small compartment resembling the location in a dishwasher where the detergent is loaded. Addy hitched up her jersey and retracted the vial from her yoga shirt. Her hands were shaking as she twisted off the lid. She took a deep breath, then poured in the granules, careful not to spill any of them. Then she clapped the door shut.

For the next step, she twisted off a black cap and stuck her finger inside to confirm that the water holding tank of the fuel cell was indeed empty. Her finger came back dry and she held it up to the camera. Then she hurried and popped the trunk. Quinn’s instructions told her to make sure the tank was completely full, and that he’d stored a gallon of distilled water in the trunk if she needed it.

As she rushed back to the front of the hood, she held up the water to the camera making sure the camera captured the large H₂O label. Perhaps Quinn had intentionally let the water run low, just for this moment. She wondered how he was faring while she unscrewed the lid and poured in about half of the liquid until it reached the waterline. Then she twisted the cap back on.

Rushing around the front of the car, she read the next steps while she slipped into the driver’s side seat. Unlike a traditional automobile, there was no ignition, just a series of switches and knobs. Following the protocol, Addy flipped a series of switches, then turned the starter knob. She fully expected to hear the fuel cell start humming, beginning the process of extracting the hydrogen from water. Instead, all she heard was the beating of the drum and the screaming Zissy fans.

She observed the sheriff take a step closer and lean his ear toward the motor. Claire shimmied forward too, hanging her hopes on any indication that the car had come to life. The camera lens didn’t moved.

Addy jumped out and tucked her head beneath the hood, listening for any evidence that the fuel cell had come alive. She heard nothing. The stadium momentarily went silent as Zissy finished her ballad and the applause resumed. Zissy was ready to start her final number.

Addy smashed her fist on top of the fuel cell. She unrumpled the paper and revisited the steps. She’d followed them precisely.

What if something had happened to the catalyst? What if the landscaper wasn’t really what he claimed to be? Maybe he had the real catalyst and all she had was dirt? What if a stray bullet had torn through the fuel cell?

The sheriff was now shaking his head, his arms folded over his large belly. “Can we help you with anything?” he asked.

Addy ignored him, but couldn’t avoid Claire’s concerned look. Claire tucked her chin beneath the clipboard.

She wished Quinn was there with her, walking her through the protocol.

“Anyone you can call?” Claire suggested.

Instinctively, Addy reached for her phone, but it was swallowed beneath her red and gold jersey. It was then she remembered that she had never turned on her phone. What if Quinn had tried to reach her? She hitched up her jersey and removed the phone that was wedged beneath her pants. She toggled the Wi-Fi switch and waited for a signal.

“What’s the Wi-Fi password?” she demanded.

Claire waddled over and studied her screen. “SBsunday. The S and B are capitalized.”

Addy tapped in the letters. Almost as soon as they were entered, her phone beeped and she saw a banner with Quinn’s message. “Call me.”

Realizing her phone wouldn’t work, she spat out another order. “I need someone’s phone. Now!”

Claire pulled hers from a purse that was hanging over her shoulder, and Addy hurriedly dialed his number, realizing every second counted.

She heard a click, indicating a connection had been made, but she didn’t receive any kind of salutation. She pressed the phone to her ear, trying to listen over the roaring of the stadium.

“Quinn, is that you?”

“Addy, thank goodness you called.” His voice was faint.

“Are you okay?” Addy pressed. “Where are you?”

“I’m fine,” he said, sounding strange, “but I need to know about Hindy.”

“She doesn’t work,” Addy blurted out. “Hindy, she doesn’t work.”

“Give it time,” he said. “It takes several minutes for the reaction to build up enough hydrogen.”

She heard a dull thud, followed by a groan. Then another, as if Quinn were being beaten. Another voice came through the phone’s speaker.

“We’ve kept him alive so you can make a decision.”

“Quinn,” she screamed, realizing the phone had been snatched from his hand. “Put him back on. You can’t hurt him.”

“That’s your decision. If you drive that car onto the field, his life is over. If you want him to live, you’ll bring us the catalyst and call off this little charade.”

“No, please don’t hurt him,” Addy pleaded. “Wilcox, I know it’s you. I’ll give you anything you want.”

The officer stepped forward and leaned his ear toward her phone. She could smell his cheap cologne.

“Please,” she said, holding back her tears. “I want to talk to Quinn.”

“As you wish,” Wilcox said.

Both Claire and the sheriff scooted closer. Addy hung her head, trying to secure some sense of privacy.

“Addy,” Quinn said when he came on. “Don’t listen to them. Show Hindy to the world. Push the red button. I’ll be okay.”

Addy heard another thud, a crunch, then the line went silent.

“That’s what happens when people don’t listen and cooperate,” the voice interrupted. “Now, are you going to shut down the car and bring us the catalyst?”

Addy saw Claire step back, press her headset into her ear, and nod. Zissy’s final song was well underway.

“The catalyst is already in the fuel cell,” she said in a last-ditch effort to negotiate for Quinn’s safety. “I can’t get it out.”

“Then bring us the car.”

“They’ll arrest me.”

“Then I guess we don’t have anything left to discuss.”

Claire, sensing Quinn was now a hostage and that his life somehow depended on Addy’s decision to stop the show, teetered over and put her arm around Addy. “I’m afraid it’s time. I’m sorry, but I understand your decision. We’re going to run the backup commercial.”

Claire held her tighter. Somehow her human touch brought Addy back.

“No,” Addy said. “Don’t run the backup. This is what Quinn wants. I’ve got to honor his last request.”

The sheriff snatched the phone and plugged it into his ear. It was too late. The call had ended.

Addy untangled herself from Claire’s embrace. “Come on, we can’t wait any longer. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Tears began to stream down her face as she slammed down the hood and bolted into the car. She poked the red button and immediately felt a slight tremor as the fuel cell hummed to life.

“It’s running on water,” she screamed over Zissy’s blaring band. She wiped her watering eyes. “Just like Quinn promised. Just like he promised.”

The cameraman moved closer, and the sheriff rested his hands on his hips.

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one to ruin this,” he muttered.

Claire began yelping commands into her headset. A makeup artist appeared, poked her head through the window, and began dotting a pad on Addy’s cheeks and above her injured eye.

She shifted the car into gear and gently pressed the accelerator. Hindy leapt forward, nearly sideswiping one of the stagehands.

“Sorry,” she said through a half smile. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

A path within the tunnel instantly cleared, and Claire gestured her forward. Four cameramen jockeyed for position, and a few bystanders pulled out their phones to capture the historic event.

Zissy’s final number was reaching its climax. Amid the screeching guitars and pounding drums, the fans clapped and sang. Addy heard an explosion as the fireworks display began.

This is really going to happen, Addy told herself.

She kept her foot steady on the accelerator, urging Hindy forward at a safe speed. She could now see fireworks exploding at the end of the tunnel. She’d managed to time her entrance just as Nate had orchestrated.

Addy was within twenty feet of exiting onto the track when four figures wearing black armor suddenly appeared, blocking her exit. Machine guns were leveled right at her windshield. One spoke into a megaphone.

“This is the Department of Homeland Security. Stop or we will be forced to shoot.”

Addy didn’t even pause to consider her situation. Nothing was going to stop her. She hit the accelerator. Hindy responded with increased speed. The gap between her and the federal agents was rapidly closing. Addy pressed harder and Hindy responded, threatening to mow over the black-clad agents.

Realizing Addy was refusing to obey their order, they stepped aside, just as Addy whizzed past them. As she did, she shot her hand out the window and pumped her fist.

The stadium lights were still dimmed, but the fireworks display provided enough illumination for Addy to find her way onto the outer track. With her window down, she could hear Zissy finishing the last words to her closing number. It was time to listen for the three loud explosions. According to Nate’s plan, the stadium lights would then come back on and her commercial would go live.

She peeked into her rearview mirror. A police car was right on her tail. She couldn’t tell if it was an escort, or one last attempt by law enforcement to stop her. It was rapidly closing in. Because she needed to time her position, going any faster was pointless. She looked again and saw another patrol car, this one with its lights flashing.

Zissy’s song ended with a flurry of brilliantly colored flashes in the sky. Three loud pops shook the stadium.

Addy gauged her position. In the dim light it was difficult to tell if she was at midfield. As the stadium lights began ramping back up, Addy looked to her left. She was directly aligned with the center stage poised on the fifty-yard line. The dancers were already streaming off the field, exiting the field at both end zones. An army of stagehands was barreling out onto the field, some already dismantling the props.

But Zissy was still atop the stage, arms folded, chin up. Defiant.

Addy had forgotten that she was there to announce her arrival. A man holding a tablet stepped onto the track and raised his hand, indicating that she needed to slow down until Zissy had made her introduction. When she did, the first patrol car crept up to her rear bumper. It flashed its lights and an officer jumped out. Instead of Zissy’s voice over the public announcement system, she heard the patrol car’s squawk box command her to get out of the car.

The hum of the crowd created by the fans chattering about the halftime performance was instantly silenced, riveting all eyes on Hindy and the flashing lights.

Addy knew she wasn’t going to get out, and she wasn’t going to halt. Instead, she gunned it. Zissy took this as her cue.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what you are seeing before you is the world’s first car that can actually run on water. Give a hand to my good friend Addy, and her revolutionary new vehicle, Hindy.”

Zissy began clapping and two spotlights illuminated Hindy. Addy kept her speed constant and shot her hand out the window, waving like a beauty queen in the Rose Parade. The spotlights shone into her eyes, making it impossible for her to see the large display screens at each end zone that that should be broadcasting the formula for Quinn’s catalyst.

To Addy’s surprise, Zissy kept with her impromptu monologue.

“Yes, you heard correctly. Addy is driving the first ever car to be fueled by pouring ordinary tap water into the tank. And what you see on these giant screens is the secret chemical that makes it all possible. But I won’t steal her thunder. As soon as Addy finishes her lap, she is going to come right up here and explain how it all works.”

Addy had gone the length of the field and was ready to make the turn at the far end zone. She eased the steering wheel counterclockwise, keeping an eye on the squad cars that were still tailing her. That was when she noticed a platoon of SWAT vehicles waiting to ambush her. One by one they screamed out of the tunnel and formed a barricade across the track, halting her progress. Armor-plated and constructed for battle, these war machines were poised to take her out.

Addy moved her foot from the accelerator to the brake. Soon Hindy would be motionless. In another eighty seconds, her window of opportunity would be over.

Once the crowd realized what was happening they jumped out of their seats and, with gusto, began booing the federal agents.

Zissy, microphone still in hand, voiced her frustration.

“Come on officers, that’s not playing nice.”

With state troopers behind and a Homeland Security team in front, Addy was boxed in. If she didn’t make a move now, it would be all over.

Addy cranked the wheel hard and hit the accelerator, barely avoiding the lead SWAT truck. But now she was headed straight for the goal post. Hindy was now driving on turf. While all of the dancers were safely off the field, dozens of stagehands were still scurrying about dismantling the production equipment. Addy swerved left to avoid an electrician who was coiling a length of wire. Then a hard right and she shot through the goal posts.

The crowd was now fully engaged, clapping and chanting “Ad-DY, Ad-DY.”

One of the SWAT cars followed, but wasn’t nimble enough, and scraped the side of the goal post, causing it to tilt.

Zissy started laughing, as did half the fans.

Addy increased her speed, flying down the left hash mark like a wide receiver zipping toward the end zone. When she approached center field, she spied the microphone stand that was set up for her speech. She stomped on the brake, skidding along the slick grass. Even before Hindy came to a halt, Addy was out the door and perched in front of the microphone.

“Welcome to history in the making,” she said, half out of breath. The entire stadium stilled. “Super Bowl Sunday is a day of celebration, so please join with me in celebrating a new way of life. You are all now a part of history, and none of us will ever be the same.” Addy again paused and took a sweeping view of the stadium. All eyes were fixed on her. The cameraman edged closer.

“As you heard Zissy explain, this car is fueled by water,” Addy said, presenting Hindy with a sweep of her broken hand. “Soon, none of us will ever need to go to a gas station, and there will be no further need for damaging oil exploration and extraction and pollution. Isn’t that something we all want?”

Some of the spectators began to applaud, followed by more, and more, until it reached a crescendo. It felt like electricity had shot up out of the ground.

Addy turned to the jumbo screen and lifted her hand. “And I am here to give you the secret of how to convert water to hydrogen. It’s right there for everyone to see. The inventor, who couldn’t be here today, sent me to tell you that he is donating his technology to you, to the world. That means everyone is free to use it. There will be no patents, no license fees, just freedom for everyone to enjoy. So embrace the technology! Change the world!”

The standing spectators cheered their approval, whistling and stomping their feet.

Addy continued. “A lot of people tried to stop this day from happening.” She cranked her head sideways, giving the SWAT team a death look. “But thank goodness they all failed.

“I know many of you have heard allegations that I stole this technology, or that I participated in the gruesome murder of a patent examiner. Nothing could be further from the truth. My law partner even sacrificed his life to get me here today.

“But I’m not here to point fingers or make accusations. I am here to ask you for your help. This technology needs to be part of everyday life, and I need you to help make it happen. We need production facilities, improved fuel cells, better operating software. What place in the world is better suited for doing this than right here in Silicon Valley? Here is where the world’s most important technologies are born. You, of all people, right here in the heart of Silicon Valley, should understand.”

The crowd exploded, bellowing their approval.

“I invite those industry leaders and innovators to come look at Hindy. See for yourselves what Hindy is all about. I’ll be here to answer every question. I even have copies of the patent application that we’ve withdrawn from the Patent Office. So, as soon as the last second ticks off that game clock, please come be my guest.”

Zissy, still on the stage observing events unfold, didn’t want to wait for the end of the second half. She leapt down and rushed to Addy’s side. “And I’m going to be your first customer,” she said, then threw both arms around her and hugged her tight. Neither said anything as the applause reached deafening levels.

Together, singer and patent attorney waved at the adoring crowd. Addy soaked in the moment, hoping she could always remember how she felt right now. It was something nobody could ever take from her.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The cameras cut and Nate stepped forward and removed his headset. “Perfect,” he said. “But now it’s time to roll away the car and get ready for the second half. I have no idea what they’re going to do about that goal post. It looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

Zissy gave one final hug and wished her well. The porky sheriff who had threatened to arrest her stood watching, arms folded. Keeping her promise, Addy approached him, hands out. The sheriff shook his head.

A team of workers pushed Hindy off the field while Addy, escorted by the sheriff, headed for the staging area. She’d barely reached the track when the SWAT team swooped down on her, cuffing her hands behind her back, asserting their authority over the local sheriff, and taking her into custody.