The Gullwing's Odyssey

The street lights blazed brightly as Drako Brandst walked to his expensive new silver

sportscar in the hotel parking lot. Donning a matching silver crash helmet emblazoned

with his bank’s logo, he buckled himself into the driver’s seat. He was a big,Teutonic

man and had to adjust his frame to fit it snugly into the bucket seat of the coupé. The

chilly pre-dawn weather made him button up the collar of the blue suede jacket he wore.

Placing his right thumb on the steering console, he pressed the starter button. The engine

came to life with a blast, and as he revved it a few times, he hoped it would not wake up

other hotel guests. He drove out of the hotel and headed towards the autobahn. As he

turned into the city streets, he thought he heard a motorbike being throttled, but did not

pay it any attention. With a squeal of its wide tyres, he put rubber on tarmac and got the

car on its way.

The Dutch biker with the red bandana and scraggly beard had been sitting atop his

superbike in the shadows, waiting for Drako to emerge. He had been half asleep; but the

sound of the engine being revved had startled him, and he was wide awake now. He

adjusted his goggles, buttoned the stylish jacket he wore and started to follow the

sportscar. He had been waiting for this moment. Ever since he had seen the silver

sportscar being driven off the ferry at the Hook of Holland, his mind had raced with ideas

about how he could make it his own. It was the car of his dreams, and he was absolutely

determined to get it. Especially as he had recognised the driver. He followed the car

through the city streets onto the motorway. As it hit the autobahn, it took off. The

superbike, fast as it was, was no match for the speeding coupé. The biker had expected

that though, and had taken steps to keep contact with the car. As the car’s red tail lights

slowly disappeared into the breaking dawn, the biker was confident that he would catch

up with it soon.

The sportscar that Drako drove out of the hotel that day was his latest acquisition; bought

with his annual bonus earned at the private bank where he worked. He was from an

aristocratic German family, but found living in Britain more to his liking now. His

parents had suffered during the war and decided at the end of it that Germany had no

future. The world was going to change, and if young Drako was going to succeed, he

needed a different type of education. One that did not expose him to the privileged way of

life they enjoyed. With servants, helpers and chauffeurs at his beck and call. He needed to

think and do things for himself and mix with different people. It would broaden his

vision, they surmised. However, Drako had become used to a privileged life, and resisted

the idea of leaving Germany to be educated in a country he did not know and in a

language he did not speak well. He enjoyed roaming the vast grounds of their castle

overlooking the Rhine, hunting in the woods, and partaking of the feasts the chefs

prepared on special occasions. So, it was much against his wishes that his parents had

insisted on a British public school education and sent him to England as a young man. He

went to elite schools and universities, and could not take to British customs at first. But

he had no choice, and decided to adapt. As he got accustomed to their way of life, he

eventually began to enjoy it. His aristocratic instincts guided him well, and he became a

typical English gentleman. England was now his home, but he still missed his castle and

the German countryside.

His elite education and aristocratic references had made him a natural selection for one of

the City’s private banks, and it was not long before he made his mark at the bank.

However, banking was not really what interested him. He was once caught by his

Director with his feet on his desk. When questioned about his attitude, he confessed his

misery with a straight forward “I hate banking!”

"Well, if you hate banking so much, what would you rather do?”

enquired his Director.

“I would much rather be in the Great Outdoors. Driving my classic cars.”

“The problem with you, young man, is that you don’t know your own

worth. You have outlandish ideas about how life should be lived because

you’ve never really had to work for it.”

“That’s not true!” retorted Drako.” You know full well that I’m

indispensible to the bank! Otherwise why would you give me such great

bonuses?”

“The bank would survive , I’m sure,” replied the Director.” A little

less lip from you would help too. Maybe you should move on.”

"And what would Lady Richbrook have to say if I did that?"

enquired Drako.

"She'd probably have a fit and close her account with us," confessed

the Director. “Along with many others.”

Drako may have hated banking, but the truth was that his wealthy customers could not do

without him. Every one of them raved about his ability to know every detail of their

investments and how to make them grow. And grow they did. He made his clients very

rich, and the bank in turn made Drako rich. His bonuses grew each year, and with the

wealth he had inherited from the family trust, money was the least of his problems. It was

the loneliness that got him. He had never really made many friends at school because of

his German background, and with no women in his life worth mentioning, he was really a

loner. So he indulged himself with the one passion he had developed over the years - his

sportscars. All the million pound bonuses he was paid were used to build up an enviable

collection of classic sportscars, and each one was a collectors dream.

He lived in an elegant old Georgian mansion outside London and would drive to work in

the City every morning in a different car. Thus it was, that on a bright spring morning in

May, he decided to visit his favourite car dealer on his way to work. The engine of his

purple classic hummed softly as he turned into the car dealership. As he entered the

driveway of cars, he spotted a stunning silver piece, smack-bang in the middle of them.

"What is that?!" he exclaimed to himself, his eyes popping out. Low slung and

gorgeous, he had never seen this model before.

"Peter, where on earth did you pick this up?" he asked, his heartbeat going up a

notch.

"That sir, is the new Thunderbolt Coupé," replied Peter." With gullwing doors.

Just came in this week.”

The silver beauty in front of him had angled headlights that seemed to glare at

him angrily. Its two doors were opened upwards to the sky like a giant condor about to fly

off from its high mountain perch. Huge air vents at the side guaranteed that this

spectacular piece of metal and carbon fibre would burn up the tarmac.

He was unable to contain himself and shouted at Peter excitedly. "I must try it.

Immediately. Even if it means being late for work. Can I take it for a quick spin?”

Peter could not refuse him, as over the years he had partaken of a good amount of

the bankers' bonuses. This might be another opportunity.

"Of course! For a special client. But only just outside the driveway here please as

we have not yet shown it to the public.” He allowed Drako to get in and lowered the

gullwing doors.

Settling his big frame into the comfortable soft bucket seat of the car, Drako could

smell the Alcântara leather and found it intoxicating. The dazzling dashboard with twin

dials for speed and revs had a digital readout in between. There were push-button controls

to start and stop the engine and the small rectangular hollowed gear shift fitted snugly

into his hands. He did not even have to drive it to know that he must possess this beauty.

He started the engine, and, accompanied by what sounded like a rumbling roll of thunder,

eased the car out of the driveway for a quick short drive. The speed dial showed a limit of

360 kmph! How he would relish putting this driving machine through its paces on a

major expressway! He immediately decided to indulge himself with this silver gullwing

coupé and had made up his mind by the time he returned to the dealership.

"Magnificent!" he exclaimed. "I'll take it!"

"We haven't even priced it yet, sir," cooed Peter." We just received it this

morning.”

"Well, get it done,'” said the banker." I'll come by to collect it this evening.”

He returned to the car dealer in the evening, and the coupé was awaiting him.

"Smashing," he said." And how much is this going to put me back by?"

Careful, thought Peter. Don't want to lose this one.

"As you know, sir, this car pays homage to some famous models. It has heritage in

its lines combined with its high tech features."

"Yes, yes, I realise that. What's the price?" queried an impatient Drako. He had

done some checking about the model on his own during the day, and was ready for Peter.

"Well sir, as you are a very special customer of ours, we will offer you a very

special price of 300,000 Pounds," said Peter. "It will normally sell for 325,000 Pounds."

Just ten percent of my bonus for the year, thought Drako! Worth it!

"Excellent! That is a good price indeed. Thank you. I will arrange for

the payment.”

At the bank a few days later, he met his Director

“I hear you’ve indulged yourself again,” said the Director.” What took your fancy

this time?

“It’s the latest sportscar on the market. A stunning Thunderbolt Coupé. With

gullwing doors. Should keep me going for the next few years till something more

spectacular comes along.”

”And how much did they sting you for it this time?”

”It’s an exquisite sportscar. Bound to become a classic. Therefore priceless,

really.”

“You’d better wish a long life for Lady Richbrook,” said the Director as he angled

his way to his room.” Make sure you lock the steering of your expensive toy wherever

you go. Too many blackguards around these days. You could easily lose your priceless

classic.”

He’s absolutely right, thought Drako! He had lost his favourite Lamborghini when

thieves had been able to break into its locking system. He needed something more

complex, more sophisticated. Whatever the cost.

He called the car dealer again.

“Peter, in addition, I would like the coupé outfitted with the latest in high- tech

security systems. I want an unbreakable security environment around the car and want to

be the only one who can start the car. Don’t want to lose this beauty.”

"Certainly,” replied Peter." I will find the best systems and have them installed. Of

course, they would cost extra.”

"Of course. Let me know how much and I’ll send you my cheque.”

“Certainly.”

Over the weekend, Drako received a call from the car dealer.

"You may collect the car sir. Please come to the security company as you will

have to lock in the new biometric starter.”

“Sure, give me the location and I’ll meet you there at noon.”

Peter did so and was waiting for Drako when he arrived. Drako inspected the

Thunderbolt Coupé again. This is truly a classic he thought. One for the ages; to be

preserved and handled with care.

"So how does his starter work?" he enquired of the technician.

"Normal car biometric locking systems have two locks,” replied the security

expert. “One for opening the car door, and another for starting the car. Each requires the

same fingerprint to be recognized. However, as instructed by Peter, we have devised a

special biometric lock exclusive to your car. It will not be replicated by us anywhere

else.”

"Excellent! A unique biometric lock!"

"Exactly! Unique to this particular car and to you. In addition to the standard

mechanical key for the car doors.”

"How does it work?"

"Well, instead of two locks requiring one fingerprint, yours has one lock on the

steering console requiring two fingerprints –preferably one from each hand. Which

fingers would you like to use?”

"I'll use both my thumbs."

"Well, place them on these two spots one after the other.”

Drako touched his thumbs to the feelers embedded into the console. There was a

soft click as the sensors recognised his thumbprints.

"Explain how it works."

“Well, the fuel supply does not start up unless the sensors recognise your right

thumbprint. So if someone else places their fingers on the console, the car will not start.

Simple, but effective."

“And to lock the car?”

“ Just place your left thumb on the console. It will cut off the fuel supply.”

“Excellent. Thanks,” said Drako. He got into the car, placed his right thumb on

the steering console and pressed the button to start the engine. It came to life

immediately.

“Thank you both,” he said, addressing Peter and the technician as he took the car

out onto the road.

The May Day weekend was coming up and that would be when he would take the coupé

for a speed trip on the German autobahns. As soon as he got home, he took out his tour

guide to plan the trip. He would take the ferry from Harwich and proceed to Germany via

the Hook of Holland; spend the night in Oberhausen and hit the A3 to Cologne at first

light on the Sunday morning. His research had shown that Sunday was the best day for

speed trips on German autobahns as trucks were forbidden on them. The traffic would be

at its lowest in the early morning and that would enable him to really step on the gas. He

would visit the magnificent cathedral in Cologne, do a quick turnaround, and head back

to the Hook to catch the return ferry to Harwich. He would be back in the bank on the

Monday morning. This is going to be some experience he thought, his pulse racing.

He spent the Friday of the May Day weekend checking the controls in the car and how to

use them. He was intrigued by the circular dial on the gear console which controlled the

digital readouts, and worked on handling the music system correctly.

Early the next morning, he was ready. Bright sunshine greeted him as he drove

out of his house onto the road to Harwich through Chelmsford and Colchester. As he hit

a lonely section of the A120 from Colchester, he tested the coupé’s horses. He felt the car

surge forward. With an open stretch of road in front of him, his adrenalin was pumping as

he turned on the music. This was the life, he thought, as he sped along the motorway. So

very much better than sitting in the stuffy bank. He reached Parkeston Quay and loaded

the car onto the ferry to await the short crossing to Holland.

Drako kept an eye on the weather as he waited for the channel crossing to be completed.

It was spring, but the weather here could be notoriously fickle. He had known occasions

when it was sleet and snow at this time of the year. Any rain on the autobahns would

mean that he could not test the full potential of the sports-coupé. This year though, it

looked like it would be bright and sunny, and that perked him up even more.

It was late afternoon by the time he cleared customs in Holland, and there were many

there who eyed the silver sportscar as he disembarked from the ferry. One of them was a

young Dutchman about Drako’s age. He had been waiting for his girlfriend at the

terminal, but she did not appear. He was livid. Then he saw the car.

What a stunning car, thought the Dutchman to himself, his eyes roaming the

terminal. Never seen this model before.He was sitting atop a red superbike. His jeans

were frayed at the knees and a red bandana sash kept his long hair in place. His unkempt

beard flowed freely. This is surely the car of my dreams, thought the biker, still looking

around for his girlfriend. I’ve always wanted a sportscar. I must find a way to get hold of

it. He went up to the driver.

“Beautiful car. What make is it and how fast can it go?” he enquired.

“It’s the new gullwing Thunderbolt Coupé .The dial shows 360 kmph. I’ll be

going onto the A3 from Oberhausen to Cologne to check it out,” said Drako.

The biker was examining the car. But as he heard the reply, he swung his head around

sharply to look intently at Drako. Where have I heard that voice before, he thought to

himself? Something from his childhood flashed through his mind. Cologne? Koblenz?

“Where have you come from?” enquired the biker.

“I live in England where I work at a private bank,” replied Drako.

“ How long have you been there?” asked the Dutchman.

“ Around ten years now. Used to live in Germany, near Koblenz, in a castle

overlooking the Rhine. But my parents wanted me to study in an English public school,

so I was sent there. They both died in a car accident a few years ago.

Drako! Drako Brandst! thought the biker. It has to be him! I would not have

recognised him! He looks like his father, though.

“Super car. Careful of the Dutch motorbike cops,” he said. “They like arresting

sportscar drivers going to Germany for speeding in Holland. The stretch before the border

crossing at Venlo is particularly notorious.”

“Thanks for reminding me. I will remember that. I had some problems a few years

ago. They chased me all the way to the Belgian border to give me a ticket. So this time, I

intend to wait till I’m in Germany before hitting the accelerator.”

“ May you enjoy your drive on the autobahns. I’m sure we’ll meet up again

sometime,” said the biker.

“Unlikely,” replied Drako. “I’m only here for a day to check out the coupé’s

capabilities.”

With his girlfriend not on the ferry, the disappointed Dutchman prepared to ride out of the

terminal. As he neared the gate the parking attendant greeted him.

“Hallo! How are you?”

“Well, but irritated! I was waiting for my girlfriend to arrive on the ferry from

England, but she didn’t come. Before I could check what happened to her, I met someone

else who I thought I may have known as a child. And forgot all about her!”

“I hope you had a good reunion,” said the parking attendant.

“Childhood friends are to be treasured.”

“Not this one,” replied the biker.” My father was a gardener in the castle owned

by his family. I often helped him with his work as schooling was expensive. So when

this person wanted someone to accompany him when he went bird hunting, I was asked

to go with him. No choice. We would roam the vast grounds of their estate looking for

birds. This young man would use his air gun to kill them, and my job was to fetch them

for him and carry them home. Whenever he could not shoot any birds, he would get very

angry and turn his gun on me! I still have small pellets in my legs from those days!”

“What an obnoxious person! I hope you didn’t let him get away with it?”

“There was nothing I could do, as we needed the jobs. I swore then that if I ever

got a chance, I would make him pay for it. It was a long time ago.”

“Good luck then; and be careful,” said the attendant as the biker rode out.

Drako meantime, was getting in behind the wheel of his Thunderbolt. He placed his right

thumb on the steering console and pressed the ignition button. There was an immediate

response and he was away. He had an hour’s drive through the Dutch countryside before

hitting the German border. He went about it leisurely, enjoying the sunshine and the

tulips. He stopped at a small café after crossing into Germany and checked his route map

once more. The A3 from Oberhausen to Cologne was part of a major artery linking

Holland to Austria across Germany and stretched for nearly 800 kilometres. He planned

to hit top speed as soon as he got onto it. He reached his hotel at dusk, parked the car in a

corner away from the parking lot and checked in. A good night’s sleep would be useful,

he thought.

He was up the next morning before dawn broke and went down to the car. He drove out

of the hotel and headed towards the A3, not realising that the Dutch biker with the red

bandana was tailing him. There was no traffic on the A3 this Sunday as he had thought,

and his headlights showed a clear road ahead. He stepped on the accelerator. Soon, the

lights on the dashboard showed his steadily increasing speed and he felt the power of the

sportscar’s V8 engine. A few kilometres on the autobahn, and he was clocking 150 kmph,

then 200,280 kmph. He had to keep his nerves steady. This beats anything I’ve driven, he

thought as he urged the car on. 300 kmph! The dial was reaching its limit and the Ruhr

was flying past him. Supremely balanced, the coupé’s powerful engine was eating up the

autobahn.330 kmph! He had never driven so fast in his life. His adrenalin was really

surging now. He had covered the ninety odd kilometres to Cologne in under twenty

minutes by his dashboard clock! Magnificent! With the engine still gurgling, he got off

the autobahn and headed for the station complex next to the cathedral. Parking the coupé

in the station parking lot, he got out and stretched his legs.

The cathedral bells were chiming their rich deep tone as Drako climbed up the

steps from the station courtyard to the magnificent Gothic structure. It had been built over

600 years ago, and it’s tall twin spires still overlooked the Rhine river in all their

magnificent glory. As he entered the cathedral, the morning sunshine shone through its

stained glass windows to display them brilliantly. He was transfixed by the architecture

and the history of the place. He finished his cathedral visit and reluctantly headed back to

the station café. He found the morning travellers entering the complex to begin their daily

journeys.

It was then that he noticed the biker with the red bandana that he had met earlier, walk

into the station courtyard. The biker went towards his coupé and inspected it from every

angle. He then reached down under the boot of the car. Wonder what he’s up to, thought

Drako and started to go towards him. The biker came into the café.

“Hallo, my friend. We meet again”, said the Dutchman.

“Yes, I’m surprised,” replied Drako. ”Do you live in Cologne? What were you

doing to my car?”

“No, nothing. I have been following you on my superbike,” replied the Dutchman.

“I live in this town and just returned my hired bike here as I had planned to meet you. I

was at the same hotel as you were last night in Oberhausen. When you mentioned that

you wanted to check out the speed of the sportscar on the road to Cologne, I decided to

follow you. As I did not expect to catch you, I had attached a small homing device to

your car. Just recovered it.”

“Really! So you followed me here! What for?”

“Just to know if the car lived up to your expectations.”

“It was awesome! Hit a top speed of 330 kmph without a shudder. Powerful

engine. I was flying!”

“I’m sure you were. Would you mind taking me for a ride in it? I would love to

see how it moves.”

“Sure. A short spin, some breakfast, and I’ll be heading back.”

They got into the car. Drako touched his thumb to the steering console and pressed the

starter button.

“What was that you just did?” enquired the passenger.

“Special customised biometric lock. The sensors will only read my thumbprints to

turn the fuel supply on and off. Right thumb to turn on and left to turn off. Quite unique!”

“Amazing,” replied the biker. “Cool technology.”

Drako drove the car through the city centre, the Old Town and the Belgian

Quarter and returned to the station.

“This is a fantastic sportscar,” said the Dutchman, a gleam in his eyes.” I would

give anything to own it.”

“325,000 Pounds is what you would need to cough up for one. Would you like to

join me for some breakfast?” enquired Drako.

“Sure. I’m famished. Don’t have that kind of money though.”

As he answered Drako, an idea suddenly struck him. He knew how to get the sportscar! It

would be so simple!

They ordered some eggs, bratwursts, and a large pot of coffee. The biker poured

out a cup for Drako. He looked thoughtful.

“How much sugar?”

“Two teaspoons please,” replied Drako.

As he tore the pack to pour out the sugar, the Dutchman glanced out of the café towards

the silver coupé.

“I’ll bet you the car will not make it back to England.”

“Why ever not?” said a startled Drako, looking out at the car. As he did so, he did

not notice the biker slip some white powder into his coffee along with the sugar.

“Just a hunch that the Dutch cops will nab you,” replied the biker.

“Nonsense! I’m not going to hit the revs on the way back.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to resist the urge,” said the biker and attacked the full

plate and coffee in front of him. Drako did the same.

“This coffee tastes good, but different,” said Drako as he gulped it down quickly.

“Germans love their coffee, Drako” said the Dutchman.” Can’t live without it.

You should know that!”

Drako was reaching out to pour himself another cup when he heard his name

being mentioned.

“How do you know my name?” enquired a startled Drako. ”Who are you?”

Suddenly, the café started spinning before him, but before he collapsed and passed out, he

thought he saw the biker lift his trouser leg to show him a leg embedded with small steel

pellets.

It was early the next morning that Drako regained consciousness. As he opened his eyes

and looked around him, he discovered he was on a hospital bed. He felt an excruciating

pain in his arms as a nurse came in.

“Where am I?” enquired a surprised Drako, wincing at the pain.” What

happened?”

“You’re at the hospital in Cologne,” the nurse replied.” You were brought in

unconscious by a young man with a flowing beard wearing a red bandana sash and

driving a beautiful silver sportscar. We don’t know why, but both your thumbs had been

chopped off and you were bleeding profusely. That’s why both your hands are tightly

bandaged.”