Cars 2(6)
“Who brought that guy?” Jeff Gorvette, another American race car, asked Lightning.
Mater was looking at a very serious car raking a rock garden with absolute precision, an old Japanese tradition. But Mater thought he was trying to rake leaves!
“Hey!” Mater shouted. “You done good! You got all the leaves!”
Lightning quickly rolled up to Mater and pulled him aside.
“Listen,” Lightning whispered. “This isn’t Radiator Springs.” But Mater didn’t seem to understand that he was embarrassing himself and Lightning! “I’m saying things are different over here,” Lightning added. “Just help me out here, Mater.”
Mater lit up like a bulb. “You need help? Shoot! Why didn’t you say so? That’s what a tow truck does.”
They were suddenly distracted by the sound of laughter across the room. Francesco Bernoulli was shamelessly flirting with some of the ladies.
“Hey, looky there,” Mater said, glancing over at Francesco. “It’s Mr. San Francisco!”
“Mater, wait!” Lightning said, but Mater drove off.
“Look at me!” Mater exclaimed. “I’m helping already!”
Lightning quickly followed Mater, hoping to bring him back. But it was too late. Mater had reached Francesco and begun the introductions.
“Hey, Mr. San Francisco,” Mater said, addressing Francesco, “I’d like you to meet—”
“Lightning McQueen!” Francesco replied, looking Lightning up and down. “Buona sera!”
“Excuse me,” Mater said, interrupting Francesco. “Can I get a picture with you? Miss Sally’s gonna flip when she sees this. She’s Lightning McQueen’s girlfriend. She’s a big fan of yours.”
Francesco shrugged. “She has good taste.”
Lightning tried to smile. “Mater’s prone to exaggeration. I wouldn’t say she’s a big fan.”
“You’re right.” Mater nodded. “She’s a huge fan.”
“Francesco is familiar with this reaction to Francesco.” The Italian race car smiled, then added, “I dedicate my win tomorrow to Miss Sally.”
“Oh, sorry,” Lightning replied. “I already dedicated my win tomorrow to her. So if we both do it, it’s not really that special.” Then, noticing Mater driving off toward more trouble, he added, “See you at the race!”
Francesco smiled. “Yes, you will see Francesco. But not like this,” he said, gesturing smugly to his handsome face. Francesco turned and showed Lightning his rear bumper. It had a license plate that read CIAO, LIGHTNING MCQUEEN!
“That’s cute,” Lightning said. “You had one of those made up for all the racers?”
“No,” Francesco said simply.
Lightning tried to shrug off his bad feeling as he rolled away. Francesco was making this race personal!
Meanwhile, as Sir Miles Axlerod told the media about the wonders of his new fuel, Allinol, a bank of cameras recorded every word. Several of the cameras displayed the letters WGP—just like the camera Professor Z had unwrapped on the oil derrick.
And, unobserved, Finn McMissile was checking them all out.
Hidden from the party guests, Finn McMissile was secretly running the image of every one of those WGP cameras through his computer. So far, each one had been rejected as NOT A MATCH with the camera from the oil derrick.
From out of the crowd, a gorgeous sports car parked herself next to Finn and swiftly eyed her surroundings. Then she leaned in and whispered the secret code, “A Volkswagen Karmann Ghia has no radiator.”
Finn barely moved as he whispered the coded reply, “That’s because it’s air-cooled.”
The two spies had been given the coded prompt and reply so that they could identify each other at this party. Now they moved swiftly into their hushed introductions.
“I’m Agent Shiftwell. Holley Shiftwell from the Tokyo station,” she said. “I have a message from London.” Holley was a recent graduate of the secret- agent academy, brand-new to the world of espionage. Not a field agent like Finn, she did diagnostics work, examining and interpreting data.
“Not here,” Finn whispered as he led Holley to a glass elevator. When the doors closed, he spoke more freely. “So the lab boys analyzed the photos I sent? What did they learn about that camera?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, I’m afraid,” Agent Shiftwell replied brusquely. “They said perhaps you could get closer pictures next time?”
Finn bristled. “A good spy gets what he can, then gets out before he’s killed.”
The younger agent looked flustered. “Yes, sir. Of course.” Then she added, “There’s an American agent who’s been under deep cover on that oil platform. He was able to get a photo of the car who’s running the entire operation.”