[FUTURE] ... wherein Annie becomes a DDI
When the class arrived for their first day of defensive driving, they were directed by a note tacked to the door: Head down to the track.
Several of them got excited, thinking they were going to be allowed to drive on their first day, but others, the smart ones, knew that it was far more likely that they were going to be treated to a demonstration of the skills they were going to be taught over the next fourteen weeks.
When they arrived at the edge of the specialized track, the sixteen recruits climbed onto the bleachers, their eyes wide at the sight of the car on the asphalt far below them. On the tactical track, was a late 2010 model Aston Martin DBS Volante sitting front and center.
"Is that the kind of car they're going to give us to practice with?"
The ridiculous question came from one smart-ass, but he'd addressed it to no one in particular. It came as no surprise then, when a voice piped up from the back.
"Don't be stupid. That's James Bond's car." Everyone turned to look at the young woman who'd spoken. A small brunette with glasses, she shrugged and explained as she pointed at the gorgeous convertible that sat idling on the track. "It's an Aston Martin Volante." No one moved a muscle. "That's what James Bond drove."
There might have been a few more comments, except right then, a figure appeared in the distance and, striding confidently toward the sports car in question, slipped into the driver's seat. The Jumbotron screens around them flickered to life to give them a full view of the course as the car began to move forward.
Ten seconds later, the driver took off like a shot, putting the car, and the course itself, through their paces.
It was a one mile track, with ten turns, including two sets of s-turns. With the constant increasing and decreasing radius turns, it was impressive that she kept the car on the road, without missing a beat. Though there was a live fire tactical training area, it hadn't been activated for that particular demonstration and through the inclines, turns and cones, the driver didn't falter, clearing each obstacle with precision timing.
No one on the bleachers noticed the well-dressed man in the three piece suit approach the stands behind them to watch the demonstration with a critical eye.
As the car and drive finished the three and a half minute course with time to spare, coming to a beautiful stop less than six inches in front of the iron barrier raised where the course had begun, the class that had been holding it's breath had to applaud.
Annie Walker stepped out of the car with a smile. Ninety-eight miles an hour was such a rush. It took her thirty seconds or so to come up the hill to the bleachers where her class was to introduce herself. Catching sight of her new visitor, her smile widened.
"I'm Annie Webb and I'm your new defensive driving instructor." Motioning with her hand to the man at the back of the class, she said, "And if you'll allow me to introduce Clayton Webb, Director of Central Intelligence? He was the one that was so kind and gracious to loan me the use of his car for today's exercise." Her smile was on the flirty side of a smirk as the class took in the interaction. "Thank you, Director."
He'd seen how close she'd come to the final barrier and had, just as quickly, worked out how to explain to the insurance company why his wife had taken his car out on the tactical course at Camp Peary. Now that his heart rate had returned to an almost normal state, he smiled back. "Thank you, Agent Webb," he said, heavy on her title. "I expect my car back at a reasonable time."
As she watched him walk away, she couldn't resist. "My keys are on your desk. I'll drive it home."
She saw him pause and knew she'd have to make it up to him. Thankfully, she'd just bought honey and strawberries at the store. Turning back to the class, she caught sight of the looks she saw.
Smugly, "When you have the best defensive driving scores of all time, you can drive the half-million dollar car. Now. To begin..."
Several of them got excited, thinking they were going to be allowed to drive on their first day, but others, the smart ones, knew that it was far more likely that they were going to be treated to a demonstration of the skills they were going to be taught over the next fourteen weeks.
When they arrived at the edge of the specialized track, the sixteen recruits climbed onto the bleachers, their eyes wide at the sight of the car on the asphalt far below them. On the tactical track, was a late 2010 model Aston Martin DBS Volante sitting front and center.
"Is that the kind of car they're going to give us to practice with?"
The ridiculous question came from one smart-ass, but he'd addressed it to no one in particular. It came as no surprise then, when a voice piped up from the back.
"Don't be stupid. That's James Bond's car." Everyone turned to look at the young woman who'd spoken. A small brunette with glasses, she shrugged and explained as she pointed at the gorgeous convertible that sat idling on the track. "It's an Aston Martin Volante." No one moved a muscle. "That's what James Bond drove."
There might have been a few more comments, except right then, a figure appeared in the distance and, striding confidently toward the sports car in question, slipped into the driver's seat. The Jumbotron screens around them flickered to life to give them a full view of the course as the car began to move forward.
Ten seconds later, the driver took off like a shot, putting the car, and the course itself, through their paces.
It was a one mile track, with ten turns, including two sets of s-turns. With the constant increasing and decreasing radius turns, it was impressive that she kept the car on the road, without missing a beat. Though there was a live fire tactical training area, it hadn't been activated for that particular demonstration and through the inclines, turns and cones, the driver didn't falter, clearing each obstacle with precision timing.
No one on the bleachers noticed the well-dressed man in the three piece suit approach the stands behind them to watch the demonstration with a critical eye.
As the car and drive finished the three and a half minute course with time to spare, coming to a beautiful stop less than six inches in front of the iron barrier raised where the course had begun, the class that had been holding it's breath had to applaud.
Annie Walker stepped out of the car with a smile. Ninety-eight miles an hour was such a rush. It took her thirty seconds or so to come up the hill to the bleachers where her class was to introduce herself. Catching sight of her new visitor, her smile widened.
"I'm Annie Webb and I'm your new defensive driving instructor." Motioning with her hand to the man at the back of the class, she said, "And if you'll allow me to introduce Clayton Webb, Director of Central Intelligence? He was the one that was so kind and gracious to loan me the use of his car for today's exercise." Her smile was on the flirty side of a smirk as the class took in the interaction. "Thank you, Director."
He'd seen how close she'd come to the final barrier and had, just as quickly, worked out how to explain to the insurance company why his wife had taken his car out on the tactical course at Camp Peary. Now that his heart rate had returned to an almost normal state, he smiled back. "Thank you, Agent Webb," he said, heavy on her title. "I expect my car back at a reasonable time."
As she watched him walk away, she couldn't resist. "My keys are on your desk. I'll drive it home."
She saw him pause and knew she'd have to make it up to him. Thankfully, she'd just bought honey and strawberries at the store. Turning back to the class, she caught sight of the looks she saw.
Smugly, "When you have the best defensive driving scores of all time, you can drive the half-million dollar car. Now. To begin..."