Chapter 907 The Taxi Brian Called

"Even if this kind of plot is written into a novel, readers will despise it as too cliché," Jack complained.

He took the Viper from Brian, checked it again, and stuffed it into his ankle holster. He dropped his trouser legs and jumped around in place for a bit, only breathing a sigh of relief when he was sure there was nothing wrong.

Jack and Brian each have a "Viper" in their hands, which is all they can rely on for their operations in France. To put it nicely, they are now illegal immigrants. If their true identities are discovered, they may be regarded as spies.

Cassel might be better off, as he is a public figure after all, and his books have been translated into French. The most he will suffer is deportation.

"Gentlemen, I have been ordered to take you away." A major appeared at the door and looked at the three men with a serious expression.

-

"Thank you."

After being dropped off on a remote road, Jack shook hands with the unknown major, thanked him, watched the Renault truck turn around and leave, then turned to look at Brian.

The connections he could use were only enough to get them here. Now the three of them were still nearly 200 kilometers away from Paris. What happened next was up to him.

"It should be here soon." Brian raised his hand to check the time, his tone rarely showing a hint of unconfidence.

As they were talking, a buzzing sound was heard in the distance, similar to the dull engine sound often heard on F1 racetracks. Along with billowing smoke and dust, a white Peugeot 407 slowly slowed down and drove towards the three people. There was a small TAXI sign on the roof of the car.

"Jack, the FBI can get a military transport plane, and you, a former CIA agent, just called a taxi for us?" Cassel looked surprised and a little contemptuous.

Brian looked helpless. “Jack said it would be best not to alert the French authorities, so I contacted an old friend who assured me this was the fastest way for us to get to Paris.”

"Gentlemen, are you going to Paris for tourism? There aren't many tourists in Paris at this time. You've come at a good time. The roads will be relatively empty."

A shaved head popped out from the driver's window, his smile full of enthusiasm.

Jack fell silent as he looked at the familiar face. If he remembered correctly, shouldn't this person appear on the streets of Marseille? And the time didn't seem to match.

The first part of a certain French racing movie was released before 2000. Looking at the protagonist Daniel, who is at most in his early 20s, he can't help but feel a headache about the chaotic timeline of this world.

"What are you waiting for? We don't have much time." Cassel impatiently opened the passenger door and wanted to get in, but Jack stopped him.

"Well, you'd better sit in the back." Jack didn't really want to enjoy a seat alone, he just did it out of kindness.

The "Taxi" series got worse and worse, and he indeed didn't watch all of them, but he remembered that the only person who didn't vomit in the car was a person named Sylvester Stallone, and even he was only sitting in the back seat at the time.

"Are you all American tourists?" Hearing that they were talking in English, Daniel asked enthusiastically in his poorly accented English.

"Yes, we are in a hurry. Please take us to Paris as quickly as you can." Cassel handed over a stack of US dollars as soon as he got in the car.

"Ugh" Jack, who had just closed the passenger door, slapped himself in the face.

"Please fasten your seat belts, gentlemen." Daniel's eyes lit up as he held a thick stack of dollars in his hand. He reached under the dashboard and revealed densely packed switches and buttons.

Jack sighed and resigned himself to fastening his seat belt. To be honest, when it comes to racing, he prefers the feeling of holding the steering wheel in his own hands.

As Daniel flipped the switch, four pneumatic jacks slowly lifted the car body, the large wheels automatically extended to both sides, the front of the car was deformed into a modified bumper with a guide groove, and the rear wing extended from the trunk position at the rear of the car.

"What's that noise?" Cassel was startled by a series of mechanical sounds. He looked around nervously, wanting to know what happened.

"Wouldn't you like to play some music?" Seeing that someone had already taken out a racing steering wheel from under the seat and replaced the original steering wheel, Jack thought that since he had already encountered this situation, he might as well just maximize the atmosphere.

Accompanied by a brisk guitar twang, the taxi's engine burst out with a dull sound that shouldn't belong to the Peugeot 407. Almost at the moment of starting, the heads of the four people in the car were pressed firmly onto the headrests of the seats by the huge push back force.

In Jack's memory of his previous life, "Pump It" by the Black Eyed Peas is a racing song that is as magical as the theme song of "Catch the Prawn" and "Knight Rider". No matter which of these three songs he hears, he will always automatically imagine the roar of racing engines and the squeaking of tires rubbing against the ground.

"In fact, we are not in that hurry. There is no need to lose your driver's license for speeding." Cassel raised his hand to cover his eyes, trying not to look at the scenery passing by quickly outside the window.

He could swear that the thing that was knocked down on the side of the road just now was definitely a French police speed camera.

"Don't worry, I don't have a driver's license." Daniel smiled brightly.

Cassel didn't know he was joking. When he heard this, his heart finally gave out. He grabbed the handrail with one hand and held his seat belt tightly with the other.

Daniel was still teasing him deliberately, "Don't worry sir, we haven't got on the highway yet. Once we get on the highway, I can shift into second gear."

At this time, a railway line extending far away appeared on the roadside, and a "Eurostar" was running at high speed on the track.

Cassel, who was peeking out of the window through his fingers, looked in disbelief at the train that seemed to be slowly moving backwards, then looked at the direction the taxi was heading.

"Wait, is that a bullet train?"

"Yes, that's right. Isn't this a beautiful train? It goes very fast around the bends, but a little slower when going straight."

Hearing this outrageous speech, Cassel made the sign of the cross in front of himself with trembling hands.

Jack also drives fast, but usually he just hits the criminals and stops them. He is usually a good driver. This is the first time he has driven fast for nearly 200 kilometers at a high speed. It turns out that one has to go out often to broaden his horizons.

"44 minutes and 35 seconds. Have fun in Paris!" Two long brake marks were left and two vomit bags popped out automatically from the backrest in front of the rear seat.

"Ugh." Military transport planes apparently did not provide in-flight meals. Cassel had nothing to vomit, so he dry-heaved several times.

Daniel hurriedly took out a plastic bag and tried to hand it to Jack in the passenger seat, but he was met with a smile. "Good skills, let's exchange ideas when we have a chance."

He looked back in confusion and found that Brian didn't seem to react. It was not until he saw Cassel's expression that he smiled with satisfaction and praised him seriously again.

"You two are amazing. Normally, every time I stop the car, no passenger can hold back."