A lorry, abandoned by its owner, stuck in the interminable traffic jam.

A lorry, abandoned by its owner, stuck in the interminable traffic jam.

[Leave.]

Open the door.

The smell of cigarettes and perfume welcomes you. The cabin inside is plastered with old movie posters, actresses smile from the walls. There's a radio transmitter in the front and a toolbox tucked under the driver's seat. Some tools lie scattered near the pedals.

There's something odd about the passenger seat... The seating fabric has been pulled tight over the lower side of the seat where the toolbox should be.

Examine the radio.

Looks like the frequency dial is absent. It requires a key to work, but the key has been removed -- likely by the missing lady driver.

The lieutenant leans closer to the radio and hums: "Strange. There are so many radio stations saved here... must be over one hundred at least."

It has to be an advanced model to fit so many frequencies next to each other without blending them together.

"What about the Speedfreaks FM? Is it one of the saved stations here?"

"No, that's on 78.9." He stops, coughing awkwardly.

Raise your eyebrows.

"What? I happen to have committed the frequency to memory. I have no problem admitting that."

"Is there anything we can do with the radio?"

"Doesn't look like it -- it's completely inoperable without the dial key."

"What else is here..." (Conclude.)

The ghostly actresses and the rusty toolbox under the driver's seat. And the oddly bulging seat cover.

The smell of a thousand cigarettes, some dead actresses and a rusty old toolbox under the seat.

"Why would anyone need so many radio stations?"

"For contacting an entire fleet of lorrymen, for example." He flicks a switch on the radio. "This is all shortwave, UW and UKV..."

"Looks like we're dealing with an impressive organizational tool -- the nerve centre of a huge operation. With quite the range too."

A 20 kilometre radius at least. Perhaps extended by an attachable antenna that's not here right now?

The peculiar frequency tableau indicates that at least 128 stations have been saved on this radio.

It has to be an advanced model to fit so many frequencies next to each other without blending them together.

Look around the cabin. (Conclude.)

The smell of a thousand cigarettes, some dead actresses and a rusty old toolbox under the seat...

The ghostly actresses and the rusty toolbox, under the driver's seat... And the oddly bulging seat cover.

What about the Speedfreaks FM? Is it one of the saved stations here?

Doesn't look like it.

Why would anyone need so many radio stations?

Unclear.

For contacting an entire fleet of lorries, for example. This must be the nerve centre of a well-organized operation.

Is there anything I can do with the radio?

Not without the dial key, no.

Peel off the cover on the passenger seat.

Voila! A stack of neatly folded papers has been stashed behind the seating fabric. You see three maps depicting a large metropolitan area. It's Revachol, some of its routes and highways have been outlined with a pen.

"Bonne prise," the lieutenant commends you as you shift through the treasure -- well worn and folded into neat squares.

Return the papers under the seat.

"Best not to disturb the scene." The lieutenant nods. "I'll have Forensics go over the lorry and pick these up later."

The stack of maps looks just like before -- barely noticeable. The movie stars look silently by and the pull-out toolbox has a rubber handle, worn from years of use.

Fold open the topmost map.

This large map displays the elevated motorway called 8/81. The intake leading to Martinaise is marked with a blue X. There's another X on the off-ramp at a place called the Old South.

Tollbooths at the intakes are marked with a circle. It looks like there are scant few ways of getting onto the elevated motorway that runs over Jamrock -- and this person knows them all.

There, hundreds of thousands of motor carriages roar on the 8/81, high above the mass of brown and red roofs that is Jamrock. The commuters don't even look down; the world ceases to exist outside the windshield.

Return the papers under the seat.

Where does the road lead...

To Couron, through the middle income neighbourhoods there -- by the river -- and then to Stella Maris and La Delta, for work. While the men and women of Jamrock scuttle to their fates below the road.

Fold open the second map.

This municipal map from the Thirties displays a complex system of storm sewers underneath a sub-district called The Pox (Old Military Hospital), right adjacent to the 41st Precinct.

No storm will ever drown Revachol, the great solution to the riddle of history.

Wind rips through the empty hallways of the once great military hospital, now just a ruin under an overgrown park. Beneath the hospital, great sewer tunnels hum and vibrate with life of their own...

Look at the third map.

The final map displays a labyrinth of service tunnels left over from the construction of Motorway 8/81. A few routes have been marked with a pen -- where the tunnels and sewers surface near the Eminent Domain and a traffic island in Central Jamrock, by the lake.

These service tunnels were probably used during the construction of the foundation beneath the motorway.

Despite the cold, figures move about cloaked in shadow, their breath escaping in white clouds that fade into the darkness. Wherever you look, the night gives cover to her messengers.

Where are they going?

They travel from Eminent Domain to Perdition and on to the Main. Over the River Esperance, on Route 8/81 to the Old South -- the exit ramp is supposed to be shut down, but there's much activity.

The road spreads like the tentacles of a great octopus.

Looks like the smugglers have infiltrated the road network belonging to East Motor Tract.

"The smugglers have infiltrated the Motor Tract."