‘Hold on.’
There was a moment’s pause.
‘Matt? I’ve just told Andy. He’s got the relationship and the responsibility. I’ll let him decide.’
On the other net, Straker heard Backhouse immediately radio Sabatino.
‘Go ahead, Andy.’
‘Watch yourself with the Massarellas, Rems. We think they could be out to bump you.’
‘That’s all we fucking need.’
For two laps Sabatino mounted a substantial charge, clocking up two fastest laps consecutively.
Aston responded in kind.
He, too, clocked up a fastest lap. This was now a psychological battle — played out on different parts of the circuit — each trying to undermine the confidence of the other, each trying to put the other under pressure.
‘Aston’s catching the race leader,’ reported Backhouse. ‘He’s only point-four seconds behind.’
Sabatino, hurtling down the start/finish straight, saw the key data on her pit board, and breathed deeply. ‘Shit. P1 to my P5. The Championship would definitely be his — if he gets past.’
Growling into her helmet, Sabatino pushed again, and flew round the exhilarating Interlagos circuit. Her sights were now set on Adi Barrantes, her saboteur from Spa, in the Massarella — in P4. ‘How far am I behind him?’ she asked.
‘Three seconds. You can do it.’
Sabatino belted on round the track. She soon saw her quarry.
She was so nearly in reach. ‘Can I turn up the mixture?’
Backhouse hummed. ‘Not really — you’ll be cutting it fine to finish.’
‘Andy, a miss is a miss. Unless I take this guy, Aston’s going to win anyway. Who’ll care by how much?’
Backhouse paused. Straker wondered whether he was running the numbers again or weighing it up. ‘Okay, okay. Turn it up a notch.’
Sabatino screamed to herself. ‘Right, let’s see what this brings.’
She felt the difference immediately. The car produced an extra point-five a lap.
In two more laps, she was ready to make her challenge.
Straker, on the edge of his seat in the motor home, stared at his surveillance screens until his eyes hurt — continuing to study every inch of the Massarella, looking for any sign that Barrantes was positioning himself to do her harm. He could hardly bear it. Radioing Tahm Nazar, again, he felt he had to say or do something.
The tension was too much.
‘Tahm, are you up for putting on the show in front of the Massarella garage?’
‘You think now’s the time?’
‘I’ve no idea. Nothing’s happened yet. But for the sake of a moment’s theatrics, might the deterrent be worth a shot?’
Nazar acknowledged the call.
Straker switched one of the two CCTV screens to show the pit lane. He saw the turquoise-clad Ptarmigan team boss quickly climb down from the prat perch on the pit wall and walk in the direction of the Massarella garage, two slots down. There, Straker could see Nazar stand and make a show of studying what the Massarella team were doing.
There were only ten more laps to go.
Sabatino had to get right up the Massarella’s back end. Half a lap later she was there — starting to badger Barrantes for real — through the corners between Six and Twelve.
Out of Turn Fourteen, Subida Dos Boxes, she got a superb exit — immediately feeling she had the better start up the hill.
They screamed up and round the long left-hand sweep, and into the pit straight. She felt she had enough. The momentum was with her. The two of them, one behind the other, roared up the long straight — and across the line.
Five hundred yards to go to the corner — Turn One.
Sabatino looked for a tow.
She drew up to Barrantes’s gearbox.
On they ran.
Now! She ducked to the left, ready to make a charge down the inside — just as she had against the Mercedes earlier.
The yards flashed by.
She drew level with the Massarella’s rear wheels.
She willed the car on.
Did she have any more?
She was pulling forward by a matter of inches at a time.
Straker sat forward in his chair. Switching all of his screens to cover Adi Barrantes’s CCTV feeds, he peered at the live shot of the Massarella driver’s cockpit. Straker was looking for any untoward behaviour. The most obvious, though, would be for Barrantes simply to “close the door” on Sabatino too soon — driving across her path into the corner to claim the racing line. He could easily bump her — and take her out. He would surely claim he was unsighted — claim he thought he had the advantage, getting the collision dismissed merely as yet another racing incident.
Straker stared at the screen — studying both of Barrantes’s hands on the wheel.
The two cars were going to have to brake. Who was going to blink first?
Sabatino held her position.
She was still hurtling into the corner. She was completely committed. It was now up to the Massarella. She was at the point of no return. If he didn’t brake, now, she would end up losing her front end, sliding across in front of him, possibly taking him off with her. Straker suddenly realized that that would be an even cleverer way to take her out — to make it look like it was her fault.
‘Arrgh!’ she screamed as she willed her car on, willing him to brake, and waiting for the outcome.
Come on! Come on! Come on!
Yes? Yes? Yes! He blinked. Yes!
He blinked first!
Barrantes lifted off. She shot past him. She’d done it. She’d taken him down the inside.
Would she now be able to hold it together?
She fought on.
She was holding it together.
She was through!
But Barrantes was already retaliating. Slewing and wrestling his car as well, he flung the Massarella round the corner and pointed it down the hill of the Senna S, straight after her.
She stole a glance in her mirrors. She could see the black menacing shape of the Massarella behind her. It closed right up. It appeared in her right-hand mirror.
Then disappeared.
As she continued to accelerate hard, she suddenly caught a fleeting glimpse of the black shape in her other mirror. He was crawling all over her gearbox.
Sabatino reached her top speed, flying at full tilt down the Reta Oposta. Barrantes wasn’t able to get any closer than that, though. She’d managed to hold the Massarella off against a counter-attack. She had taken P4. Not only that, she’d managed to make it stick. And P4 was good — it was good enough. Her P4 to Aston’s P2 was back to a three-point deficit, and while that would put them equal in the Championships, her number of race wins would still see her ahead.
Distance, now, was what she wanted. As much distance from Barrantes — to neutralize any threat he posed from behind — and, at the same time, to close the distance on the car in front.
On they raced.
The Ptarmigan was performing as well as Sabatino could have prayed for. Her lap time was consistently quick — on or near the fastest times of the day.
Then something unexpected happened.
Sabatino started gaining on the car in front.
Substantially.
Point-six of a second on one lap.
Point-eight on the next.
She was gaining rapidly on the car in P3.
The excitement mounted. Could the crowds and TV audience be about to see another spectacular overtaking manoeuvre, right into the closing stages — not only of the race but of the Championship?