Straker felt embarrassed and angry with himself. Angry he had been so clearly taken in, angry at his own sense of feeling betrayed and hugely embarrassed that he had failed to anticipate such tactics. All this hit him hard and taught him a serious lesson about the secretive and cutthroat competitiveness of the arms business. That episode with Charlie Grant also did something else. It stripped away any lingering naïveté he might have had about the likely practices he should expect from exponents of industrial espionage. That first assignment for Quartech saw him well and truly bloodied, in numerous senses of the word.
Now, in the immediate present, Straker couldn’t help but wonder what other havoc Charlie Grant might have wreaked against Ptarmigan? Such thoughts were alarmingly significant: throughout the period she had been so damagingly engaged in industrial espionage against Quartech’s weapons contract with Buhran, Charlie Grant had been officially on secondment to the company’s Formula One team.
The following morning, Straker made it in to Quartech’s London global headquarters in Cavendish Square. Having not spent any proper time in his department office since his previous assignment, it was strangely comforting. With his domestic difficulties, and the hollowness of being on his own in their marital flat, this felt more like home than home did.
Walking into the Competition Intelligence and Security offices on the ninth floor, he saw the cityscape of London through the ceiling-to-floor plate-glass windows. In the morning sun, which had now burned off all the earlier mist, the capital appeared warm and inviting to Straker — something he never thought possible after leaving his outdoor life in the Marines.
Karen was already at her desk. They caught up, particularly given the dramatic goings-on in Belgium.
Straker slipped off his coat and hung it over the back of his chair. ‘Have you managed to get anywhere with Charlie’s phone?’
‘A bit. It’s really weird prying into her affairs.’
Straker nodded his sympathy. ‘I appreciate that. Sadly, Karen, she was up to things that did us a fair amount of harm. Now, her phone can help us.’
‘There are loads of numbers in there, and I.T. have said that most of them are entered as nicknames or some sort of code name.’
‘I saw that. Okay, we need to do something about it. Let’s try this. Can you rope in some of the research team and get them to call each of the entries that aren’t fully named? But they’re only to call using a Caller ID Withheld number — so there’s no way we can be identified.’
‘Okay? And what do you want them to say?’
‘Let’s think … What about that they’ve found the phone — as lost property, or something — and are trying to identify its owner by ringing some of the numbers in its directory?’
‘Okay, Matt. I’ll get on to it.’
‘Good. How did the all-sources search go?’
Karen pointed to a lever arch file placed in the middle of his desk.
Straker opened it to find a contents page, dividers and comprehensive index references. ‘Immaculate,’ he said looking up to meet her eye.
She smiled coyly and returned to her screen.
Straker offered to get her a cup of coffee, which she accepted. Having put it on her desk, he went back and poured one for himself which he then carried along with the folder into a quiet room in the corner of their floor. This room had its own eye-catching views of the City of London and Canary Wharf in one direction, and the Victoria Tower of the Palace of Westminster and the London Eye Ferris wheel through the other.
The whole Formula One scene and the extraordinary sabotage incidents were about to become a whole lot murkier.
He started with the earlier press cuttings which referenced Massarella and Van Der Vaal.
MASSARELLA’S VAN DER VAAL SAYS OPPORTUNITIES BEING LOST, read one headline from two years before.
VAN DER VAAL ATTACKS GRIP OF F1 POWER, read another.
TOO MUCH POWER IN TOO FEW HANDS was published at the end of the previous season but one.
Van Der Vaal, it seemed, had been constantly criticizing and sniping at the governance of Formula One.
Then, in the middle of last season, Straker noticed the angle of Van Der Vaal’s comments began to change. This seemed predicated on the story headlined: MASSARELLA LANDS OBRENOVICH MILLIONS.
There were dozens more like this. Among them: VAN DER VAAL + F1 + OBRENOVICH = THE MIDAS TOUCH.
A few months after that, Straker picked up a new theme which Van Der Vaal was clearly encouraging — or at least doing little to discourage. One article summed it up:
VAN DER VAAL: THE FUTURE TSAR OF F1?
““F1 is only successful — turning over billions of pounds a year — because of the teams,” says an emphatic Van Der Vaal, 54, Massarella’s burly South African team boss. “The teams put up the money. We take all the risks. For too long the commercial rights holder has been taking commercial advantage of the spectacle and sport we provide.”
Mr Van Der Vaal seems well qualified to talk about the sport’s finances, having recently landed substantial investment in his Massarella team from billionaire Russian oligarch Avel Obrenovich. “Formula One could grow so much more quickly — and equitably — if only it showed itself to be more modern and professional.”
When asked whether these comments meant he saw himself in a future leadership role of F1, Mr Van Der Vaal declined to answer.”
‘Bloody hell,’ said Straker out loud.
HOW I WOULD RUN F1, SAYS VAN DER VAAL, was the headline above an interview in which Van Der Vaal launched his strongest diatribe yet against Motor Racing Promotions Limited and the commercial interests of the sport. The quote that caught his eye was: “I’m the man to run Formula One.”
Talk about a blatant challenge. Van Der Vaal’s chutzpah was amazing.
Straker read on.
MASSARELLA WELCOMES QUARTECH TO F1
“Eugene Van Der Vaal, 54, the boerish (sic) team boss of Massarella Formula One, today welcomed Ptarmigan’s new owner, Quartech International, to the ranks of the sport. “If there’s anything I can do to help them get started,” said Van Der Vaal, “I’ll be delighted to do so. As I’m sure’s the case with the other teams, I’m ready to help Quartech find their feet.””
Big of him, thought Straker. The ego which gave Van Der Vaal the status of self-elected leader of the group was quite remarkable.
And then everything changed.
Literally overnight.
Remy Sabatino came on the scene.
The moment Quartano signed her to Ptarmigan, the press coverage exploded. Most of the subsequent references were unreservedly positive — praising the excitement of adding a female driver to the Formula One grid. They applauded the huge increase in public interest this was creating. Quartech was hailed for its imagination, innovation, and ability to advance the sport.
There was at the same time, though, some fierce opposition.
While Straker accepted this snapshot of press cuttings was filtered, it did seem clear that the detractors of a woman driver had found themselves an emphatic front man.
Karen had played a blinder in unearthing all this. She had not limited her search to one medium, either. She had even found a YouTube clip, and identified the relevant link in the folder. Firing up his laptop, Straker clicked on the two minute video entitled: F1 IN DANGER OF DAMAGING STATUS OF SPORT.