Forty-eight hours later Straker had plenty else to think about and keep him occupied — activity triggered by the passing of the deadline he had issued to Michael Lyons. Straker requested a conference call with Nazar and Treadwell.
‘I take it we’ve heard nothing from him?’ Treadwell asked.
‘Of course not,’ Straker replied.
‘Hardly surprising,’ said Nazar. ‘Even so, your ploy was probably worth a shot — to try and unnerve the other side.’
‘It may still happen, Tahm,’ offered Straker casually, ‘if, when you inform them, you make a point of citing Michael Lyons as the reason for terminating our business with Trifecta. The ploy could still have caused unseen — or delayed — consequences.’
‘I’ll send the termination notice today,’ said Nazar, ‘mentioning Apartment 5 at 25 Rue des Princes, yes? — and stating that this takes immediate effect.’
‘Spot on,’ said Straker.
‘Okay, fine. But Matt, if this is going to have unseen consequences, I trust you to be ready for whatever they might be.’
Straker grunted positively. ‘I have a week to work with our new electronics firm, Cohens, to prepare our defences.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Ptarmigan F1 pitched tent in Monza, twelve miles north-east of Milan. In the lead-up to the Italian Grand Prix, there was a frenzy of media speculation. Many commentators were building up expectations for a dramatic reaction to a female driver’s incursion into this most masculine of environments. The anticipation was electric. How would all this play out in the spiritual heart of macho Italian motor racing? How would the Tifosi react to a woman driver?
In the end, Sabatino’s apprehension of the Tifosi was completely unfounded. Italian men, for all their love of cars and motor racing, proved themselves to be first and foremost lovers of women. The Tifosi took Sabatino instantly to heart. There was even a hint of mania.
Being Monza, the circuit was crowded — even for the first day of practice. Sunny and warm weather helped. In every direction, the packed stands appeared like seas of fluttering scarlet, rippling in the breeze. Scarlet flag upon scarlet T shirt showed the black prancing horse on its famous yellow shield. Ferrari devotees were there in force. But this time, there was a surprise. Another colour was prevalent. Ptarmigan’s brand of turquoise.
The Tifosi were hailing Sabatino.
This welcome may have eased Sabatino’s own apprehension, but it created — if anything — a bigger irritation for Massarella. Even more so than usual. Massarella may have had the Italian heritage, but they always found themselves playing second fiddle to Ferrari — especially in Italy. Under normal circumstances that may have been galling enough. But this time Massarella seemed to be demoted even further — because of the Tifosi’s excitement for Sabatino and her Ptarmigan.
Van Der Vaal’s expression conveyed more and more of his angry chippiness. To counter his irritations, he projected his recruitment of Andy Backhouse as a major coup — revelling in having won over a key member of a rival team. The Massarella boss paraded Sabatino’s former race engineer up and down the pit lane, through the paddock — and had Backhouse stand next to him during every TV interview Van Der Vaal gave in the build-up to the race.
Just before a practice session, Van Der Vaal even walked Andy Backhouse across the front of the Ptarmigan garage — with an arm across his shoulders — in full view of Nazar, Treadwell, Cunzer and Sabatino.
Sabatino tried to distract herself from all that pettiness by throwing herself into practice. Taking herself out onto the famous circuit for the first time in a Formula One car, she set about doing her job.
Even on her first out-lap, as she worked temperature into the car, she found it was understeering far more than on any circuit to date. With the very low downforce set-up, the Ptarmigan was seriously struggling to hold the line through the slower corners. Before completing half a lap she was on the radio to Treadwell, her new race engineer. ‘The car’s all over the place. Completely out of balance. I’m getting hideous understeer going in, and a fishtail coming out. Everything’s changed.’
Straker, listening in, fully expected this drop-off in stability to be blamed on his instigating the change of engine management system.
Sabatino drove on. She reached the approach to the faster corners of the legendary Lesmos. Only when the Ptarmigan was cranked up did the aerodynamics start to kick in and give her any confidence.
Because of the understeer, the Ptarmigan team worked without a break over the following two days, dissecting all the telemetry — running endless simulations through their models back in Shenington. They tried everything to mitigate the lively handling of the car. Only by increasing the angle of the front wing could they make any difference — and that seemed to cost her badly in straight-line speed.
Extraordinarily — despite all her difficulties — Sabatino took everyone by surprise. She managed to qualify in P2, having learnt over the two days of practice to work with — rather than fight — the vagaries of the car. Simi Luciano, in his Massarella, was only just able to beat her, putting himself on pole.
Straker remained apprehensive. If the saboteurs were still out to do Ptarmigan down, surely this challenging pace was a renewed invitation for them to try again. He tried to convince himself that, with the help of the new electronics firm, he had done enough since Spa to reduce Ptarmigan’s risk from sabotage.
But he couldn’t relax.
He set up all his usual surveillance systems in the motor home headquarters — just in case.
THIRTY-NINE
The day itself started as a perfect morning for the Italian Grand Prix. The sun shone. The air temperature was in the late twenties. And there was the gentlest of breezes. Nothing less than deserved for the spiritual home of motor racing.
Nevertheless, Van Der Vaal was spitting. What more did he have to do here? He had put an Italian — in a Massarella — on pole, and yet the Tifosi were celebrating one of their beloved Ferraris on the second row.
But that was Van Der Vaal’s problem. To everyone else, the stands were in magnificent voice, creating the classic Monza atmosphere in the build-up to the race.
Straker hoped he was ready. Now with Cohens supporting them, he had been able to set up even more sophisticated surveillance and feedback systems. He hoped he was not being complacent in having the BBC coverage on one of his three screens and their commentary in one ear of his headphones. As the start of the race approached, he began to listen in. The grid walk had just finished, and the show was being thrown up to the commentary box, ready for the race:
‘Thank you, David, and welcome, everybody, to the Italian Grand Prix, staged on the hallowed circuit of Monza. Conditions are looking good. No sign of rain, and the temperatures are forecast to peak out in the low thirties. Twenty-two runners, and a tight Drivers’ Championship — all promise an exciting afternoon of motor racing. Currently leading — and really beginning to attract attention — is the history-making Remy Sabatino, Formula One’s first female driver to mount a serious challenge on the Championship. Seven races in, and she is six points ahead of her nearest rival — Italy’s own Simi Luciano. The excitement looks like continuing here today — Luciano is one place in front of her on the grid. If the grid positions were held to the end, though, Remy would stay on top of the Championship table, albeit with her lead reduced.’