‘Not necessarily. Stacey Krall believes that, if we put together a strong enough case, we could apply to the governing body to strike it out before it ever got to a hearing. So long as there’s a chance of handling all this quietly, we should play it straight — for as long as possible.’
‘Okay, Matt. You’re wearing the stress of this,’ said Nazar. ‘You’ve also seen the Chinese reaction first-hand and discussed it all with the lawyers. How long before we’ll have pulled together the first draft of the statement of facts?’
‘About a week.’
Straker enjoyed his new car all the way back to London. By the time he reached the office in Cavendish Square Karen had pulled off the records of all electronic communication into and out of Ptarmigan during the life of the Fibonacci Blades. Being in spreadsheet form, Straker was able to sort and sift the entries pretty easily. What he found surprised him.
Via email, there were no instances of any electronic communication between Ptarmigan and Massarella. And, by phone, he found exactly the same outcome. Straker challenged and double-checked his findings, even asking for a rerun of all the data. The result — the second time — was exactly the same.
Straker was as sure as he could be. There had been no electronic communication between Ptarmigan and Massarella.
None.
It was baffling. What the hell was Massarella playing at?
They didn’t have a case.
Or did they really have something — and he’d just missed it?
FORTY-SEVEN
First thing on Monday morning Straker and Krall rode in a London taxi east along the north bank of the Thames towards the City. Stopping before Blackfriars Bridge, they alighted on the Victoria Embankment and made their way through the park and across the cobbles to King’s Bench Walk. There, in one of the townhouse-style offices, they climbed the steps under a wrought-iron arch and entered the Temple chambers of Oscar Brogan QC.
As they approached, Krall whispered: ‘For the scale of the cases he does, and their contemporary nature — nearly all about Intellectual Property and I.T. — it’s hilarious his chambers are so antiquated.’
Straker saw exactly what she meant. It was years since the set had spent any money on the building. Its paintwork looked tired, while the carpets and curtains looked decidedly threadbare. It even smelled fusty. An elegant Persian runner led them along the corridor from the front door, but the wooden floor was showing through it in some places. Within the so-called reception area Straker and Krall were asked to take a seat. The upholstery had seen better days, the springs in Straker’s chair giving way substantially as he sat down. Only the pictures and books seemed to have been favoured. There were several attractive landscapes, in oil, while a floor-to-ceiling bookcase was jam-packed with apparently brand-new leather-bound legal volumes.
Brogan’s clerk apologized for the delay and offered them some coffee.
‘So sorry to keep you waiting,’ said Brogan in his powerful, well-enunciated voice as they were shown into his rooms half an hour later. Brogan was six feet two tall — the same as Straker — slim, longish swept-back grey hair, with an upright bearing. Brogan had presence. On a break from a trial in the Royal Courts of Justice, he was still wearing bands, the two white tabs hanging down from the collar. ‘Now Stacey, this is an encouraging piece of work,’ said Brogan as he referred to their statement of facts. ‘Very comprehensive.’
‘Good to hear. Any thoughts at this stage?’
‘Yes,’ he said, his voice sounding ready to reach the back of a courtroom at any moment. ‘With a case like this, the judge — I know this is going to be heard at the World Motor Sports Council, but you know what I mean — has to be sure there was physical contact and that documents were exchanged. With the statements you’ve collated, and the records for telephone and email traffic, there seems to have been no such contact. Your defence, therefore, leaves little to be desired.’
Brogan closed the cover of the document. ‘However,’ he went on with a tone that instantly dampened the mood, ‘in any adversarial hearing, I always advise my clients that, even with a cast-iron case, things can happen in court. There can always be surprises — peripheral issues or evidence can turn a case completely on its head. As a result, I never give the chances of success — in a trial — higher than seventy per cent.’ Brogan paused to look both his visitors in the eye. ‘Please be realistic. Something unexpected could happen.’ Another pause. ‘That said, I do believe your defence is strong.’
Straker absorbed the caveat. ‘If that’s your realistic view,’ he said, ‘have we at least strengthened any application we might make to the governing body to strike out the case — before it gets to a hearing?’
Brogan nodded. ‘On the back of these findings and assertions, I’d say, certainly. I’d be happy to draft an application?’
Straker nodded Quartech’s instruction to proceed.
‘While on the subject of next steps,’ said the barrister, ‘can we talk for a moment about the counter-claim?’
‘Mr Quartano is not pursuing this pro tem,’ Straker explained. ‘Ptarmigan has a very promising sponsorship deal with Mandarin Telecom. We’ve just signed an MOU. We have already felt it necessary to postpone signing the contract, because of the FIA hearing. We’d rather not stir things up by complicating this legal distraction — so long as that deal’s still viable.’
‘That’s clearly a business consideration,’ replied Brogan with reluctant understanding. ‘I would be keen to mount the counter-claim, though — given the evidence you’ve amassed. I mean, let’s just think about Mr Backhouse, for a moment — and about going after him. That whole incident with Ms Sabatino’s helmet — the jamming bug mysteriously disappearing as he walked it from the truck to the workshop — is all pretty odd, not to mention his defection to Massarella? I’d love the chance to cross-examine Mr Backhouse.’
‘That’s good to know,’ said Straker, ‘except — for the time being — we’re content to play a straight bat.’
‘We’ll keep the counter-claim in the drawer for now, then,’ said the barrister resignedly.
Before even the close of business that day, Oscar Brogan QC sent Straker and Krall his draft application to the FIA to strike out Massarella’s claim of industrial espionage against Ptarmigan. Given its clarity, the affidavit required no amendment. It was readily signed off by Quartech’s in-house counsel.
The application was officially filed by the barrister with the governing body first thing the following morning.
There was no indication, though, of how long the FIA would take to decide and respond.
PART FIVE
JIADING
FORTY-EIGHT
After Singapore, the Formula One world moved east — to Shanghai.
At the Chinese Grand Prix, Ptarmigan’s mood was soured by the threat to their sponsorship deal. All around Shanghai, and the circuit, Mandarin Telecom hoardings were visible in nearly every direction — a constant reminder of just what was at stake for them. But that opportunity with the Chinese company seemed completely dependent, now, on the case overhanging them with the FIA, its shadow having already caused the signing of the contract to be postponed. There was no escape from the apprehension felt by every member of the team.
Making things worse was Van Der Vaal’s overt gloating in the media. He gave countless interviews, savaging Ptarmigan’s misconduct. His allegations had to be valid, he claimed, otherwise why else would the FIA have taken them up and called for a public hearing?