Straker hoped Ptarmigan would find solace out on the track. But that, too, could invite more trouble. If Sabatino and Cunzer showed themselves to be competitive this weekend, wouldn’t that prompt further action from Massarella or Van Der Vaal, given the bullshit they had already had thrown their way? For all these reasons, Straker remained vigilant.
Coming as an added blow, Lambourn had truly hit top form in China. Their upgraded aero package absolutely found its forte on the Jiading circuit. Paddy Aston was eight tenths up in Qualifying Two and, in the top-ten shootout, notched up a lead of nine tenths.
Remy Sabatino found her Ptarmigan hard to fault, and was on song, too. Which made the frustration worse. The Ptarmigan was simply outclassed by Lambourn. There seemed to be nothing more Sabatino could do, however hard she pushed.
Her one consolation was that Massarella were struggling with tyres. Every time a Massarella came into the pits, the Ptarmigan team focused their CCTV shots on the graining — even blistering — of Massarella’s rubber, and took some comfort from seeing the extent of their problems.
Whatever comfort Ptarmigan might have drawn from that, though, everything changed at the start of the race.
Sabatino’s plans went awry on the very first lap.
Starting second on the grid behind Aston, she seemed to get away well, but still found Luciano’s Massarella, Helli Cunzer, and a Mercedes all over her gearbox approaching Turn One. Into that bottleneck, an aggressive move by the Massarella forced Sabatino to take evasive action at the last minute. She jabbed at the brakes to avoid a collision. Was she overreacting — anxious not to repeat her bump with him in Monza? A puff of blue smoke rose from under her front right. Sabatino swore loudly inside her helmet. She held her nerve, position, and onto — she thought — her eight points.
Having set themselves up for a one-stop strategy, she was relieved to have held her position. The plan had been for her to keep up with Aston and, when his two-stop strategy forced him to pit for the second time, she could then hope to take the lead and bring it home.
Except that exiting Turn Four on that first lap, and accelerating into the following long straight, she felt quickly what she dreaded. Having locked-up the front right — and skidded it along the surface of the track into Turn One — she had scrubbed a bad flat spot into the rubber. As she built up speed, that wheel started to vibrate — feeling like a fifty-pence piece — the flat spot juddering with every rotation.
She hoped — desperately — that this abnormality would wear itself out as the race went on.
But it only got worse.
Sabatino found her vision blurring, even at the lower speeds — and that, on the immaculate surface of the Jiading circuit, hardly ever happened.
Ten laps on, she radioed Treadwell in the pit lane: ‘It’s no good,’ she said, her voice clearly sounding vibrato. ‘I’m going to have to pit and change tyres. I can hardly see.’
Sabatino pitted, changed boots. Even though she took on fuel for an additional ten laps, she wasn’t going to be able to complete the remaining three-quarters of the race without stopping again. She would have to stop for a second time — which was going to cost her badly.
Feeding herself back in, down in P10, she built up the car’s temperatures to their optima and then, coming as some consolation, she found her mojo — even managing to keep up with the Lambourn in lap times. Five laps later, as the fuel load lightened and the tyres bedded in, she started recording successive fastest laps.
Into the last fifteen, the cars completed their final pit stops. Sabatino found that, little by little, she had worked her way back into contention. Amazingly, there was a chance, now, even of a podium. Except that to take it, she would have to overtake her teammate, Helli Cunzer, in P3. There were no team orders to have him move over. And the last thing she wanted was to go head-to-head with him and run the risk of having a bump, taking each other off.
Even though her Ptarmigan was running like it was on rails, Sabatino had to settle for fourth. With those five points, though, she would still keep her lead of the Championship on 71. Aston, winning Shanghai and picking up ten points, was now only one point behind her on 70. Luciano, making P2 here and picking up eight points, was up to 66.
All nerve-rackingly tight.
Any one of Sabatino, Aston or Luciano could — mathematically — still win the title. They were all so closely bunched it wasn’t going to be decided at the inaugural London Grand Prix in two weeks’ time, either. This season, as nearly every year, was going to see the Formula One drama played out to the very end. Brazil, as so often before, looked like it would be the final showdown.
But that was on the track.
There was a significant amount going on — off it — which could still ruin everything.
Not least as Ptarmigan’s faith in their defence in the case was about to take a serious knock.
Oscar Brogan’s application to the FIA to strike out the claim against them was denied, almost by return.
Straker was now deeply concerned.
How was their evidence and argument not strong enough to succeed?
What was Massarella asserting that Ptarmigan didn’t know about?
FORTY-NINE
The FIA hearing was upon them.
The night before, the Ptarmigan team travelled to Paris and checked into the Hotel Splendid Etoile, looking directly out on the Arc de Triomphe. Were it not for the spectre that hung over them all, they might have enjoyed the majesty of where they were — the setting, the location, the views.
Straker remained agitated. Unnerved. He — they, Ptarmigan — had been able to demonstrate to the FIA that they had not been able to find any evidence of wrongdoing to substantiate Massarella’s claim of industrial espionage. At all.
On the face of it they were clean.
And yet their affidavit to that effect had achieved no traction: the FIA still held that Ptarmigan had a case to answer.
Didn’t that mean, then, that Massarella had presented substantial evidence of their own?
What was it?
The Ptarmigan party met for breakfast.
‘As discussed on the train coming over,’ said the Team’s silk, Oscar Brogan QC, ‘I’ll act as our chairman in the hearing. This is not a courtroom — so none of us should feel under that kind of pressure.’
‘No,’ said Nazar, ‘but we are, to coin a phrase, in the courtroom of public opinion. The charge shouts louder than the verdict.’
‘We’re as certain as we can be that we’re in the clear,’ said Straker. ‘There’s a lot we can gain by making ourselves look reasonable and measured — rising above the bullshit.’
‘Precisely,’ said Brogan. ‘Talking of public opinion, a key part of today is how we handle the inevitable media onslaught. The press loves this kind of bun-fight. Remy’s involvement will make it all the more intense. There will no doubt be an unedifying media scrum outside the FIA building.’
‘We shouldn’t scurry in,’ offered Straker. ‘We should wait for the right moment for Remy and Tahm to turn and face the bank of cameras — looking as calm as possible. The press are going to want to publish pictures, whatever they manage to shoot. Much better to give them some with body language that indicates a little dignity and poise, and that we’ve got nothing to hide.’
The party, to settle itself and freshen up for the hearing, walked down the Champs-Élysées. On any other occasion they would have savoured the experience — the view down the length of the boulevard and avenue of clipped horse chestnut trees towards the Louvre — and enjoyed the sunshine that was already hinting at a perfect summer’s morning.