Sabatino screamed the Morgan’s engine.
The Range Rover slammed into the back of the Morgan.
Sabatino wrestled violently with the wheel — the downward impact of the bull bars momentarily lifting the Morgan’s front wheels off the ground. She fought vigorously to keep the car straight and on the road after the collision.
‘Holy shit, what the fuck are these people doing?’
FIFTY-SEVEN
With a heavily revving engine, Sabatino accelerated hard, trying to get out of trouble. She had just enough torque to pull away.
Straker turned round and saw the huge intimidating front of the Range Rover looming above them. He tried to look up at the faces in the Range Rover behind, but the windows were smoked and reflecting the sun’s bright glare. He couldn’t see inside.
This was insane. How far were these people prepared to go?
Straker heard and felt the Morgan’s 3.7 litre engine continue to roar in earnest as Sabatino tried to get away.
They pounded along the straight section of road — the favourable power-to-weight of the Morgan starting to kick in. The road rose up a hill. Even with considerable performance disadvantage, though, the Range Rover was still powering along, just as hard — disconcertingly even seeming to match the pace of the Morgan. How was that even possible?
Sabatino gunned the engine and headed towards the crest in the road. She looked in her rear-view mirror. The Range Rover was still there, and not far behind. She realized any unnecessary slowing down on their part would have the Range Rover right back up their arses in no time.
‘That’s one powerful tank,’ she shouted, as the wind started rushing over the top of the Morgan.
The road began to rise again, in a gentle left-hander — now the neat ribbon of grey tarmac had solid white lines painted down either side of the tarmac, along the kerbs. Two hundred yards ahead was a sharper turn, round to the left. Sabatino continued to increase their speed. They were keenly aware of the persistence and speed of the Range Rover behind them.
Straker looked across the open-top sports car at Sabatino. Amazingly, her expression of concern — manifest during lunch, and after he’d spotted the Range Rover in Brailes — had completely gone. Her face was radiant. He could see her eyes flashing as she flicked them around her environment — to the front — to the rear through the mirror — down at the dashboard — back on to the road ahead.
‘Better hold on,’ she said as she drifted the car over to the right — fully across into the oncoming lane. Sabatino downshifted with another fluid, heavily revved double declutch. Still on the wrong side of the road, she held her position until Straker thought it impossible to recover. Then, with a flick of the wheel, she threw the Morgan across the road to the left, straight at the grass verge on the inside apex of the bend, kissing it with their front left.
Rather than look at the death-defying angle of attack, Straker looked across at the speedometer. He couldn’t believe it. They were doing over ninety miles an hour through the corners on this bendy country road. The wind was now roaring over the top of the Morgan.
The car, though, was handling beautifully. It took the full force of the turn, slicing through the corner, despite the significant G-force.
Because of the twists in the road, Straker’s view back through the passenger-door mirror was swinging here and there. Only at the last minute, just before their lurch through the next right-hander, did he catch a fleeting glimpse of the menacing bull bars on the front of the chasing Range Rover, rounding the bend behind them. Despite its size and weight, the 4×4 was following an amazingly similar line to the much lighter, nimbler sports car. The Range Rover might have been listing more obviously on its softer suspension, but it wasn’t letting up. At all.
Sabatino drifted the Morgan fully over to the left of the road. Then, looking up and over the hedge to the right, she saw there was nothing coming the other way. Double declutching down, she dropped a gear, and, at the last minute, almost at the point where Straker thought the car was going to go tangential to the road — and off down a track — swung the car over to the right, cutting across the oncoming lane and clipping the grass verge at the apex — this time on the opposite side of the road.
Sabatino looked behind — and saw something ominous. Not only was the Range Rover still large in their mirrors, it even seemed to be gaining on them.
Sabatino kept accelerating
The B4035 wafted left and right between its high hedges on either side, the sun dappling through the leaves onto different parts of the road. In the warm summer air — and the smells from the surrounding countryside — this should have been an idyllic, even spiritual drive. Catching a glimpse out to the right — through breaks in the hedge — Straker saw the rolling Oxfordshire landscape as it stretched off towards the Cotswolds away in the distance. What had been a roar over the open-top car soon turned into a thundering gale. The car was really travelling now. Straker had to take another look at the speedometer: it was showing one hundred and ten miles an hour. At that pace — on a road normally driven at a third of this speed — the Morgan was giving off every sensation of speed imaginable.
Two cars came at them from the other direction, preventing Sabatino using the wrong side of the road to set up for the next corner. Those cars whooshed past.
The corner ahead had an overhang of branches, concealing its apex as the road fell away to the left behind its leaves. Revving hard, Sabatino double declutched — gaining a lower gear without slowing the car’s speed over the ground — and, using the torque from the higher revs, accelerated down into the slope.
One hundred and twenty miles an hour. Along a B road.
Straker was growing increasingly uneasy. This was astonishingly fast.
They were soon in a dip — the road could be seen rising ahead and above them, up the other side of the narrow valley.
Bottoming out in this compression, Straker was pushed down heavily into the seat with significant centripetal force. His ribs screamed as the force took hold; he gritted his teeth to stifle the pain.
Up and out from the dip, the road rose up for a hundred yards before looking to swing right-handed, round and over a crest. A junction was visible off to the left — to Epwell — on the outside of the bend, which they should have been taking to go back to the factory in Shenington. But they were going far too fast to make that now.
Sabatino was lining up for this next apex at high speed. A car suddenly appeared — side-on — up ahead of them. And pulled straight out from that side road. It didn’t stop to look — it pulled straight out from the junction — onto the main road — heading in their direction. Another big 4×4.
Straker instinctively pulled upwards on the shoulder strap of his seat belt, tightening the strap across his waist, forcing him further down into his seat. They were closing in incredibly fast on the back of that car, which clearly hadn’t seen them.
It turned out to be another Range Rover.
The Morgan’s momentum was bowling them on. Sabatino sliced through the right-hand corner. The Range Rover hadn’t picked up much speed yet — meaning they were still closing in fast on the back of it.
Sabatino further swerved to the right — to overtake it immediately — looking to make an urgent avoiding sweep past the slower-moving vehicle.
She checked the road ahead. It was clear — no oncoming traffic.
The Morgan darted out decisively from behind this Range Rover, crossing the white line down the middle of the road
They were now pulling out into the oncoming — overtaking — lane. They were set to pass easily, maintaining their speed. When, with absolutely no warning, the Range Rover in front of them shot violently to the right — straight across the Morgan’s path.