Call Andy Backhouse and ask him about the sabotage of Ptarmigan, NOW! It was was followed by a number.
Brogan was clearly taken aback. Forgetting the decorum of the meeting for a moment, he turned to Straker and said aloud: ‘What? Are you serious?’
‘Absolutely, Oscar. Call him,’ Straker said with unequivocal conviction.
Sounds of their exchange attracted some attention from around the table.
‘Mr President?’ said Brogan to the meeting, more easily heard now that a number of people had turned towards him. ‘Ptarmigan would like to call a witness.’
San Marino, distracted from the animated chatter among his Council members, said: ‘Er, who would that be, Mr Brogan?’
‘Mr Andy Backhouse, sir.’
San Marino looked considerably put out. ‘Now? But we’ve not made any arrangements to have anyone here.’
Straker did not want this to stall. Catching Brogan’s eye, he stuck his thumb and little finger out from a clenched fist, lifted it to his ear, and urged him to make the call.
‘We can get him on the phone. We have a number for him, Mr President,’ at which point Brogan looked at Straker for guidance. ‘I gather he’s available,’ said the lawyer with interrogative intonation. Straker nodded his confirmation.
San Marino looked around the room to his Council colleagues as if to seek their approval. This meeting had been taken completely by surprise already. Either they were too shocked to object, or were simply too hooked on hearing the next unexpected twist.
There was no dissent.
‘What are you doing calling one of my members of staff?’ blasted Van Der Vaal.
‘Do you object, Eugene?’ asked San Marino quite sternly, given the other man’s tone. ‘This Council does want to get to the truth.’
For the first time Van Der Vaal looked like he didn’t quite know what to do next. ‘What the hell. He’ll back me up anyway. Call him — call my mother, if you want.’
San Marino reached out again for the desk telephone in front of him and pulled it a little closer. Brogan read out the number, which San Marino tapped into the phone.
It was soon heard ringing over the loudspeaker.
Straker turned to look at Sabatino. Her face reflected complete bemusement and then serious concern. It seemed to ask: ‘What the hell?’
The phone was answered. ‘Hello, Andy Backhouse,’ said the Brummie voice.
‘Mr Backhouse, Bo San Marino, here.’
‘Good morning, Mr President.’
‘Andy, I’m calling you from a special hearing of the World Motor Sport Council — looking into allegations of industrial espionage by the Ptarmigan Formula One Team.’
‘Okay.’
‘We have a quorum of thirteen of our members, as well as other dignitaries present. We have members of Ptarmigan and a representation from the Massarella Team here. We would like to ask you some questions. But first, are you comfortable with the significance of this — and do you recognize the authority of this meeting?’
‘Of course, Mr President.’
‘Thank you, Andy. Go ahead then, please, Mr Brogan.’
‘Mr Backhouse, Oscar Brogan — counsel for Ptarmigan F1 — here,’ he said casting an eye down at Straker’s note: ‘I would like to ask you about the sabotage of Ptarmigan,’ after which he looked across at Straker. He received a nod of reassurance.
‘Certainly, sir. Has the Council been made aware of the various instances?’ Backhouse asked.
‘It has,’ confirmed Brogan.
‘Okay, then. Mr President, up until Spa, I was Remy Sabatino’s race engineer. I feel personally responsible every time a driver gets into the cockpit of one of my cars and takes to the track. Travelling at two hundred miles an hour is dangerous enough. Add the combative dimension of cars racing wheel to wheel — a matter of inches apart — and the risks are multiplied. Sending a driver and car out knowing that someone was trying to thwart them — possibly even to try and cause them to lose control, as happened to Helli Cunzer in Monaco and Remy Sabatino in Spa — meant the responsibility was too much. I couldn’t take it.’
The room was completely attentive listening to the dismembered voice over the loudspeaker.
‘Hang on a minute, Backhouse. If you thought that Massarella were the perpetrators of this sabotage — as you alleged in Spa — why and how could you possibly leave Ptarmigan and go and join them? That’s ridiculous. It makes absolutely no sense, at all.’
‘That was a a question from Mr MacRae, Andy, the commercial rights holder,’ offered San Marino.
‘Thank you, Mr President. I’d recognize Mr MacRae’s voice all right. It was actually his reaction to that high-speed sabotage in Spa — when we met him and yourself afterwards, Mr President — that convinced me there was something deeply unpleasant going on.’
Suddenly the room exploded. At the tone of the remark? Its personal nature? Its implications? Straker couldn’t decide which.
San Marino called the meeting to order. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Backhouse,’ he said with a strongly disapproving tone in his voice. ‘What exactly are you insinuating?’
‘Mr President, the sabotage Ptarmigan reported to the FIA — to you in Monaco and to you and Mr MacRae in Spa — warranted far greater concern and action than it was granted. I fully accepted your assertion at the time, Mr President, that our evidence was tenuous. But when Mr MacRae said,’ and here it sounded like Backhouse was reading: “This is a business. Billions of dollars are at stake, and many thousands of jobs. The last thing Formula One needs, right now, is another scandal”, I couldn’t believe it. Ptarmigan needed to get to the bottom of the hideously dangerous sabotage it was suffering, but we were getting no help from the authorities. In the meantime, Remy Sabatino’s life was clearly being put in danger. But no one would listen. We were helpless. There was nothing we could do about it. It was then that Colonel Straker came up with a plan.’
The room fell silent.
All eyes immediately turned on Straker.
San Marino also looked Straker straight in the eye. ‘What plan was that?’ he asked sternly.
Straker stayed silent.
In his stead, Backhouse replied: ‘That I was to resign from Ptarmigan — and defect to Massarella. I was to rejoin Massarella; as I had been with the team for a number of years a while back, there was a logical fit there. Colonel Straker hoped that they might see recruiting me as a bit of a coup, hopefully even seeing me as a valuable asset. Once on the inside, he wanted me to try and gain their confidence. As it happened, that came more easily than we hoped — best illustrated by Mr Van Der Vaal’s gloating and flaunting of me as part of the Massarella team in Monza and Shanghai. He clearly revelled in winning me away from Ptarmigan. That enabled Colonel Straker’s plan to start working: I was to try and learn what I could about what was behind this extraordinary sabotage, from the other side — from inside the team we suspected of being the perpetrators.’
San Marino’s study of Straker’s face became almost chilling.
Straker held his stare, remaining impassive. While still maintaining eye contact with the President, Straker turned his head, indicating that this revelation might mean something significant to another person at that table. San Marino read the clue and followed it, looking away and turning his attention towards Van Der Vaal.
The Afrikaner looked fit to burst.