With ten points for the winner, tapering down to one point in eighth, there was, under the then-format of the FIA scoring system, a matrix of outcomes for Sabatino to win the World Championship.
The clear-cut one was easy: for her to win the Championship outright, she needed to finish at least second in Brazil.
If, God forbid, she failed to score — through being lower than eighth, or being forced to retire — Aston would need to finish fifth or better to win the title himself.
Most people expected both drivers to score points. In which case, to be safe, Sabatino needed to finish the race — anywhere — better than Aston.
Whether the nuances or complexities of the scoring system fully registered with everyone or not, the motor racing audience was nevertheless hooked. They were content enough to be focusing on the drama of the Drivers’ Championship going down to the wire. There was going to be excitement, whichever way it went.
Everyone was buzzing.
Particularly as the climax of this season’s Championship was spilling over into the mainstream media around the world. The chance of a woman winning the Drivers’ title saw estimates of the expected global TV audience doubling for this race — up to a staggering 800 million viewers.
It was a safe bet to assume that no one was going to be disappointed with the theatre of this event.
Straker, though, was finding it difficult to join in the excitement. Van Der Vaal’s rejection of the FIA’s findings — and apparent lack of remorse — meant he continued to brood over that secret email from Michael Lyons’s laptop.
Walking into the Ptarmigan garage on the morning of Friday practice made Straker’s unease all the more intense. Gangs of turquoise-liveried mechanics were working energetically around the two Ptarmigan cars. There was such a sense of purpose — an air of confidence among them that he had not seen since Monaco. Everyone was showing their relief at the lifting of the sabotage threat. Ptarmigan was clearly channelling that relief from their recent troubles into a focus on winning the Drivers’ Championship for Sabatino.
How could he, Straker, now do anything to damage this potentially Championship-winning esprit de corps?
And yet what if something did happen — along the lines threatened in Van Der Vaal’s email — and he had done nothing about it? How could he live with himself after that?
Despite the inspiring sight of the team at work, therefore, Straker had to pull himself away.
He resolved that he needed to talk to someone about his unnerving information.
He needed reassurance that concealing it was the right thing to do. Otherwise, the pressure of harbouring this snippet of threatening communication would continue to eat him up.
‘Oh crap,’ said Tahm Nazar when Straker finally told him and showed him the email. He and the Ptarmigan team boss were sitting in the private closed-off section of the motor home.
Nazar reread the key section of it from Van Der Vaal to Michael Lyons.
“Congratulations on your creativity. Your clandestine rectification is superb. Don’t forget, if we run out of ideas or time, our comrade will always compensate Adi enough to invoke the ‘collision option’.”
‘Tahm, the mood of the team is so highly charged, I couldn’t bear to dent it.’
‘Particularly if this threat doesn’t materialize.’
Straker then produced the front page of the London Evening Standard, with the key quotes from Van Der Vaal highlighted, and slid that across the table.
‘Oh crap,’ repeated Nazar. ‘I wouldn’t give him a snowball’s chance … of overturning that judgment on appeal. But, as you say, what if he is that spiteful?’
Straker shook his head. ‘What kind of team boss could instruct a driver to crash their car, anyway? Let alone given the danger involved?’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised in this game — there’s a very well documented F1 case from 2008,’ said Nazar with a surprisingly resigned tone. He refolded the email and newspaper cutting and slid them both back across the top of the rosewood table.
‘I feel a weight off just telling you,’ said Straker. ‘What would you prefer to do with this knowledge?’
‘I completely agree with your reluctance to tell the team,’ said the professorial Indian in his immaculately precise accent. ‘It would inevitably put a dent in their collective spirit.’
Straker nodded, relieved he might have done the right thing to have kept it quiet thus far. ‘What if something happens and precautions weren’t taken?’
‘Quite.’
‘I’ve been trying to think this through,’ offered Straker. His face seemed more determined than usual. ‘When’s a collision going to be the most effective?’ he reflected almost rhetorically. ‘Massarella would only get one shot at it — as any attempt is likely to take Adi Barrantes out at the same time. Wouldn’t that mean it had to be in the race, when there’s no chance of our making a repair — rather than in practice or Qualifying, when we could?’
‘That’s logical.’
‘In which case, we probably wouldn’t need to deploy any countermeasures until Sunday.’
‘Okay. I can live with that. But,’ said the team boss, ‘you and I can’t take any chances. I need you, Matt — without making any kind of show — to provide full comfort in the meantime. Call it extra team scrutiny for next year’s car, or some such. But I’ll need you to remain just as vigilant as you have been hitherto.’
Straker went straight to work. As well as his usual surveillance, his focus, this time, was shown in the bank of screens in front of him. He arranged a feed from every camera that covered Adi Barrantes. But — just in case the threat didn’t come solely from Barrantes — he arranged similar coverage of the Simi Luciano Massarella, as well. Also, with Straker’s primary concern being the relative positions of the two Ptarmigans and the two Massarellas, he set up a screen showing a graphic representation of the real-time positions of all cars on the track.
Quite clearly, the collision threat was only real when the turquoise and black cars were close together. That’s when it could get really ugly.
Straker’s biggest fear, therefore, was “proximity”.
Sabatino’s proximity to any Massarella was going to be the moment of highest danger.
SIXTY-FIVE
Qualifying One began on Saturday morning. The public, commentators, and audience were all focused on the fight between the two Championship contenders — Paddy Aston and Remy Sabatino.
Both drivers went through the first round of Qualifying without a hitch.
Q2 saw Aston make a mistake, while Sabatino lost the back end to a spin in Pinheirinho, Turn Nine — but both made it through easily to the top-ten shootout.
Then everything changed.
Thick grey clouds started forming over the lakes — the wind got up and rain was on the way. Everyone started agonizing. Would the weather change enough, or would they get away with it? And what of tomorrow? If it was going to rain for the race, should the teams rig the cars for Qualifying in a wet set-up, just in case?
To Sabatino, the choice was all the more heightened, given her standings in the Championship. In some ways, though, her decision-making was perversely easier. She was, in effect, only driving against one other competitor now. All she had to do was stay competitive relative to Paddy Aston and his Lambourn.
Backhouse and the whole team devoted their efforts to trying to work out what Aston and the Lambourn team were planning to do.