The two cars crested the rise — when suddenly Sabatino reckoned she had a shot. Timing her moment to the last minute, she remained tucked right up — a matter of inches — behind the Mercedes. Three hundred yards from the braking zone, she swung left, out of the Mercedes’s slipstream, setting her jaw at a move down the inside of him into Turn One.
Slowly but surely, she gained on the car in front.
She only had a few hundred yards to run before the corner.
Would it be enough?
Could she stake her claim?
Come on! she yelled into her helmet.
She powered on. With nothing less than full commitment.
‘Lift, you bastard, lift!’ she screamed at the Mercedes.
She held her nerve. But so did the Mercedes. They were side by side. Did she have the line? Would he concede? Would she have to lift off, after all?
She held out … And out.
She wasn’t going to bottle first.
Then it happened.
He lifted.
The Mercedes lifted off!
It felt like she suddenly shot forwards, as the Mercedes — visible through her peripheral vision to the right — quickly dropped back under braking. But she was still going into the corner hard and fast. Could she control the car into, through, and round Turn One? Would the Mercedes just need to be patient, watch her run deep and wide — and simply cut back after the corner?
Watching all this on the monitors, the Ptarmigan team were holding their breath. Straker, on the edge of his seat, willed her car round the corner. From an overhead camera, the shot showed the turquoise car’s sharper angle into the turn. A small puff of blue smoke came off Sabatino’s front-left. Then was gone.
Would she get by on the first turn of this complex only to have the Mercedes come back at her through Turns Two and Three?
She felt the car go a little here and there.
Sabatino wrestled with the wheel, the brakes, and the yaw of the car.
She held her nerve.
She was getting round … round? … round!
She’d done it. She’d taken her man, fair and square.
With all the risks, she was now up to P9.
She was closing in!
Recovering down the hill on the far side of the corner, the Ptarmigan headed down the long straight, the Reta Oposta, flying back up to top speed. Ahead of her now Sabatino could see a Red Bull in P8. He was, maybe, one second further down the track. Along the straights, that length of time at this speed looked like a mile. But as they swung through Turn Six, and were soon in the succession of curves, sweeps, rises and compressions all the way from there to Turn Twelve, the gaps closed right up. But the design of the Interlagos circuit offered few genuine overtaking places through this section. A driver might make a mistake, and create an opportunity to pass, but at this late stage in the season, with the cars so well used to the Formula — and in the dry — it was going to be unlikely. By the end of this segment, as she rounded Subida Dos Boxes, Sabatino had nevertheless closed the gap and was all over the Red Bull’s back end. After that turn, Fourteen, the Red Bull and she had the three-quarters-of-a-mile drag up the hill on the long left sweep until they reached Turn One again, where she’d just jumped the Mercedes.
Up the hill they raced, the Ptarmigan giving Sabatino all it had. But it wasn’t quite enough. She didn’t quite get the tow.
And so it remained for the next ten laps.
Sabatino was frustrated, but not despondent. A couple of times she radioed the pits, wanting to know where Aston was — how fast he was lapping — whether it looked like he was making any headway on P2, or whether, God willing, he might even be overtaken. But no. Everything, for Aston, was running normally — all going his way to secure the World Championship.
Lap twenty and they saw the first of the pit stops.
To Sabatino’s delight the Red Bull in front of her pitted earlier than expected. She hadn’t been aware of his dirty air, but the moment he was out of the way, she found an extra couple of tenths per lap. So much so that when she pitted herself, five laps later, she was nearly up with the other Red Bull in P7.
Sabatino remained on the same compound tyre and was fuelled to lap fifty-eight.
Out she went again.
Re-emerging, though, she was met with a surprise. She found herself in front of a Lotus. What did that mean? Where was the Red Bull who’d been in P7?
She radioed Backhouse in the pits.
‘He’s about a second behind you.’
‘Behind me? You’re kidding?’
‘No, he’s just entering the pit straight.’
She looked back in her mirror. ‘I’ll be … Where does that put us, best guess?’
‘Could be good for P6.’
‘P6!’
‘And where’s Aston?’
‘Still P3.’
Sabatino juggled the numbers — and yelled. ‘That’s good enough! We’re only three points apart. We’re equal — that would make us equal. With my number of wins, I’d be World Champion.’
‘Just bring it home, Remy,’ snapped Backhouse fiercely. ‘There’ll be time for all that later.’
Round they went. Sabatino continued to push hard. She was now bearing down on a Ferrari.
Lap fifty-one and the second round of pit stops began.
Aston came in and was out again in a phenomenally fast stop.
Two laps later Sabatino was in. Her boys had to get this one as right as right. They did — everyone beginning to sense the prize was within their grasp. They achieved their fastest change and refuelling stop all year. That and her next few lap times made a difference. By the time the Ferrari in front of her pitted, he re-emerged on the track behind her.
Didn’t that give her P5?
But then the penny seemed to drop for Lambourn.
Aston suddenly dug deeper and found another level himself. Had he been coasting up till now, believing his margin to be big enough from the start?
In the next lap Aston’s Lambourn shaved four tenths off her time.
The one after that another six tenths.
And then half a second in the next.
‘He’s closing in on the Massarella in P2,’ reported Backhouse. ‘He could be in a position to take him soon.’
Sabatino kept driving, but waited with bated breath to hear news about her Championship rival.
It wasn’t long in coming.
And it wasn’t good.
‘He’s taken Simi Luciano,’ Backhouse announced. ‘Aston’s up into P2.’
‘Oh, no,’ bellowed Sabatino. ‘Eight points to my three — would give him a five-point advantage — and the title.’
Sabatino pushed hard in response.
There was some distance between her and the next car down the track from her. With fourteen laps to go, she was going to have to dig in.
But this was the scenario that Straker had not even dared to imagine.
Sabatino had showed brilliant resolve to fight her way up the field, taking advantage of opportunities as they arose — gutsy overtaking — slick strategy — and well-timed stops which had gained her track position.
But now, she was entering the proximity zone that he had dreaded.
She was coming up on not one — but two Massarellas.
If the email Straker had recovered from Michael Lyons’s laptop showing Van Der Vaal’s readiness to pay for collisions was serious, then they were all coming up on the moment of danger.
Proximity.
SIXTY-EIGHT
Straker called up Tahm Nazar on the pit wall. ‘Do you want to warn her — now — about the possible threat from the Massarellas?’ he asked.