Driven by Toby Vintcent

of the harbour complex, Backhouse’s voice came up over the radio: ‘You’ve got a window in thirty seconds. There’s traffic around Loews, but by the time you’re hot they’ll be long gone.’
    Straker began to feel himself drawn into the live picture of the road ahead as Sabatino cranked up the pace around the Swimming Pool. Pulling up the hill after La Rascasse, she shot past a Ferrari and a Lambourn peeling off into the pits. Through Anthony Noghès, into the pit straight, she floored the throttle and let the Ptarmigan go.
    Because of the suspected sabotage, Straker couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. He watched the TV picture even more closely, listening out intently over the radio for any kind of trouble.
    The car was clearly on top of its game.
    Sabatino went two tenths up in the first sector, four tenths up in the second and, even with a minor lift to pass a Red Bull around La Rascasse, still clocked up the fastest time of the weekend so far.
    At the end of Q1 Sabatino was comfortably through to the next round; Helli Cunzer in the second Ptarmigan was also through, as were the two Lambourns and both Massarellas.
    Straker sat back in his chair and squinted at the screen. This was not good.
    Nothing. No sign of the saboteur. At all.
    He stepped out of the motor home and, making sure he was not able to be overheard, telephoned Backhouse in the pit lane. ‘No sign, Andy, I’m afraid.’
    ‘That was only Q1, Matt. No one would expect our cars to fall out this early.’
    ‘Okay. Can we do the tease on the first in-lap of Q2?’
    ‘She’s not going to like it.’
     
    Q ualifying Two started seven minutes later. This time, the field was to be reduced from sixteen cars to ten.
    Sabatino put in a good lap early on. They were confident it would be fast enough to get her through, so she wouldn’t need to pound the car unnecessarily. Coasting home on her in-lap, she reached the tunnel. Straker heard Backhouse come up on the radio again: ‘Remy, we’re looking at the hard compound and a three-stop strategy.’
    Straker waited to see how well she would participate in their ploy.
    ‘Okay,’ was all she grunted in response.
    Backhouse kept going with the pre-agreed script: ‘We’ve just run the numbers, Remy. If we go for three, we’d need to make up nine seconds per stint. What do you think?’
    Sabatino did not reply.
    ‘Remy?’
    Straker groaned.
    Finally, she mumbled: ‘Okay. Go for three.’
    ‘We might have to play with your brake balance midway through Q3…’ Backhouse went on.
    There was no further response from Sabatino.
    Straker sucked his teeth, not sure how convincing that had been. He hoped that with the competitive significance of their transmission, though, they might have done enough to bait his trap. The next – and final – round of Qualifying was critical.
    The shootout.
    For Q3, it was mandatory for cars to be in race trim – the very set-up in which they would start the race the next day – no fundamental adjustment being permitted under the rules from then until the start of the Grand Prix itself. Backhouse’s and Sabatino’s discussion over the radio, therefore, was meant to sound like they were finalizing their set-up for the race. On a three-stop strategy, the Ptarmigan would be considerably lighter than the other competitive cars, giving it an advantage. However, running that light would alter the car’s balance; the team’s only chance to test and adjust the set-up would come over the air during this last Qualifying session. Straker hoped that news of the three-stop strategy – and expected radio exchange in Q3 – would excite the jammer to act.
    When Sabatino got back to the pits, the soft compound tyres were replaced. Under Backhouse’s instructions, the fuel rigger deliberately fumbled the hose – attaching it and removing it several times – to disguise the fact that he was actually fuelling for a two-stop strategy.
     
    T owards the end of Q2, things were put