Authors: Christopher Sherlock
The reporters went very quiet. What could Halliday be going to say?
‘First, we will not on any condition allow Ricardo Sartori to race again this year. There have now been two accidents this season, and we don’t need any more. Sartori will be allowed to race again in the 1992 season.
‘Secondly, the Calibre-Shensu Shadow, on examination, fails to meet the basic requirements of FISA. Until the car is modified to meet these requirements, she will not be allowed to race. In fairness, however, this decision will not affect the points won by the team in the first two races of the season.
‘The next Grand Prix will take place in Belgium in two weeks’ time, as scheduled.’
Halliday walked away from the podium with evident relief.
Ricardo was well satisfied. His first deal had been concluded without any real difficulty. The two Frenchmen he had negotiated with were clearly men of influence, and had not haggled over the price as Phelps had warned they might. The percentages were agreed without argument.
Not for the first time, Ricardo wondered why Phelps had employed him at all. He guessed it must be because of his international fame - wherever he went, he was recognised as a personality, and he knew that people liked to talk and be associated with him.
Phelps had explained his cash-flow problems and his tax problems - and Ricardo was pleased to learn that he was not the only one in financial difficulties. His task, Phelps had explained, was to handle the sale of large quantities of raw tobacco that Phelps had stockpiled.
Payments were made through a numbered Swiss bank account that was set up in Ricardo’s own name. This did not concern him, especially as he received a straight one-per-cent commission on all monies ‘laundered’ through this account. From the Swiss account the money was transferred into other slush accounts. And the end result was that Phelps was getting large sums that did not have to be reflected on his balance- sheet, that were not taxable and that could be used for the acquisition and salvage of companies.
Ricardo knew that if his work continued to be as profitable as Phelps had promised, he would never have to race again. True, Phelps had a loaded gun at his head, threatening to release the video on Ricardo’s past - but then Phelps had also not tried to underpay him.
Ricardo packed up his bags in the Monaco hotel room. For him it had been a most profitable Grand Prix.
Bruce de Villiers stood looking at the wall of his hotel room. He had been a fool, a complete fool in thinking he could take on both FISA and FOCA by enlisting the support of the media. He had misread Ronnie Halliday. And he couldn’t blame the man at all - after all, he had been warned to watch it.
The only solution was to get back to Calibre-Shensu’s headquarters in England and start reworking the design on the Cray Supercomputer. They would never make the Belgium Grand Prix, he knew that, but if they worked hard perhaps they would be able to go back onto the circuit for the German Grand Prix.
As she stood, the Shadow was the most competitive car on the circuit. A redesign might reduce that competitiveness dramatically.
There was a knock on the door, and when Bruce went to open it he found Mickey Dunstal, looking in much the same mood as himself.
‘What a bunch o’ bastards! I’m thinking about the redesign already. I’ll have to meet with the technical lads and get down to the bottom of it.’
‘Mickey, it was because we tried to push them. We asked for it. I told you I was worried, but you and Phelps didn’t seem concerned.’
The Irishman went over to the bar fridge and poured himself a generous Scotch, which he knocked back in one.
‘They’ll be asking for major changes,’ he said bluntly. ‘The car is radically different from any of the others on the circuit. There will have been complaints from the other constructors.’ Bruce walked across to the window and looked out over the harbour.
‘I didn’t like the comment Ronnie made about Wyatt. The press are saying Wyatt’s a ruthless bastard. Perhaps if he doesn’t drive in Belgium, it’ll be forgotten about.’
‘Twas a callous thing he did.’
Bruce went red.
‘So would you have preferred us to lose? I know what he did and I agree with it!’
‘Even if Courtauld dies?’
‘Hoexter stopped.’
‘And what if he hadn’t?’
It was at that point that Wyatt walked into the room. He knew exactly what they’d been discussing, and spoke his mind.
‘If Hoexter hadn’t stopped and saved him, Courtauld would have died. But let me tell you, if I’d been Courtauld I wouldn’t have expected Hoexter to stop. I’d have wanted him to win.’
Mickey stared into Wyatt’s dark, restless eyes and was scared by the man inside.
‘I’m not a driver,’ he muttered, ‘so I’m not saying anything more.’
‘All right,’ Wyatt said. ‘Now let’s forget about Monaco and me. What about the Shadow?’
‘If we catch a flight this evening we can get down to work tomorrow with the basic design. It’s all on the computer, so I can start working the moment we get all the details.’
At Mickey’s words, Bruce felt the fight coming back into him. He had two Grand Prix wins under his belt, and it was a better start than anyone else had. And missing one race wasn’t going to affect Wyatt’s chances that badly. The man was a total professional.
He’d better get on the phone to Aito Shensu and tell him their plan of action. He wasn’t going to get much sleep for the next month, that was for sure.
Phelps watched the TV sports report, completely dumbfounded. It was the one thing he had not calculated into his elaborately worked equation. Ricardo had been a big enough blow, but this was a total disaster. They
had
to race in Belgium, that was all there was to it.
As for Wyatt Chase, he just hoped that the negative publicity about his behaviour would die down fast.
Bruce was furious. He slammed the phone down. Who the fuck did Jack Phelps think he was? The ultimatum was quite clear - either they fielded a car in Belgium or he was withdrawing his sponsorship. And he wanted a second driver. He was very, very unhappy about the negative publicity surrounding Wyatt.
When Vanessa got back to her hotel, Sean was waiting for her in the foyer.
‘I don’t think Wyatt Chase is going to be talking to you again,’ he said.
‘Rubbish, Sean. Give me a couple of days.’
He held up a VHS recording-tape.
‘Actions speak louder than words, Vanessa. So let’s watch the action.’
They went up to her room and Sean slipped the tape into the portable video-recorder and TV screen that she always had with her. She watched the footage that Sean had edited together. She could hardly bear to watch Wyatt driving callously past the accident, and she noted that Sean had edited in some screams above the noise of the Formula One engines, to dramatise the whole scene.
‘How could you do that?’ she cried.
‘Jay ordered me to. He said he couldn’t trust you to do it. I’m sorry, Vanessa, but if I hadn’t, he’d have fired me.’
She held her face in her hands. Wyatt would never speak to her again.
Jack Phelps gazed across the Paris skyline and then at the drink in his hand. Was his hand shaking? It wasn’t - and this gave him a measure of reassurance.
Things were not going well. The negative publicity surrounding Suzie’s disappearance hadn’t helped the Calibre-Shensu image, and that had been on top of Ricardo’s suspension; now there was the disqualification of the Shadow.
He remembered the argument he, Aito and Mickey had had with de Villiers. Perhaps they should have listened to de Villiers after all - he’d said they’d be pushing their luck, flouting the regulations so brazenly. At the time they’d all felt very confident, but now, with the tide of events turning against them, de Villiers’ stand seemed justified. The man hadn’t just been difficult for the sake of it.
And, Phelps decided, he’d totally underestimated Vanessa Tyson. The growing popularity of her investigation into Formula One was disturbing. Particularly worrying were her scathing attacks on cigarette companies like his, who sponsored individual teams for publicity purposes.
He switched on the video-recorder recessed in the wall, and watched the giant screen above it. A series of anti-smoking commercials rolled on. They made it clear that his game-plan of the last decade had been correct: it was only a matter of time before the cigarette business was subjected to heavier and heavier attacks from the media. The bans on conventional advertising meant he couldn’t threaten the newspapers and TV networks with the withdrawal of his advertising spend if they broadcast anti-smoking commercials.
He picked up a glossy picture of Vanessa Tyson from his desk top and crumpled it in his fist.
‘My dear, you are about to become history.’
Aito had been deeply disturbed by Phelps’s late-night call. He agreed that missing the Belgium Grand Prix could be disas
trous to their whole programme, and he also felt guilty about siding with the others against Bruce de Villiers in pushing to keep the more radical elements of the Shensu design.
The next morning saw him jetting into Heathrow in a chartered Boeing 747. With him was the entire Shensu design team. He didn’t care what the board said to him, he was going to have the Shadow ready to compete in Belgium.
His dream was that Wyatt Chase should become world champion in the Shensu Shadow. But he also, like Bruce, wanted the constructor’s trophy. Next to him sat a young Japanese with an expressionless face. Just over five feet tall, Charlie Ibuka was a national hero in Japan; the previous year he had won the Japanese Formula Two championship in his debut season - a unique achievement. No one could argue, Aito thought, that Ibuka wasn’t good enough.
Aito’s greatest gift was to simplify seemingly complex problems and come up with immediate solutions - it was this ability that had enabled him to build Shensu into one of the most powerful motor manufacturers in Japan. Now he applied this gift to the current problem with his Formula One team. Appointing Charlie Ibuka as Calibre-Shensu’s number two driver was his first move. He knew that Ibuka would be totally committed, and that was what the team needed. What Jack Phelps had told him over the phone made sense - they had to have a second driver. So now it was just a question of redesigning the Shadow to fit in with the official regulations.
Aito was certain that, backed by the entire Shensu design team, Mickey Dunstal and Professor Katana could sort the problem out.
He glanced down at his watch. It was just after eight in the morning. Bruce de Villiers would be at the airport to collect him in person. There was not a moment to be wasted.
The plane touched down smoothly, and ten minutes later the door at the side of the cockpit opened, and the wind and pouring rain swept inside. Aito shivered, then hurried quickly down the gangway and across the tarmac towards the customs area.
He was through in a matter of seconds. The British Minister of Trade had made special arrangements - the head of the large Japanese consortium who was investing vast amounts of money in the United Kingdom was to be given top priority.
Aito hurried through to the reception area, closely followed by his team. He was pleased to see that Bruce de Villiers was waiting for him. However he had not reckoned with the huge entourage of reporters ganged up behind him.
The questions started as he shook hands with Bruce.
‘Mr Shensu, is it true that you’re thinking of withdrawing your sponsorship?’
Aito flashed a smile to the cameras.
‘I would never let my team down. I have come here to assist in the redesign of the Shadow. We will be competing in Belgium with Wyatt Chase and Charlie Ibuka.’
He saw de Villiers squirm at this, and wished he could have told de Villiers in private about Charlie Ibuka, but there hadn’t been time. He wanted to put an end to the negative publicity; Shensu’s image was of paramount importance.
‘Do you think the disqualification of your car is a reaction to the invasion of the American and European markets by Japanese technology?’
‘Not at all. I think it’s perfectly normal. At Shensu we play by the rules. That is why we are here to redesign the Shadow. I accept FISA’s decision.’
‘Are you disturbed by Wyatt Chase’s callous behaviour at Monaco? Do you think he should have stopped?’
‘I must support Chase’s decision,’ Aito replied with a frown on his face.
‘Will you be talking to the Minister of Trade about further investment in this country?’
Aito smiled again.
‘We have already had lengthy talks. My investment in your country has been approved. A new factory will be opened next year.’
Don Morrison sprinted across the arrivals hall and slid to a halt in front of the reporters. Bruce de Villiers glowered at him for his lack of punctuality. A hasty discussion ensued between Don, Aito and Bruce, and eventually Don turned to face the cameras.
‘Thank you for being here to greet Aito Shensu,’ Don said smoothly. ‘There will be an official press briefing tomorrow at Calibre-Shensu headquarters.’