Hot Seat

Lap Thirty-Two

The Zandvoort circuit sits on the coast just twenty miles from the heart of Amsterdam. Sand dunes hide the North Sea lurking behind. Steve had warned me to watch out for the sand. It’s not uncommon for it to blow in from the dunes to dust the main straight. It’s one of those little things that makes getting to know a track that little bit trickier. In its heyday, Zandvoort was a regular stop on the grand prix calendar, but the last Dutch Grand Prix was in 1985. Despite losing its Formula One lustre, it’s still a busy circuit for Dutch national titles and European championships. Regardless of our nefarious reasons for being in Holland, I was looking forward to driving here. The world was teeming with historic tracks that had hosted some fantastic races and I wanted to leave my tyre tracks on as many of them as I could.

The team set off on Tuesday with Dylan. The convoy of two transporters drove from England to Holland via the Channel Tunnel. Dylan acted as my eyes. He called me with updates every few hours. There’d been no detours, stop-offs or meetings. They simply drove to the circuit, parked the transporters and went to their hotel for the night. I reported this back to Barrington.

‘Someone will come for the drugs while you’re on the track.’

Claudia was out of the picture for this part. According to Barrington, she had to protect her cover. That was reasonable, but I got the feeling that he just wanted to be there at the kill.

Instead of driving, I flew into Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport first thing Wednesday morning with Haulk. The forty-minute flight trumped the eight-hour drive.

Rags met us at the airport. Haulk rode shotgun with Rags while I took the back seat.

‘How’s the setup?’ Haulk asked.

‘Good. Your name opens more doors than American Express. We’ve got the circuit to ourselves and we’ll be ready to hit the track by the time we get there. The best thing is that there won’t be any of Townsend’s spies on deck.’

Rags went on to outline the day’s game plan and I tuned him out. All I could think about were those packets of cocaine hidden inside the wheels of my car. Was Rags a mule? It sure looked that way. I tried to marry that up with the man talking ten to the dozen about lap times, tyre performance, and engine power and failed to get a match. If it was true, was Rags working alone? How many of the crew members were involved? I couldn’t see how this was going to end well.

We arrived at Zandvoort to find the cars in the pit garages with their engines running. Dylan brought over my kit bag. He’d stored it on the transporter so I didn’t have to take it through the airport.

I took the bag from him. ‘Anything interesting happen?’

‘Nope.’

I eyed the wheels on my car. ‘Are they the loaded tyres?’

‘As far as I can tell. Those are the wheels that we took off the other night.’

Surely we weren’t going to drive with ten kilos of coke in each wheel. The cars would handle like a bus and the drugs wouldn’t survive the beating. ‘Don’t take your eyes off those wheels after we do a tyre change.’

He nodded. ‘Barrington?’

I glanced out over the dunes. ‘He says our every move is being watched.’

Nevin called my name. ‘Aidy, we’re good to go. We just need the human component.’

‘Human component ready to go.’

Nevin handed me the checklist and as I changed, I called out the tasks. I kissed my mum’s St Christopher and got behind the wheel.

Zandvoort is similar to Snetterton in that it’s relatively flat with one corner after another with little respite. I knew it was going to be a challenging circuit and I struggled. I picked the wrong lines through the bends and each turn was a dance with the gravel traps. I knew I was slow. I could hear it in the engine noise. I just wasn’t pushing the power band. To compensate, I cut my braking distances and ended up slewing past my turn-in points.

‘C’mon, Aidy, pull it together,’ Nevin said through my headset. ‘Don’t let this place rattle you. You’re better than this.’

Zandvoort wasn’t getting to me, Ragged Racing was. Instead of watching for braking points, apexes and exit points, I saw tyres packed with cocaine. I saw people I admired, liked and trusted with my personal safety as possible drug mules. And worst of all, I was now picturing one of them as Jason Gates’ murderer. All of it ate away at me. Driving flat out at ten-tenths took single focus and I was nowhere near. I’d be better off driving blindfolded.

Rags’ voice came in over my headset. ‘You going to wreck my car?’

If Rags was breaking ranks to talk to me instead of Nevin, my driving had pissed him off.

‘No, sir.’

‘You’d better not, Aidy. You know what makes a good driver? Consistency. The ability to make lightning strike in the same place again and again. You, son, are too hot and cold. That’s no good to me. I’d rather have lukewarm. Pull it together or get off the track. Your decision. What’s it going to be?’

‘I’m staying out.’

‘Good. Back off. Wait for Haulk. Latch on to his tail and see how a real driver does it.’

I backed off and when Haulk ripped past me on the approach to the Audi S curve, I floored the accelerator. With momentum on Haulk’s side, he continued to pull away from me, but it wouldn’t be for long.

Nevin had asked for the human component. That was what I needed to be. I squeezed all thoughts of drug trafficking from my mind and put everything I had into keeping up with Haulk’s car. I mimicked his lines around the track. I put down mental markers where he braked, where he turned, where he clipped the apexes. I needed this information not only to learn the circuit, but to overtake him.

After five laps, I was keeping up with him, even when he pushed that little bit harder, then I reeled him in a tenth of a second at a time. In showing me his line around the track, he’d exposed his driving style. Just like a card player revealing his tells, I knew what Haulk was going to do. I watched for the telltale puff of exhaust smoke every time he changed gears and held the gear just that second longer before shifting to wring every last rev out of my engine. Every time the rear of his car rose up when he braked for a corner, I stayed on the power for a fraction longer. And I reeled Haulk in.

I could smell it as well as see it. The acrid stink of burnt exhaust fumes filtered through the vents in my car. Instead of repelling me, the scent spurred me on. I was on the hunt and I had my prey.

On the tenth lap, I crawled all over Haulk’s rear bumper as we went into the sweeping right-hander before the start-finish straight and, on the exit, I jerked out from behind him and drew alongside him. He saluted me as I breezed past.

‘Very impressive,’ Rags said through my headset. ‘Now bring it in before you go and ruin it.’

Both Haulk and I slowed for a cool-down lap and I rolled to a halt in front of my pit garage.

Dylan opened my door and helped me out of the car. ‘Mate, that was quick.’

‘Really?’

‘Telemetry doesn’t lie,’ Nevin said, holding his laptop. ‘Nicely done.’

‘Aidy, Nevin, over here,’ Rags called out.

‘Time for us to listen to our master’s voice,’ Nevin said, before addressing the crew. ‘I want fresh rubber all round and a full tank when I get back.’

I exchanged a look with Dylan. He knew what he was supposed to do.

We met Rags at the pit wall. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

My heart fluttered.

‘I like how you responded out there, but I don’t want to have to give you a bollocking to get you to perform.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry. Get your act together. You just took the ESCC champion apart in ten laps. I want that every time without shouting for it. I meant what I said about you blowing hot and cold. I can’t have that. I want fast and predictable. Does that make sense?’

‘It does.’

‘So, is there a problem?’

Yeah, close to a hundred kilos of coke, I thought. ‘It’s an adjustment thing.’

‘There isn’t time for adjusting. You have to be on from the start.’

‘In the lad’s defence, we didn’t think he’d have a win under his belt at this point,’ Nevin said. ‘He’s doing better than we thought and our expectations are higher.’

‘Maybe so, but he’s shown he can mix it up with the best, so he has to do that race after race.’ Rags turned to me. ‘Can you do it?’

‘I can do my best.’

‘Not good enough. Can you do it?’

‘He can,’ Nevin said.

‘Then I’m making it your job to get the best out of him.’

‘Consider it done.’

Rags fixed me with his stare. ‘Are you going to break my heart?’

Quite possibly, I thought.

Rags briefed Haulk and me on a plan of action, which included a day of driving on full tanks, quarter tanks and tyre testing. Tyre testing meant we’d be burning through a lot of tyres. It would be easy to lose the cocaine-loaded tyres in the mix.

After the briefing, I pulled Dylan to one side. ‘Where are the wheels?’

‘Over there. When we pulled them off, I stacked them and marked them with a blue dot.’

He nodded to the corner of the pit garage where the eight wheels were stacked.

‘And the others?’

‘In similar spots.’

‘Keep an eye out for anyone coming by to take them.’

‘Will do.’

‘Aidy, ready to cause some more havoc?’ Nevin called across the pit garage.

‘Yeah, just give me a minute.’

‘This is a game of seconds. No time for minutes.’

I smiled at Nevin and said to Dylan, ‘Call Barrington. Tell him to expect a tyre delivery.’

The sound of my car firing up told me it was time for me to get back out there. I returned to the pit garage.

‘Get in the car and earn your pay,’ Nevin said.

‘What pay?’

He smiled and handed me my helmet. ‘Just get in the car.’

I wore a groove in Zandvoort, piling on lap after lap. Rags didn’t give Haulk or me any downtime. Today was costing the team a pretty penny and Rags seemed to be on a mission to get the most out of that penny. We logged over a hundred laps before we called it a day. The two cars had guzzled tanks of fuel and shredded dozens of tyres. The crew would be working hard to overhaul the cars as soon as they got back to the workshop. A hundred miles of track punishment was the equivalent of ten thousand road miles. The oil would be soup, the brakes would be bare and the wheel bearings would be shot. The cars would be old men after a season of this punishment.

I climbed from the car, not realizing how sore my back and arse were. I’d feel it in the morning. Nevin handed me an energy drink and I tottered into the pit garage. I peeled off the top half of my racesuit and tied the sleeves around my waist.

I sucked down half the sports drink, but my throat closed up when I spotted the eight wheels still sitting where they’d been all day.

Dylan sidled up to me. ‘No one’s been by for them.’

It didn’t make sense. I grabbed my kit bag and went into the men’s toilet to change. While I was in there, I called Barrington. He didn’t answer and my call went to voicemail. I left a message telling him to call me.

After I cleaned up, cheering greeted me in the pit garages.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked Nevin.

‘Dinner’s on Rags.’

‘Nice.’

I helped my crew pack up the car and equipment. The move bought me plenty of goodwill with the team. It also forced Haulk to help out. What was he going to do otherwise — just stand there?

Rags disappeared to his car and made call after call.

Who was he calling? His connection in Holland? Or Honda to tell them how testing had gone?

I made a move to grab the wheels carrying the drugs. I thought someone might stop me, but no one did. As I went to load them on to the tyre rack, my crew shooed me away. ‘No stealing our jobs,’ Roy Carroll said.

When everything was packed up, Rags led the convoy. As we had in the morning, Haulk and I rode with Rags. Dylan rode with the crew. We drove through the town of Zandvoort and picked up the road that took us east towards the airport.

The chatter in the car was upbeat. Rags rained compliments on us for our performances. I struggled to keep up with the conversation. All I could think about were those cocaine-loaded wheels. Why hadn’t anyone come for them?

We left the town of Zandvoort in the distance and travelled on a quiet stretch of road. Just as the road signs announced Bentveld was the next town, Dutch police cars poured out from a side road, lights and sirens blaring. Two cop cars raced in front of Rags’ car and slowed, blocking the road ahead. A string of police cars came up on our left side to pin us in. There was no going around them and Rags stamped on the brakes to avoid slamming into the back of them.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ Rags bellowed.

Barrington, I thought.

Rags pulled up short, causing the transporter behind to lock up its brakes and rear-end us. The impact felt like a punch in the back and sent Rags’ car forward a couple of feet.

‘These fuckers are going to pay,’ Rags snarled and flung the door open.

‘Stay in the car,’ Haulk said.

Rags ignored the good advice and jumped from the car.

‘Shit,’ Haulk said and jumped out.

‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,’ I said and opened my door.

Three cops, talking in a mix of both Dutch and English, were telling Rags to calm down and get back into his car. Rags just shouted at them, demanding to know what the hell was going on and who was going to pay for the damage to his vehicles.

Two more cops appeared in front of Haulk and me. Haulk immediately fired off something in Dutch that disarmed them. We jogged over to Rags and a plain-clothes cop who had a sheaf of papers in his hand. Haulk cooled the situation down by talking to the cops in Dutch. Rags crossed his arms and just smouldered while Haulk spoke to the detective in charge.

I looked back down the line of vehicles. The whole crew was at the side of the road looking bewildered and confused, Dylan amongst them. He looked worried. I understood his fears. This wasn’t on the script.

With half the road blocked, a handful of cops took over traffic duties. Cars drifted by the scene, staring at the transporters and us.

I looked for Barrington. He was the ringmaster of this circus, but I didn’t see him at first. He swept past me at the wheel of a car, moving with the traffic and fixed me with a disapproving stare.

‘What kind of bullshit is this?’ Rags bellowed.

‘The warrant says they’re looking for narcotics,’ Haulk said.

I inched closer to Haulk and Rags.

‘Seriously, they think we’re moving drugs?’ Rags said to Haulk, then turned his disgust to the cop in charge. ‘I have just dropped a small fortune in your country today and this is how I get treated?’

I wondered how much involvement Haulk had in the smuggling. It had been his idea and connections that brought us to Zandvoort today. Had his problems with the law ended in his teens or had he matured into something more insidious?

‘Sir,’ the lead detective said, ‘I just want to search your vehicles. If we find nothing then you’ll be free to go. The quicker you stop protesting the quicker you’ll be on your way.’

Rags was silent for a minute. This was one race he couldn’t win. He threw up his hands. ‘OK, do it. Waste your fucking time.’

The detective signalled to his men and they descended on the transporters and Rags’ car. Rags told the crew to open the transporters up. Once the doors were open, the police ordered everyone back and they descended on the vehicles.

Barrington played it smart. The cops didn’t go straight for the wheels. They rifled through toolboxes, storage cabinets in the transporters and the cars. The drugs had to be discovered organically. First, search the obvious, then get inventive.

‘This is bullshit,’ Rags said for the umpteenth time.

He didn’t get any arguments, not that anyone was saying anything. Everyone stood in silence while the police worked.

I didn’t know what to make of Rags. He reacted how I would expect someone to react if they were innocent. These weren’t the protests of a guilty man. I looked at the crew for anyone who was sweating. The only person who looked even close to guilty was Dylan.

The lead detective clambered up into the transporter and grabbed a wheel off the tyre rack. ‘I want the tyres removed,’ he said to Rags.

‘What do you want?’ Rags said.

‘I want the tyres off these wheels, so I can see inside.’

Rags coughed out a laugh so loud with derision that it left a trail. ‘You’ve found nothing, so you want to be as awkward as possible. Is that it?’

‘I’m not debating the subject, sir. Just do it.’

‘Nevin,’ Rags called.

Nevin tapped Dylan on the shoulder and they jumped into the transporter to pop the tyres from the rims.

My breath caught when Nevin picked up the first of the wheels with the drugs inside. He and Dylan popped the rim. Nothing. No coke. Just air. I fought the urge to ask what was going on. These were the marked wheels, yet they were empty. Dylan and Nevin popped the next marked wheel. Again, nothing. Every wheel revealed the same — nothing.

Dylan jumped down from the transporter and stood next to me. ‘What just happened?’

‘I have no idea.’

All I knew was that Barrington wasn’t going to be happy.