Private Monaco

Chapter 76

Justine walked with Jack as far as the corner of Avenue du Port and Boulevard Albert 1er. The city was packed with race fans being channeled along the temporary walkways and tunnel bridges. The noise of the crowd and race cars being prepped and tuned was deafening. The atmosphere before qualifying already rivaled the excitement of any event Justine had experienced, so she struggled to picture what the energy of the city would be like for the race the next day. But she couldn’t get caught up in the anticipation and enthusiasm: she had other things on her mind.

“Be careful,” Jack said before giving her a kiss.

“You too,” she replied.

He headed south, climbing steps to a tunnel bridge that would take him to the grand port and marina, full to bursting with luxury yachts.

Justine went east toward the race command center and the Louis Chiron, the infamous chicane located nearby, directly opposite the port. The first roaring Formula One car racing along the city streets told Justine qualifying was underway. In between the sound of gear changes came the cheers of crowds in the grandstands and gathered around the city.

She headed for the Monte Carlo Casino stand, which was located opposite the Louis Chiron. Carver had told Jack that’s where he’d be, and as Justine worked her way through the crowded walkways and neared the location, she could see why the Defense Secretary had chosen this stand to watch the race from. It was in a magnificent setting on a tight bend that forced the powerful cars to slow in front of the spectators, before rocketing onto the next straight. The stand was set tight against the bend, so the people in the front row might believe they could reach out and touch the cars, putting them in the action, rather than consigning them to merely spectating.

Justine surveyed the stand at a distance, but couldn’t make out Carver, so she approached an entry gate and joined a small group of people looking to get into this section of the race. She was soon at the front, facing an admissions marshal.

“Pass?” he said.

“I don’t have one,” Justine replied. “I just need to talk to someone in the Casino stand.”

“You can’t enter without a pass,” the marshal said.

Justine suddenly remembered Carver had invited them to be his guests.

“I have a pass, but it’s with my friend,” she responded. “He invited me.”

“If your friend has arranged a pass,” the marshal said, “it will be available for collection at a ticket kiosk.”

He gestured toward a row of white huts on the other side of the pedestrian walkway.

“Simply present your passport or identification card.”

“Thank you,” she said, before joining a line for one of the booths.

Ten minutes later, after making it to the front of the line and presenting her passport, she was given her pass. She went back to the gate and this time was allowed in.

As she crossed a footbridge to take her to the grandstand, Justine’s senses were assailed by the roar of a race car passing beneath her, the smell of high-grade fuel, and the cries of the crowd.

She hurried on, eager to reach Carver before it was too late.