The Way to Dusty Death by Alistair MacLean

Author:Alistair MacLean
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9780006151357
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1973-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

In the Coronado pits on the following afternoon a heavily panting MacAlpine and a still sadly battered Dunnet argued in low and urgent tones. The faces of both men were marked with worry.

MacAlpine made no attempt to conceal the savagery he felt inside him. He said: ‘But the bottle’s empty, man. Drained to the last drop. I’ve just checked. Jesus, I can’t just let him go out there and kill another man.’

‘If you stop him you’ll have to explain why to the press. It’ll be a sensation, the international sporting scandal of the last decade. It’ll kill Johnny. Professionally, I mean.’

‘Better have him killed professionally than have him kill another driver for real.’

Dunnet said : ‘Give him two laps. If he’s in the lead, then let him go. He can’t kill anyone in that position. If not, flag him in. We’ll cook up something for the press. Anyway, remember what he did yesterday with the same skinful inside him?’

‘Yesterday he was lucky. Today-’

Today it’s too late.’

Even at a distance of several hundred feet the sound of twenty-four Grand Prix racing engines accelerating away from the starting grid was startling, almost shattering, both in its unexpectedness and ear-cringing fury of sound. MacAlpine and Dunnet looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously. There seemed to be no other comment or reaction to meet the case.

The first driver past the pits, already pulling fractionally clear of Nicolo Tracchia, was Harlow in his lime-green Coronado. MacAlpine turned to Dunnet and said heavily: ‘One swallow does not make a summer.’

Eight laps later MacAlpine was beginning to question his ornithological expertise. He was looking slightly dazed while Dunnet was indulging in considerable eyebrow-lifting, Jacobson’s expression was not one indicative of any marked internal pleasure while Rory was positively scowling although manfully trying not to. Only Mary expressed her true emotion and that without inhibition. She looked positively radiant.

Three lap records gone,’ she said incredulously. Three lap records in eight laps.’

By the end of the ninth lap the emotions of those in the Coronado pits, as registered by their facial expressions, had radically altered. Jacobson and Rory were, with difficulty, refraining from looking cheerful. Mary was chewing anxiously on her pencil. MacAlpine looked thunderous but the thunder was overlaid by deep anxiety.

‘Forty seconds overdue!’ he said. ‘Forty seconds! All the field’s gone past and he’s not even in sight. What in God’s name could have happened to him?’

Dunnet said: ‘Shall I phone the track-marshals’ checkpoints ?’

MacAlpine nodded and Dunnet began to make calls. The first two yielded no information and he was about to make a third when Harlow’s Coronado appeared and drew into the pits. The engine note of the Coronado sounded perfectly healthy in every way, which was more than could be said for Harlow when he had climbed out of his car and removed his helmet and goggles.

His eyes were glazed and bloodshot. He looked at them for a moment then spread his hands: the tremor in them was unmistakable.

‘Sorry. Had to pull up about a mile out.

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