Authors: Matthew Reilly
Jason jumped into the driver’s seat of the
Argonaut
and hit the gas.
The little Ferrari roared off the mark, swinging in a wide circle in the turnaround at the top of Niagara Falls, before descending down the roadway to the base of the Falls, where it swung out over the river and shot like a bullet back into the Endless Tunnel.
Into the dark again.
Heading for home.
Roaring, charging, chasing, racing.
Jason hammered the
Argonaut
through the branch-like passageways of the Endless Tunnel, ducking left, veering right, now engaged with Romba and Fabian in a headlong race for home.
He saw Fabian’s tail-lights glowing red not far ahead of him - and suddenly, there came a voice in Jason’s helmet earpiece, a French-accented voice that shouldn’t have been there. ‘
You cannot win, boy
.’
It was Fabian.
He must have discovered Jason’s radio frequency and now, in the crunch-zone of the race, decided to put in a taunting call. This was very improper, but not technically illegal.
‘
Why keep trying?
‘ Fabian said. ‘
You’ve done so well for a child. Why not leave the rest of this race to the men
?’
Jason eyed the Frenchman’s tail-lights.
‘I’m coming after you, Fabian…’ he said firmly.
And he was.
He was gaining steadily on Fabian as they shot through the dark rocky tunnels, so much so that when they hit the Big Cave, the
Argonaut
sprang alongside the
Marseilles Falcon
on its right-hand side.
Fabian saw Jason and frowned -
‘Peek-a-boo,’ Jason said.
In reply Fabian rammed him.
But Jason swung wide, softening the blow.
This only seemed to enrage Fabian even more and as they shot up the long ramp of the Big Cave, Fabian slammed the
Marseilles Falcon
into the
Argonaut
again.
Jason, however, was up to the challenge, and he held his line as the two cars swooped up the bridge side-by-side and shot into the long sweeping (now) leftward curving tunnel that connected the Big Cave to the Small Cave.
Banking with the turn.
Flying hard.
Flying fast.
Fabian on the inside, Jason on the outside, their cars positively galloping, tearing the very fabric of the air with their speed.
And then, in a fleeting moment, Jason saw Fabian’s eyes in his helmet - saw them glaring over at Jason with pure derision and hatred.
‘
I’m gonna get you, you little punk!
’
‘Not today,’ Jason said.
‘
And why exactly not?
’
‘Because I’ve remembered something you haven’t,’ Jason said.
And as he said it, they rounded the final segment of the curve together, perfectly side-by-side - Fabian on the left, Jason on the right - and the thing that Jason had remembered suddenly came upon them.
The wreckage of Etienne Trouveau’s car.
It was still crumpled up against the entrance to this tunnel - now the exit - blocking the entire left-hand side of the track.
Fabian’s side of the track
.
Fabian saw it too late - and his eyes boggled at the sight - and at the realisation that Jason had got the better of him; had deliberately got him to travel on this side of the track, heading straight for his team-mate’s wreck.
Fabian screamed.
Then he covered his head as the
Marseilles Falcon
exploded
clean through
the remains of the
Vizir
, sending pieces of the two Renaults showering out in a huge starshaped spray - while at the same time, the
Argonaut
shot past the double wreck in total safety.
The central core of Fabian’s car actually survived the trip through the
Vizir
- although unfortunately for Fabian, its wings, nosewing and tailfin hadn’t.
The battered remains of his car shot off the nearest edge of the S-shaped bridge in the Small Cave and sailed down into blackness…
…where, perhaps undeservedly, it would be caught in a safety Dead Zone, its race run.
Needless to say, the crash’s effect on the race, on the entire Masters Series, was electrifying.
Fabian had just DNF’d - meaning he would get
no
points at all for this race. His Masters Series was over.
Now the Masters would be fought out by the last two racers on the track: Alessandro Romba and Jason Chaser.
With the two Renaults out of his hair for good and flying on outrageous amounts of adrenaline, Jason now eyed the tail-lights of Alessandro Romba.
La Bomba Romba.
The No.1-ranked driver in the world, the man seeking to become the first racer ever to claim the Grand Slam, the man who this whole year had never been cleanly passed.
Until today
, Jason thought.
A two-horse race.
Romba fleeing.
Jason chasing.
Chasing him as hard as he could.
Down the length of the Small Cave, then into the labyrinthine passages of the Tunnel.
Romba drove hard.
Jason drove perfectly.
And over the course of twenty minutes, he
gained
on the World No.1, moving within a car-length of him before - - sunlight assaulted them both as they blasted together out of the Tunnel.
Onto the Interstate now, sweeping left and right between the trees and hills - with Jason hammering on Romba’s tail, giving the World’s No.1 absolute hell. Then Jason made his move, tried to get past Romba on the inside left.
Romba blocked the move - legally, fluidly.
Jason tried again, this time on the right.
And Romba blocked him again.
Jason persisted, left, then right, searching doggedly for a gap, showing the World’s No.1 no respect.
Then again Jason went left - and Romba went that way too - but this time it was a perfectly disguised fake and
Jason suddenly cut right…
…and zipped past Alessandro Romba as Romba overbalanced to the left!
The crowds lining the highway gasped.
Then they
roared
with joy, delighted at Jason’s skill. It wasn’t a crash or luck or some foul move that had got Jason past Romba.
It had just been damn good driving.
And suddenly, with only ten minutes left in the New York Masters,
Jason found himself in the lead
.
New York City rose in the distance.
Whizzing down the Interstate, Jason saw its high skyscrapers stabbing the sky.
He gunned the
Argonaut
, trying to shut out all thought of being
in the lead
, being
out in front
, being on the cusp of
achieving everything he had ever dreamed of.
Don’t think about winning!
he told himself.
Don’t jump the gun! Win the race first.
So he concentrated with all his might.
And in the final run-up to Manhattan, he actually extended his lead on Romba, moving at first a car-length, then a few lengths ahead of the Italian.
Then it was over the Broadway Bridge at the top of Manhattan Island and suddenly he was back in the city
and its maze of hard right-angled corners.
The assembled crowds roared at his every turn. Romba was now seventy metres behind him.
And as he swung out onto Fifth Avenue and realised that he had no more turns to take - that this was the end - that he’d done it - Jason allowed himself a half-grin. He’d done it…
And then a figure in the crowd watching Jason shoot down Fifth Avenue toward the Finish Line pressed a button on a remote control, triggering the pinhead-sized explosive device attached to the tailfin of the
Argonaut
.
For the second time that year - and for the second time in a Grand Slam Race - the
Argonaut
‘s tailfin spontaneously exploded.
No!
Jason thought.
Not on the home straight!
‘Hang on, Bug!’ was all he had time to yell.
Its tailfin gone, the speeding
Argonaut
dropped its nose instantly and ploughed at a sizzling 790 km/h into the pavement of Fifth Avenue.
Sparks flew everywhere.
The
Argonaut
‘s nosewing dislodged immediately and flew away, loose pieces of the car were stripped off by the wind, while its wings bounced against the pavement and were torn clean off.
And the battered little
Argonaut
skidded to a sideways halt in the middle of Fifth Avenue, a tantalising two hundred metres short of the Finish Line, before it tipped clumsily onto its side, its cockpit pointed towards the Line.
Jason snapped his neck upwards and saw - tilted sideways - the Finish Line, so close but so far away.
‘Bug! You okay?’
The Bug said he was.
In a flash, Jason assessed his options.
He knew Romba was close behind him - and by the sound of it, almost on him - too close to beat to the Line on foot as the Bug had done to Barnaby back at Race School.
‘Damn it!’ he yelled. ‘I am
not
gonna lose this race!’
And as he saw Romba’s car blur past his stationary position, inspiration struck and Jason jammed his golden fleece in his lap, unclipped his transponder-equipped steering wheel, and did the only thing he could think to do to win the race.
He yanked on his ejection lever.
RACE 4: THE QUEST
SECTION: FIFTH AVENUE (INBOUND)
It was an image no race-goer would ever forget.
The black Lockheed of Alessandro Romba sweeping past the crumpled wreck of the
Argonaut
just as -
shoooooom!
- Jason, on his ejection seat, came shooting out of the wreck, rocketing horizontally and head-first, like a human cannonball, a bare two feet above Fifth Avenue where he…
…
overtook
Romba’s car in flight…
…and shot over the Finish Line one single foot ahead of the shocked Italian!
No sooner was the ejection seat over the Finish Line than it lost all its horizontal momentum and arced downward, and hit the ground and skidded - on its side - kicking up a million sparks all around Jason, but protecting him with its reinforced construction.
And then it stopped.
A sizzling, steaming crumpled wreck.
Race officials came running from all sides, concerned.
The crowds were stunned into silence.
Henry and Martha Chaser just stared, searching for a sign of life in the smoking ejection seat and the crowd of officials gathering around it.
No-one had ever seen anything like it - the kid had
ejected
over the Line to win!
And then an official lifted Jason from the crumpled mess of his ejection seat and Jason stood, wobbling, and held his steering wheel and golden fleece aloft -
- and the roar that went up from the crowd gathered around the Finish Line was like no other that had ever been heard in the history of hover car racing.
It was so loud, it almost brought the city down.
And Henry and Martha Chaser both breathed a sigh of relief - before Henry leapt into the air, pumping his fists.
‘
YOU…LITTLE…BLOODY…BEAUTY!
‘ he yelled.
Delirious scenes followed.
Like a dam breaking, the ecstatic crowd burst through the barricades and stampeded onto Fifth Avenue, massing around Jason’s crumpled ejection seat.
Jason - now flanked by officials and security guards - sought out Alessandro Romba nearby and shook his hand.
‘I’m sorry about the Grand Slam, Mr Romba,’ he said.
Romba just smiled ruefully. ‘I have a feeling that today might have been my last chance to get it - from now on, I’ll be facing a tough new opponent in every race.’
Jason nodded. ‘Good race today.’
‘You too. Now go, young Chaser. Celebrate.’
‘I will,’ Jason smiled broadly.
And he ran off down Fifth Avenue, to the wreck of the
Argonaut
, still lying on its side in the middle of the wide boulevard, where he found the Bug, now standing beside the wreckage.
The two brothers embraced - as camera flashes blazed all around them.
‘Jason! Doodlebug!’ Martha Chaser came running from the VIP stand, with Henry behind her. Martha grabbed Jason in a great big hug and squeezed him tight.
Henry Chaser stopped a few steps behind her, knowing that the Bug - currently unhugged - didn’t like to be held by him.
He was, then, quite stunned when the Bug leapt up into his arms and cuddled him warmly, resting his head on Henry’s shoulder.
‘Well
done
, son,’ Henry said, his voice breaking slightly. ‘Well
done
.’
‘Thanks…Dad,’ the Bug whispered softly - the first words he’d ever spoken directly to Henry Chaser.
Martha released Jason. ‘I almost had a heart attack when your back fin exploded in the final straight. What was that all about? Why did that happen?’
‘I have an idea,’ Jason said, turning to see Ariel arrive on the scene, escorted by two New York cops who held between them: Ravi Gupta, the Indian bookmaker, with his hands cuffed.
‘Is this him?’ one of the cops said to Jason.
‘Yeah. That’s him,’ Jason said. ‘That’s the guy who put the explosives on my car in Italy and here.’
Both Martha and Henry whirled around. So did all the race officials nearby, levelling their eyes at Gupta.
Jason explained. ‘I realised it the other night when we saw the gambling odds on TV. In racing, you can bet on all sorts of results: me winning, me coming in the Top 3 overall. But what really caught my attention were the odds for me coming in the Top 5 in any race. And suddenly I thought about the Italian Run.”
‘Twice in the Italian Run, our team encountered unusual difficulties: that explosion in the home straight, but also before that, just before the second pit stop, when Sally was blocked from getting to the Pescara Pits.
‘And I realised: in both instances those difficulties arose only when I moved
into 5th place
. On the way to the Pescara Pits, I leapfrogged into 5th by cutting the heel. Then my tailfin exploded just after I got past Trouveau and it looked likeI would be finishing in 5th.
‘And suddenly, I realised: someone didn’t want me to come in the Top 5 in Italy. So I thought about who that could be…and came to one conclusion: gamblers. And there’s been only one bookmaker who’s shown any interest in me. Gupta.