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Authors: Don Pendleton
Tags: det_action
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kid's eyes narrowed. "I think it's time for you to leave. I have to prepare for afternoon practice," Anderson said.
* * *
Eddie Anderson missed his apex on Laguna Seca's turn two, the famous Andretti Hairpin. He couldn't get his head into the moment, a moment that saw his negotiating one of the world's most challenging racetracks aboard what was perhaps the fastest motorcycle on Earth. He couldn't shake his brother's death out of his head.
He made the next several corners as if on autopilot, and as the next right-hand corner approached, he couldn't remember if it was Turn Five or Turn Six. It turned out to be the more rounded Turn Five and not the sharper-edged Turn Six, though he once again missed his apex because he'd mentally prepared for Turn Six. These were stupid, rookie mistakes and Anderson chastised himself for making them.
He cleared his mind by Turn Six and executed the corner perfectly, getting a hard drive up the hill toward the corkscrew. He threw his bike to the left, down the hill into the corkscrew, then made a beautiful arcing turn to the right, apexing perfectly at the bottom of the hill as he left the corkscrew, hitting one hundred and fifty miles per hour before braking for Turn Nine. Anderson's technique for negotiating the corkscrew was nearly perfect, almost as good as his brother's had once been. Darrick had been universally regarded as the king of Laguna Seca.
Thinking of Darrick once again distracted the younger Anderson brother and he braked too late for Turn Nine — Rainey Curve — and he ran wide, toward the gravel trap at the edge of the track. It was what racers called "the kitty litter." He'd just about saved himself from an embarrassing crash when his teammate Danny Asnorossa came by off the main racing line. Asnorossa crossed in front of Anderson and clipped the American's front tire with his rear tire, slamming Anderson's bike down in a low slide.
Both Anderson and the bike slid off the track, the bike sliding on its side, and Anderson flipping through the air. He saw a rapid series of images — earth-sky-earth-sky-earth-sky — before he finally came to a stop in the gravel. Before getting up, he took stock of his body. Nothing appeared to be damaged except his pride. He walked over to the bike and picked it up. He'd lost a footpeg and his brake lever was broken off, but the motorcycle was still running. With the help of the corner workers who had already descended on the scene, he got it out of the "kitty litter" and rode it back to the pits. It appeared to be just cosmetic damage that his crew could repair so he wouldn't have to get out his backup bike.
He would have to get his mind right before the race on Sunday or he wasn't going to win. If he kept riding like he had been during that afternoon's practice, he wouldn't even survive Sunday's race.
7
"Striker, I think I know where they're keeping the plutonium," Kurtzman said over the secure line connected to Bolan's cell phone. "Better yet, I'm sure I know what they plan to do with it."
"What's that?" Bolan asked.
"You've probably figured out how popular racing is in the rest of the world."
"I've noticed."
"It's getting more popular here, too. When the big races come to town, they bring out a galaxy of stars, politicians, and international dignitaries who attend the event. This year the attendees will include the newly elected president of Egypt — he's a young pro-Western reformer — along with the king of Jordan, another Islamic moderate, and the youngest son of the crown prince of the House of Saud, who is widely believed to be running Saudi Arabia. He's popular with his people and has good relations with our government. These three men represent our best hopes for stability in the Middle East. And all three are big racing fans."
"In other words," Bolan said, "just about every pro-Western leader in the Islamic world will be in the same place at the same time."
"You got it. I did some poking around and all three are
* * *
Eddie Anderson missed his apex on Laguna Seca's turn two, the famous Andretti Hairpin. He couldn't get his head into the moment, a moment that saw his negotiating one of the world's most challenging racetracks aboard what was perhaps the fastest motorcycle on Earth. He couldn't shake his brother's death out of his head.
He made the next several corners as if on autopilot, and as the next right-hand corner approached, he couldn't remember if it was Turn Five or Turn Six. It turned out to be the more rounded Turn Five and not the sharper-edged Turn Six, though he once again missed his apex because he'd mentally prepared for Turn Six. These were stupid, rookie mistakes and Anderson chastised himself for making them.
He cleared his mind by Turn Six and executed the corner perfectly, getting a hard drive up the hill toward the corkscrew. He threw his bike to the left, down the hill into the corkscrew, then made a beautiful arcing turn to the right, apexing perfectly at the bottom of the hill as he left the corkscrew, hitting one hundred and fifty miles per hour before braking for Turn Nine. Anderson's technique for negotiating the corkscrew was nearly perfect, almost as good as his brother's had once been. Darrick had been universally regarded as the king of Laguna Seca.
Thinking of Darrick once again distracted the younger Anderson brother and he braked too late for Turn Nine — Rainey Curve — and he ran wide, toward the gravel trap at the edge of the track. It was what racers called "the kitty litter." He'd just about saved himself from an embarrassing crash when his teammate Danny Asnorossa came by off the main racing line. Asnorossa crossed in front of Anderson and clipped the American's front tire with his rear tire, slamming Anderson's bike down in a low slide.
Both Anderson and the bike slid off the track, the bike sliding on its side, and Anderson flipping through the air. He saw a rapid series of images — earth-sky-earth-sky-earth-sky — before he finally came to a stop in the gravel. Before getting up, he took stock of his body. Nothing appeared to be damaged except his pride. He walked over to the bike and picked it up. He'd lost a footpeg and his brake lever was broken off, but the motorcycle was still running. With the help of the corner workers who had already descended on the scene, he got it out of the "kitty litter" and rode it back to the pits. It appeared to be just cosmetic damage that his crew could repair so he wouldn't have to get out his backup bike.
He would have to get his mind right before the race on Sunday or he wasn't going to win. If he kept riding like he had been during that afternoon's practice, he wouldn't even survive Sunday's race.
7
"Striker, I think I know where they're keeping the plutonium," Kurtzman said over the secure line connected to Bolan's cell phone. "Better yet, I'm sure I know what they plan to do with it."
"What's that?" Bolan asked.
"You've probably figured out how popular racing is in the rest of the world."
"I've noticed."
"It's getting more popular here, too. When the big races come to town, they bring out a galaxy of stars, politicians, and international dignitaries who attend the event. This year the attendees will include the newly elected president of Egypt — he's a young pro-Western reformer — along with the king of Jordan, another Islamic moderate, and the youngest son of the crown prince of the House of Saud, who is widely believed to be running Saudi Arabia. He's popular with his people and has good relations with our government. These three men represent our best hopes for stability in the Middle East. And all three are big racing fans."
"In other words," Bolan said, "just about every pro-Western leader in the Islamic world will be in the same place at the same time."
"You got it. I did some poking around and all three are
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