Something wasn’t quite as it should have been. Straker squatted down to take a closer look. Directly in front of him he could see the ripped end of the mesh. He lowered his head and looked even closer.
Having pulled his phone out of his pocket, he raised his head above the height of the wall – to be sure the track was clear in both directions – and turned on the camera. In the lee of the wall he had to risk using its light. He fired off a shot and examined it in the player closely afterwards. It was too fuzzy. Being so dark, it would need a concerted effort to hold the camera steady to produce a clear enough photograph.
He tried again.
This one was better.
Straker checked again over the wall. The track was still clear. He fired off several more camera shots. With a quick review of these, he realized he had captured what he needed.
Straker rose to his feet. The light level had increased, to a kind of twilight: although still dim, a grey hue made everything visible. That would help with any further photography, but would also make him more visible. Looking over to the eastern horizon – just above the trees – Straker could see the sky there had turned to a very pale yellow.
In its light, he studied the grassy bank behind him, which he could see much more clearly now. It was easy to understand how several hundred spectators had been comfortably ranged across this grassy slope. Straker sketched and scribbled down detailed notes of these dimensions in his notebook. He then found his way round the end of the mesh and made for the hole. Again, he had to be careful where he put his feet. Breeze blocks were strewn all over the ground.
Straker inhaled.
His heart rate raced again.
Why now?
Another anomaly?
His brain made a more rapid computation this time, assisted by one of the observations he had made while watching the video of the accident. Prepping the camera, Straker checked the race track for any unwanted presences, looked up the bank behind him, and zoomed in. This time, even in this light, the camera had caught the shape without question. He fired the shutter.
Straker then saw something else.
The breeze block he had just photographed was far from unique. Squatting down he studied the pile of rubble. There were … two – three – four – five – six … God, how many of them were there? It could be dozens.
All exactly the same.
Straker, in his excitement, hovered his camera over the debris and took numerous pictures. He bent down to get an even closer look. One of the breeze blocks was right in front of him. He found himself reaching out to touch it. Along one edge was a grey-brown material – cement? Mortar? Somehow, even in this gloom, it didn’t look quite right. Switching the camera to video this time, he extended a finger forward to touch the edge of the block as he filmed.
Amazingly, the grey-brown stuff was soft. And moved to the touch.
What?
Straker scraped a fingernail along the edge and found he could dislodge the material easily. He lifted the small sample away from the block and held it up to his nose. It smelled instantly familiar. He pocketed his phone, pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped up his sample.
Careful to leave no signs of any tampering, Straker found a splinter of carbon fibre on the ground and, like peeling an apple, used his thumb and hand to smooth over the section from which he had just lifted his specimen.
Straker was pumped.
He checked the track once more. Light levels were rising quickly. Straker found himself standing beside the disfigured “I”-sectioned upright, its distortion indicating that it had been the one impacted by Sabatino's rear wheel as she somersaulted. The stanchion was bent outwards from the collision. Straker saw it was coated in a plastic weather-proofing material. When yet again something caught his eye.
Straker looked in closer.
Checking quickly left and right along the line of the fence, he realized the next-nearest upright was the other side of the gap. He crossed over to it. On this one, the top section of the wire had been ripped away in the force of the impact, while the lower section of the mesh was still in place, held there by what looked like wire loops – ties. Straker leaned in close and peered at the post. He hadn’t been wrong. He photographed the wire around the top and then at the bottom of this “I”-sectioned upright. Returning to the one bent in the crash, Straker photographed that one too – top, middle and bottom.
It was now clearly morning.
Straker's retinas were switching from black and white to colour: colour was emerging from the landscape.
He needed to be extra vigilant now.
Checking over the wall, Straker readied himself for the last, risky part of his reconnaissance. Walking out through the hole, he gained admittance to the inside of the circuit, where he stood for a moment on the edge of the gravel trap. Holding completely still, he listened.
He then walked out onto the gravel. In the stillness, he was concerned a crunching noise under his feet would be obvious. As he placed his feet and applied weight, though, there was hardly any noise at all. Straker was already smiling. His hunch had not been wrong.
Looking down to check, his feet were on the top of the gravel – with virtually no sinkage into the stones.
Straker flipped the rucksack off his shoulder, unzipped one of the pockets and pulled out one of the white laundry bags taken from his hotel room.
He squatted down and, still being careful not to leave any signs of intervention, tried to scoop up a handful of the gravel and sand. It almost hurt his fingers as he scraped the surface. He managed to dislodge a small amount, which he picked up and then dropped into the white plastic bag. Rolling it up on itself, to resemble a sausage, he stuffed this into his rucksack, zipped it up and pulled it back onto his shoulders.
Straker moved further out across the expanse of the gravel trap, making for the red-and-white stones on the outside edge of the track. He suddenly felt very exposed. Light levels had properly risen: the first sign of sunlight was striking the tops of the trees around the circuit. Anyone casting a casual eye now, even from some distance away, would have seen him easily. Straker walked on, though – out onto the asphalt.
Once there, he used his phone again to take numerous pictures, aiming to construct a panorama of several shots to be pieced together later as a mosaic. Finally, he took a number of photographs of the exact line Sabatino had taken – tangentially off the track – across the gravel, through the hole in the wire fence, and up onto the grassy bank.
Suddenly there was a sound.
Straker heard it from behind him. What was that? An engine?
Shit!
Straker was right out in the open.
He needed to get off the road – and out of sight – fast.
He pushed off, ready to run for the closest point of the perimeter fence, over to his right. He ran directly across the shorter expanse of gravel trap. Instantly, though, he felt something was different. His feet were sinking into and sliding in the gravel. He could hardly gain any kind of traction, his footfalls giving way through the sand and stones. He ran on though, exerting more effort, concentrating on keeping his balance. Reaching the perimeter, he forced himself to do one final thing while his brain screamed at him to get the hell out of there.
