FORTY-SIX
Straker and McMahon arrived back at Brandeis's offices and walked into the Ptarmigan HQ just before two o’clock that afternoon. The place was buzzing with groups of people at work in different parts of the room. Out over Moscow, shafts of sunlight were breaking through gaps in the cloud, highlighting different patches of the city.
Backhouse saw them return; he walked straight across to greet them. ‘How did the meeting go?’
Straker held out an arm, indicating that the three of them should go through into the inner sanctum before they discussed it. Once the door was closed, Backhouse stated: ‘Oh, by the way, Matt, we’ve just had the lab report back on the sand and pebbles from the gravel trap. It's pretty much as you suspected. They’ve identified a clear film of cement around the stones in that sample you took from the direct line of Remy's crash, while the stones in the other sample – taken away from the crash route – are completely normal.’
‘So that would be enough to alter the properties of the gravel?’ asked McMahon.
Straker said: ‘Most certainly. The car wouldn’t sink down into it, which it should do to create drag; instead, the cement coating would create something of a crust, causing the car to run over the top of it far quicker.’
Walking across to the whiteboard, Straker picked up a large-tipped magic marker and wrote “Doctored Gravel” under the heading ZHAR-PTITSA AUTODROM.
Backhouse then asked: ‘How did you get on with Kosygin? Did you learn anything?’
Straker turned to face the race engineer: ‘Andy, I’m afraid it's déjà vu, all over again.’
‘Why, what's happened?’
Turning back to face the whiteboard, Straker explained over his shoulder. ‘The driving force behind the Autodrom,’ he said as he wrote out the name under the heading ZHAR-PTITSA AUTO-DROM, ‘is none other than … Avel … Obrenovich.’
‘Holy shit, no.’
Straker said: ‘At least it fits, Andy. He's Russian … has an interest in Formula One … we know he's an arsehole … and he's got form.’
McMahon may not have known that much about Obrenovich, but the vehemence of the exchange between these two was making quite an impression. ‘Does that mean,’ she asked, ‘that he might have been behind the deaths of the Moscow 100 board members?’
Straker shrugged. ‘Cui bono?’ he asked. ‘Removal of the directors, whether by coercion or death, would have the clear effect of concentrating control of the Grand Prix circuit in his hands, would it not?’
There was silence in the small inner HQ.
‘There's also something else,’ said Backhouse, with a heavy almost-resigned tone as he walked over to the whiteboard. ‘Obrenovich's involvement brings a whole lot of connectivity much closer to home.’
McMahon asked nervously: ‘In what way?’
Picking up a red pen, Backhouse clicked off the top and, circling one name, drew a line from that loop across the board to circle another name, so connecting two of the elements from different columns. ‘Baryshnikov!’ he declared wearily. ‘Don’t forget that Yegor Baryshnikov used to drive for Obrenovich. Baryshnikov was a Massarella team test driver up until the end of last season.’
‘ No.’
‘Yep. He drove for Obrenovich's team in GP2, and was on the Massarella Le Mans team, driving there the year before last.’
Straker exhaled. ‘This can’t be that dirty, can it? The idea that Baryshnikov is working for Obrenovich – to sabotage Ptarmigan's chances in the Championships here in Russia?’
McMahon asked: ‘Do you think it could have been Baryshnikov who interfered with Ms Sabatino's car?’
Backhouse shrugged. ‘It's not impossible, is it? As teammate, he would have unlimited – unchallenged – access to all parts of the team, including her car. Doctoring it, or placing an intrusive device on it, would not be difficult. We won’t know for sure though, unless we get to examine the damn wreckage.’
Straker added: ‘If that's not going to happen, then the next best data source we have on the crash are the “black boxes”. Which is why, if the police won’t let us near them, we’ve got to get them analyzed some other way; somehow, we’ve got to get the FIA involved. I’ve already talked to DQ and asked him to get me a meeting with San Marino.’
Backhouse nodded. ‘Good. Any idea when that might happen?’
‘DQ's coming back to me. Sandy, in case we do get what we want, could you ask Pokrovsky to do me a background note – ahead of a possible meeting with San Marino? I want to be fully briefed on Obrenovich before then.’
McMahon typed instructions straight into her phone.
‘Have you got anywhere with looking into Baryshnikov's family?’ Straker asked.
Backhouse indicated the small table in the centre of the room. The race engineer opened a file lying on it. ‘Baryshnikov does have some family in Russia. Specifically, his mother – Mrs Tatiana Baryshnikov – lives here in Moscow.’
Straker walked over and sat down to look at the findings. He read out: ‘She lives in a place called Barvikha?’
McMahon corrected his pronunciation and said: ‘It's one of the richest suburbs in Russia. It's in the Odintsovsky District, fifteen or so kilometres out to the west.’
Backhouse reported: ‘Mrs Baryshnikov moved there last year. Her previous address was an apartment in the centre of the city.’
McMahon said: ‘That sounds like a pretty big step up, if she moved from there to there. For a house in Barvikha, you’re talking serious money – few houses would change hands for less than five million euros.’
‘Courtesy of her son, do we think?’
‘Tying in with his contract at Ptarmigan?’
‘Or,’ suggested Straker, ‘with his leaving the Moscow 100 board?’
‘Christ, that would be dirty.’
‘Does Baryshnikov's file give us anything more about the mother?’
Backhouse nodded. ‘A fair amount, actually. Strangely, one thing is very obviously mentioned – above all others.’
