Code Name Tequila Ch. 18

"It was nice to have you comfort me, but I am sad still," Isabella said. "Poor Mr. Fernandez. At least their will be justice for him."

Marisa looked at Isabella. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Isabella looked over at Marisa. She shook her head. "No, I shouldn't tell you," she said.

Marisa poked her playfully. "What, are you keeping secrets from me?" she said.

Isabella, still flushed with the pleasure that Marisa and she had just shared, then let out something that she might not have done otherwise. "The papers will report that Mr. Fernandez died of a heart attack, but that is not true. He was killed."

Marisa sat up. "Killed? Why?" she asked. Outwardly Marisa's demeanour showed nothing more than a curiosity about what was said, but inside her mind was turning a million miles an hour. Could this finally be the break she had been waiting for?

"Do you know of the Aguila Roja?" Isabella asked.

Marisa nodded. "Yes. That is the name of the leader of the largest South American drug cartel, right?"

Isabella nodded. "Yes, but more than that, the Aguila Roja is a great leader who sees a future for us. I have been privileged enough to work with the Aguila Roja, as was Mr. Fernandez. And for that, he was killed."

Marisa was an excellent poker player, and gave nothing away in her outward appearance, but her heart was racing a mile a minute. "Who killed Mr. Fernandez?" she asked.

"The Colombian security force, the DAS. They killed him, and now we will kill the agent responsible. Deeds against the Aguila Roja never go unpunished," Isabella said, a look of strange devotion in her eyes, almost like a religious convert.

"Who is the Colombian agent?" Marisa asked.

"Carlos Sanz," Isabella said. Isabella felt good about sharing the information about her work with the Aguila Roja with Marisa, with who she had shared so much.

That happiness turned to confusion, though, as Marisa jumped up and pulled on her clothes. She ran out the door without even saying goodbye.

* *

As Carlos raced, he kept a running commentary in his head, the voice of a navigator telling him what was coming up, and where he should be.

"Smooth right turn, brake 100 feet to the corner entrance, downshift to second, hit the inside just past the apex and accelerate out into the sharp left hander," Carlos thought to himself as the car dived into a right-left corner combination.

As Carlos upshifted through the gears to get into seventh gear and get the car going flat out down a short straight, he had a moment to reflect how much he liked the Santiago track. Unlike Las Vegas and the upcoming Cartagena tracks which were built on city streets, Santiago was built away from the city at a purpose built track. The corners were fast, the straights wide and the pavement smooth as silk. It wasn't an easy track as a driver, but it was a pleasure to drive and gave lots of opportunities to get wheel-to-wheel with your competitors and legitimately race.

Carlos shifted down to third and swept through turn 9, a right-handed turn right before the long, slightly curved straight-away. Out of the turn, Carlos straightened out the car and moved up through the gears - three, four, five, six and finally seventh gear. The car topped out its speed at 340 kilometres an hour. At those speeds, the stands to the outside of the circuit flashed by as a blur. Carlos used the four seconds of straight-line, flat out driving to go a quick systems check of the car. All the gauges showed the car running well, and Carlos double-checked the settings of the dials on the steering wheel to ensure they were set for optimal operating conditions.

"Carlos, we are going to adjust the front wing to give slightly less downforce," Carlos race engineer said over the radio. The engineers, sitting back in the pit box, had a number of computers running constant diagnostics on the cars. From their computers, they were able to make minor adjustments to the car via a wireless radio link. His engineer had just told Carlos that he planned to adjust the front wing of the car to have a little less curve, therefore not pushing the car down as much. This would reduce the ability of the car to corner, but allow for greater top-line speed. On a wide open circuit like Santiago, more top end speed was preferred for the fast corners and wide straights.

"Okay, go ahead," Carlos said. His voice was breathy and barely audible above the din of the engine. The engineers got used to being able to decipher the messages from the drivers, though, and the engineer pressed a combination of key strokes to adjust the front wings.

Carlos felt the car shutter slightly as the adjustment gave the car a little more air. Without changing his input to the engine, the car picked up about 5 km/h more. Three-hundred forty-five, Carlos smiled to himself. He'd once had the car up to 390 km/h on a straight away in testing, but the car was barely manageable at that speed. 345 km/h though, felt very good.

Carlos refocused on the track. Coming up was turn 10, a chicane at the end of the straightaway to slow the cars down before the hairpin turn 11. Through the chichane, Carlos would shift down to third and slow to 140 km/h before speeding up briefly to almost 200 km/h. He'd then shift down to first to go through the hairpin at 50 km/h before working back up through the gears.

At 110 metres away, Carlos hit the left paddle on his steering wheel to shift the car down to sixth gear and lifted up slightly on the accelerator.

Nothing happened.

Carlos hit the paddle again to downshift. The car continued along at 345 km/h. Carlos pressed down slowly on the brake pedal. The car's brakes did not engage.

"Gears, brakes and accelerator inputs are not reacting," Carlos said into the radio.

"Say again," his engineer asked. The engineer thought Carlos had said he'd lost the ability to change gears or slow the car, but that wasn't possible.

"The car isn't under my control," Carlos said, his voice higher and quivering.

The engineer looked at the computer. Nothing appear wrong, other than the fact that Carlos was about to cut through the chicane and was approaching a wall at over 300 kilometres an hour.

"Carlos, apply brakes," the engineer said.

Carlos stomped on the brake pedal. The car didn't respond. Instead, it bounced over the low curbs that defined the chicane and continued steaming along at a high speed towards the tire barrier that defined the hairpin turn.

Carlos tried the brakes, gear levers and even adjusting inputs on the steering wheel to no avail. He couldn't stop the car. He considered his next move. Trying to turn through the hairpin at this speed would be impossible. The car would most likely flip over on its side. The best crash protection, Carlos knew, was to hit the tire barrier at a slight angle. He turned the wheel slightly, just enough so the nose wouldn't hit full on.

No matter what he did, though, he knew the crash was going to be bad.

"Shit," was the last thing the race engineer heard over the radio before the car impacted with the tires at 323 km/h.

* *

Ria, watching in the owner's box near the end of the straight, stood up and watched in horror as the car hit the wall. "Oh my God," she said. "Is Carlos alright?"

Rodrigo Tabernas looked for a moment at the debris of the car littered at the end of the straight. Already track marshals were running out to the car, and an ambulance was speeding down the pit lane towards the accident. Tabernas picked up the phone to the pits. "What happened?" he asked.

Ria watched Tabernas as his brow furrowed as he listened to the other end. She was about to ask him for an update when the door burst open and Marisa ran into the room. Ria looked at Marisa, who had an ashen look on her face, and then back to Rodrigo Tabernas.

Tabernas put the phone down. "It's serious," he said, before walking out of the room.

Ria watched Tabernas walk out of the room, and then looked back down to the end of the track. There, paramedics were attending to the Carlos in the car. Ria watched in silence, barely even aware that Marisa came and put an arm around her as the medical evacuation helicopter started up in the infield.