Chapter 31 #2
The session starts smoothly. Cale takes the first stint, pushing the prototype through its paces with the kind of aggressive precision that made him a three-time champion.
The telemetry looks good—power delivery is smooth, tire degradation is within expected parameters, lap times are consistently strong.
Luca takes the second stint, and if anything he's even faster than Cale. His racing line is clinical perfection, extracting every possible tenth of a second from the car's performance envelope.
I monitor the data streams with Elias beside me, both of us watching for anomalies or patterns that suggest potential problems.
"Everything looks nominal," Elias murmurs, scrolling through diagnostic readouts. "Temperature management is excellent, no unusual vibrations, fuel consumption tracking predictions perfectly."
"Too perfectly," I mutter, unease prickling at the back of my neck.
Because in racing, nothing is ever this clean. There are always minor issues—small imperfections that need addressing, unexpected interactions between systems that require adjustment.
But right now? Everything is reading like a textbook ideal.
Which either means we've somehow built the perfect race car, or—
"FIRE! FIRE IN THE PIT!"
The shout comes from one of the crew members, panic cutting through the professional atmosphere like a blade.
I'm moving before conscious thought, racing toward the pit bay where flames are suddenly visible near the fuel system access point.
The fire suppression system activates immediately—foam erupts from overhead nozzles, smothering the flames before they can spread to the fuel tanks and cause a catastrophic explosion.
But even with the quick response, my heart is hammering.
Because fire in the pit, near the fuel systems, during a hot session? That's nightmare scenario territory.
The car is safely extracted, the flames extinguished, and miraculously, no one was injured.
But the close call has everyone's nerves jangling with adrenaline.
"What the fuck happened?" Richard demands, already moving toward the affected area.
Elias and I converge on the fuel system simultaneously, both of us pulling out diagnostic equipment to investigate.
It takes maybe ten minutes of intensive examination before we find it.
"Fuel line failure," Elias says quietly, his voice tight with controlled fury. "Catastrophic separation at the primary coupling."
I lean in closer, examining the failure point with practiced eyes.
"This wasn't mechanical failure," I say, voice barely above a whisper. "Look at the fracture pattern. That's a clean break, not the kind of stress fracture you get from normal wear or vibration."
Elias's expression darkens as he confirms my analysis.
"This was deliberate. Someone weakened the coupling, probably with a chemical agent that compromised the material integrity without leaving obvious physical damage."
"But executed so cleanly it leaves no trace," I finish, the implications settling over me like a weight.
Someone on our team—someone with access to the cars and technical knowledge to pull this off—just tried to cause an accident that could have killed someone or destroyed months of work.
The sabotage is escalating.
We reconvene in one of the private conference rooms, the core pack members only.
Cale, Luca, Elias, Adrian, and me.
The people we can trust absolutely, without question.
Adrian has his laptop open, already compiling information with the kind of methodical efficiency that speaks to experience with this kind of investigation.
"I've been building a list," he says quietly, turning the screen so we can all see. "Potential saboteurs based on access, opportunity, and motive."
Names scroll past—team members, contractors, FIA officials with system access. Each one has a detailed profile: their role, their access level, any financial irregularities or personal issues that might suggest vulnerability to bribery or coercion.
Then one name makes me stop breathing.
Marco Rodriguez - Pit Crew Lead
My crew member.
One of the people I've worked with for two years. Someone I trusted enough to let handle critical systems without constant supervision.
"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. "Marco wouldn't do this."
"He has access," Adrian points out gently. "And the technical knowledge to execute this kind of sabotage without leaving obvious evidence."
"He also has mounting gambling debts," Elias adds, pulling up financial records that he definitely obtained through less-than-legal means. "Significant debt to some very unsavory people. The kind who might leverage that into coerced cooperation."
I want to argue. Want to defend Marco because he's been nothing but loyal and professional in all our interactions.
But I can't ignore the facts in front of me.
"He's not the culprit," I say firmly, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "But he might be being used. Someone with access to our systems, knowledge of our operations, and financial pressure making him vulnerable to manipulation."
The distinction is important. Because if Marco's being coerced, then exposing him publicly could endanger him or push the real saboteur deeper into hiding.
"So what do we do?" Cale asks, voice tight with barely controlled fury.
I take a breath, thinking through the strategic implications.
"Let's keep it on the down low for now," I say finally. "Don't confront Marco or change his access. But monitor him—discreetly. See if he makes contact with anyone suspicious, if there are patterns in when sabotage occurs versus when he's on duty."
"And in the meantime?" Luca's tone suggests he has opinions about allowing a potential saboteur to remain in position.
"We implement redundant safety checks," Elias suggests. "Multiple people verifying critical systems, hidden monitoring on key components. Make it exponentially harder to sabotage without detection, but without making it obvious we're suspicious of anyone specific."
Adrian nods, already typing notes.
"I'll have my security consultants investigate Marco's connections. Find out who's applying pressure, what leverage they're using. If he's being coerced, we might be able to eliminate the threat without exposing him."
The plan settles over us—not perfect, but workable given the constraints.
"Let's keep it on the down low for now," I repeat, making it official.
Because revealing what we know too soon could be just as dangerous as ignoring the threat entirely.
And Marco—whether he's guilty or just being used—deserves the chance to prove his loyalty or explain his situation before we destroy his career.
Even if it means taking calculated risks with our own safety in the meantime.