Free Eye of the Cobra by Christopher Sherlock Page B

straightened his black uniform and strode up to Wyatt’s car, staring down at him.
    ‘’Morning, guvnor. Who are yer here to see?’
    ‘Bruce de Villiers.’
    ‘And your name is . . .?’
    ‘Wyatt Chase.’
    ‘Very good then, Mr Chase. Would yer mind fillin’ in this form? I’ll just check with Mr de Villiers that you’ve an appointment.’
    He handed Wyatt a clipboard. Wyatt gripped his hand and stared into his eyes.
    ‘I don’t have an appointment and he wouldn’t give me one if I asked for it.’
    The man grinned. He leaned forwards and his voice softened.
    ‘I know you. Weren’t you driving as number two to Sartori last season? Your old man owned this place, didn’t ’e?’
    ‘Then my uncle was forced to sell.’
    ‘Yes, I read all about it in the paper. I’m sorry about yer uncle.’
    He waved Wyatt on. ‘Good luck, Mr Chase.’
    Wyatt pulled up outside the front entrance, his heart beating a little faster. This was a gamble and he knew it.
    He guessed which office de Villiers would have taken - the one on the first floor with a sweeping view of the test track. He’d always liked that office. It had been his father’s.
    He walked up the stairs and was glad to see it was too early for de Villiers’ secretary to be at her desk. One less obstacle to negotiate. Everything was neatly ordered, with no paper in evidence. Instead the desk was graced with the latest model of personal computer with a sophisticated laser printer. Again, hallmarks of de Villiers’ style - to use the very best of what was available.
    De Villiers’ door was closed. Wyatt went up and rapped on it smartly.
    ‘Come in,’ a voice barked from inside.
    Wyatt steeled himself. De Villiers raised his eyes from the computer monitor he’d been studying and looked up at him, then nodded his head.
    ‘Ja?’
    ‘I want the number two slot.’
    ‘You’ve got a bloody cheek, Wyatt Chase. I haven’t got time for inexperience. The answer’s no. Get it? No.’
    Wyatt took a deep breath. ‘We think the same way. We want the same things. Give me a break.’
    ‘Look, man, you don’t listen, do you?’ There was a menac ing tone in de Villiers’ voice now, but Wyatt ignored it. ‘Danny never gave me a car that was competitive.’
    Wyatt wanted in. He wanted de Villiers behind him, de Villiers’ determination behind the cars he was racing.
    ‘I buy results, not excuses,’ de Villiers said. ‘I’m not taking chances - that’s why I’m not taking you.’
    ‘Then who the fuck are you going to take?’
    De Villiers rose up, his hands resting loosely at his side. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he said, his hazel eyes narrowing.
    ‘Let me help you develop your new car on the track while you’re looking for a driver.’
    ‘Get out!’
    ‘Put my name on the list.’
    De Villiers stared out over the track.
    ‘You only get one chance in Formula One,’ he said. ‘You’ve had yours. Now get out!’
     
    The door slammed shut and de Villiers punched in some more commands on the keyboard. Wyatt Chase had spirit, and that he admired. Yes, he needed a number two, but he needed a driver who had a string of wins under his belt, not just one freak victory. Chase was just too much of a gamble, and a little too old for a beginner.
    He remembered his own parting from McCabe, two weeks before - telling the bastard he was resigning and seeing the surprise on his face. Then watching the surprise turn to anger as he told him he was leaving to start a new team. McCabe had attacked him immediately. ‘You’ve got no chance, Bruce. It doesn’t matter how much money there is behind you, you haven’t got what it takes - you’re not going to win.’
    It was McCabe’s smugness that had finally got to him. That McCabe didn’t ask him to stay, that McCabe thought that without his backing, he’d fail. Well, he’d show McCabe.
    The evening before, he’d spent four hours in heated discussion with Ricardo Sartori. Sartori had agreed to drive for