Free Driven by Toby Vintcent

round the 2.1 mile circuit.
    The cars began to move.
    Out in front, the pole sitter, Simi Luciano, flicked the launch control and throttle of his Massarella, lighting up his rear tyres as he hurtled off in a mock start towards Sainte Devote, laying down some rubber to try and improve his traction the next time round.
    The procession of cars made their way round the circuit, each driver weaving, braking and accelerating to work temperature into their tyres, brakes and hydraulic fluid.
    Three minutes later they had completed their warm-up lap and were forming up again on the grid. As the last car slotted itself into position at the back, the engine noise became deafening. All twenty-one cars were being blipped between ten and fifteen thousand revs, building up torque for that critical release at the start.
    One red light went on.
    The second light went on.
    Then the third, then the fourth.
    The fifth red light came on. The crescendo of sound in the narrow cavern of the street was utterly deafening.
    Seconds passed. A pause.
    Then, all the lights went out at once.
    GO!
    Twenty-one clutches were engaged within a fraction of a second. And the fleet of the world’s most sophisticated automobiles screamed off the line, hurtling at breakneck speed down the street towards the impossibly narrow right-hander of Sainte Devote. It was a breathtaking sight.
    How could so much energy, speed and hardware converge into that corner and hope to emerge on the other side without incident? There were puffs of blue smoke as tyres were locked-up. There was bumping, wheel to wheel. One car, interlocking its wheels between the wheel-base of another, made contact and was momentarily lifted off the ground. Anyone watching, let alone commentating on the race, could only focus on one tiny part of it, and just hope they could follow and understand even that minor segment of the story. It all happened so fast. Only with repeated replays afterwards would the full story of the start be clear.
    A matter of seconds later, most of the field was through Sainte Devote. Commentators were frantically trying to call the race – to see who the emergent drivers were, who had got ahead, who had dropped back, and who, if any, was out.
    The cars charged on up through Beau Rivage. Simi Luciano in the black Massarella had built a lead from pole. Remy Sabatino had had a blistering start. Although starting one row back, she had jumped the Ferrari into second place having the advantage of the clean side of the track. Paddy Aston remained fourth in the Lambourn, while Adi Barrantes, still having a miserable weekend of it, had been bumped in Turn One and was now down to ninth.
    Straker watched the main broadcast feed as the cars streamed past the Casino and hurtled down the hill towards Mirabeau. As far as he could tell, there were no retirements. All twenty-one cars were still racing after the first half-lap.
    He heard Backhouse radio Sabatino with an update on placings. There was excitement in his voice.
    But there was a long way to go.
    Around they raced, more or less as a high-speed procession.
     
    S o it remained for the next fifteen laps. No one was able to overtake, and there were no incidents.
    Fortunately for the spectators, everything came to life shortly afterwards.
    Simi Luciano in the Massarella had managed to build up a fourteen-second lead. Then, taking everyone by surprise, he pitted far earlier than expected. Straker heard the TV commentators getting thoroughly over-excited at the realization of his three-stop strategy. They’d all thought the Massarella was naturally quicker, not that it was significantly lighter than the others. Recalculations were swiftly done to try and work out how fast Luciano really was on a fuel-adjusted basis.
    That was the first incident.
     
    T he second involved the other Massarella.
    Well down the order, Adi Barrantes was having a feisty scrap with one of the Red Bulls. Heading out of the Chicane, Barrantes caught a good exit and