Page 48 of Close Contact
The radio cut out, the words dissolving into crackling interference. I tapped the button on my wheel, but all I got was more static. Mycommsfailed.
No radio. No strategy updates. No warnings. I was on my own.
My stomach sank as I tried not to dwell on how I may have fucked up, but there was no time. Fraser was still there, his presence a constant reminder that the smallest mistake could cost me everything. And as long as I pitted soon, that gap toKimimeant I wouldn’t lose too many positions.
By lap 34, I couldn’t hold off pitting any longer. The tires were gone, sliding through corners with no grip left to give, the track slick with water. Every lap felt like walking a tightrope, balancing on the edge of grip and recklessness. My hands ached from gripping the wheel, my shoulders burning as I fought to control the car. It was a miracle I’d made it this far, but that was the beauty of hard tires.
Through the Tunnel, the car darted under braking, the wet patches unpredictable. My heart pounded in my chest as I narrowly missed the wall. I dove into the pit lane, praying my team was ready. If they weren’t, I’d lose everything.
Before I reached theLuminisgarage, I could see the crew springing into action, their movements practiced precision. I couldn’t hear them, couldn’t confirm the full wets, but when I glanced to the side, the blue-striped tires were ready. Reliefflooded me as the car dropped in record time, and I shot out of the box.
The exit merged me right behind Marco andCallum, withKimiand Morel battling fiercely for fourth just behind. My pulse spiked. Withoutcomms, I had no way to warnKimiabout Morel’s aggression. I had to move—fast.
The drizzle turned into a steady shower, reducing the visibility significantly. It blurred my visor, turned the tight streets of Monaco into a glistening death trap. My tires barely had time to warm before chaos erupted ahead.
Through the mist and spray, I saw it—a flash of carbon fiber as two back markers crashed into each other at the chicane. I couldn’t tell who it was, but one car spun sideways, blocking most of the track, while the other limped away with a shredded front wing.
Yellow flags waved furiously, and my heart lurched as the safety car announcement lit up the board. “Safety car, safety car,” I murmured even though mycommswere dead and slowed the car.
This was the worst-case scenario. I was sandwiched betweenBianchiinP2andKimiinP4, with Morel breathing down his neck. With the safety car bunching up the field, the lead I’d clawed out earlier was wiped clean.DRSwas a no-go in this weather, so that advantage was off the table. The stakes had never been higher.
My tires were too fresh, too cold, but there was no time to focus on that. The safety car snaked through the track, leading us like lambs to the slaughter. I moved the car back and forth to warm up the tires as much as I could.
Behind me, I could see Morel inching unnecessarily close toKimi, and I thought I caughtSchreiber’scar just behind Morel’s. I took deep breaths and sips of water through my drinktube, trying to center myself.They aren’t just targeting your position. They’re targeting you.
I had to stay vigilant uponCallumrestarting the race.
After four laps, the safety car lights turned off, signaling its retreat into the pit lane. The track ahead opened up like a gauntlet, daring me to take the lead and hold it. My grip on the wheel was so tight my knuckles ached.
The second the green flags waved, my focus was back in it.
Callumled the pack until we made it through Turn 1 before he restarted the race. Marco immediately darted behindCallumto protect his teammate while I looked for an opening. At the same time,Kimiswerved to keep Morel at bay.
With Marco just ahead of me, I knew I couldn’t afford to waste time behind him. With the rain now a steady downpour, the track was more dangerous than ever, and I had to rely on instinct only.
Because God knew theFIAwould never stop a race due to rain.
The track felt like a circus, the energy in the air electric.Kimiwas now locked in a vicious battle with Morel, their cars nearly touching through the hairpin. I couldn’t dwell on them.
Through the Tunnel, I found my opening. Marco braked slightly too early into the chicane, his car twitching as he corrected. I took a deep breath and dove for the gap, my heart in my throat as I slipped past him with millimeters to spare. My tires barely held, the car fishtailing slightly as I powered out of the corner.
Now it was just Fraser.
The rain was relentless, the visibility nearly nonexistent, but I could see him ahead, the blinking lights of his red and black car a beacon in the wall of rain. My muscles screamed in protest as I forced the car to its limits, the G-forces dragging me sidewaysthrough every turn. My driving was bordering on reckless, but I was close, so fucking close.
A few laps later, throughTabac, I closed the gap, my tires finding grip where his faltered—exactly as I knew they would because his were older, and he had inters where mine were full wets. As a local in his home race, I was surprised to see they hadn’t opted for full wets.
The slipstream pulled me closer, the roar ofCallum’sengine drowning out everything else. Now the Swimming Pool section loomed ahead, a series of high-speed corners.
Now or never.
I threw the car into the corner, the tires biting into the wet asphalt with a ferocity that wasalmostcareless.Callummoved to block, but I was already there, my car sliding alongside his as we hurtled toward LaRascasse.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze. The walls closed in, the gap between our cars almost nonexistent. We danced alongside each other through AnthonyNoghes, both of our cars pushing the safety limits.
Then, with a last-second decision, I managed an impressive switchback, my tires skimming the barrier as I reclaimed the lead.
And that, my friends, was a page straight out of theCallumFraser strategy book: taking a gap that barely existed and using maneuvers your rivals wouldn’t expect. It paid off to pay attention to the best drivers of all time.
