Ark Angel - Anthony Horowitz [39]
“How badly was he hurt?”
“He broke his wrist and collarbone. His face was all cut up too. And you should have seen the kart! It was a write-off.” Paul shook his head. “Be very careful, Alex,” he warned. “My dad doesn’t like to lose.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve got any chance of winning.”
“If you want my advice, you won’t even try.”
There was a question Alex had been dying to ask him all morning and he decided this was probably the right moment. “Why do you live with him and not with your mother?”
“He insisted.”
“Do your parents really hate each other?”
“He never talks about her. And she gets angry if I ask her about him.” Paul sighed. “What about your parents?”
“I don’t have any. They died when I was small.”
“I’m sorry.” They walked on for a while in silence. “I wish I had a brother,” Paul said suddenly. “That’s the worst of it. Always being on my own.”
“Can’t you go to school?”
“I did for a bit. But it caused all sorts of problems. I had to have a bodyguard – Dad insisted – so I never really fitted in. In the end he decided it was easier for me to have lessons at home.” Paul shrugged. “I keep thinking that one day I’ll be sixteen and maybe I can walk out of here. Dad’s not so bad, but I wish I could have my own life.”
They had crossed the lawn and there was the track ahead of them: a kilometre of twisting asphalt, with seating for about fifty spectators, and six go-karts waiting in a side bay. Nikolei Drevin was already there, checking one of the engines. There were a couple of mechanics on hand but nobody else. This race was going to happen without an audience.
“Good luck,” Paul whispered.
“Ah – Alex!” Drevin had heard them approaching. He looked up. “Have you done this before?”
“A couple of times.” Alex had been on the indoor track at King’s Cross in London. “I don’t think the karts were as powerful as these.”
“These are the best. I had them custom-built myself. Chrome Molly frames and Rotax Formula E engines; 125cc, electric starter, water-cooled.” He pointed. “You start them by pressing the button next to the steering wheel. I hope you have a head for speed. They’ll go from nought to sixty in 3.8 seconds. That’s faster than a Ferrari.”
“How many circuits do you have in mind?”
“Shall we say three? If you cross the finishing line first, your favourite charity will be richer by a thousand pounds.” Drevin picked up two helmets and handed one to Alex. “I hope this is your size.”
Alex’s helmet was blue; Drevin would be wearing black.
Alex slipped his on and fastened it under his chin. The helmet had a visor that slid down over his face, and protective pads for his neck and the sides of his head.
“This is your last chance, Alex,” Drevin said. “If you’re nervous, now is the time to back out…”
Alex examined the go-karts. They were little more than skeletons, a tangle of wires and pipes with a plastic seat in the middle and two fuel tanks behind. When he sat down, he would be just inches above the ground. And there was something else missing – apart from the floor. He had already noticed that, unlike the karts he had driven at King’s Cross, these had no wrap-around bumpers. Now he understood what Paul had told him. The cars were lethal. The course was hemmed in with bales of straw, but if he lost control, if one of his tyres came into contact with Drevin’s, he could all too easily flip over – just like the friend Paul had mentioned. And if the engine scraped along the asphalt and sparks hit the petrol tanks, the whole thing would explode.
Drevin was waiting for his answer. Looking at him casually holding his helmet, one thumb hooked into his designer jeans, Alex felt a spurt of annoyance. He was going to race this man. And he was going to win. “I’m not nervous,” he said.
“Good. We’ll do two practice circuits before we start. Paul can signal the first and last circuits with a flag.”
Alex examined the course. It was a series