Page 114 of Overtake
“You should to talk to Carlos.” She sits beside him, all business now. “Set boundaries. Decide what you won’t discuss, no matter how hard they push.”
“Like you do?”
“I learned early.” She shrugs. “Being F1’sdarling,” she makes a gagging noise, “means fielding asinine questions about hair care and dieting tips between engineering briefings.”
He hates that they treat her like a novelty. Petra’s a serious fucking contender, but the misogyny of the media rises in interviews, especially with Graham’s people. Still, she tries to put them off their game every chance she gets.
“I remember that post-win interview when you took your first F1 podium.” He grins. “What did you say? You were sweating like a racehorse?”
“And stank like a motherfucking pig.” She laughs. “I got fined for that one, but it was worth it. Like my pink middle fingers.” She waggles both hands at him, nails perfectly painted Nitro green, except the two in the center. “Subtle enough to avoid penalties, clear enough to make my point.”
He brushes her hair off her face. “You’re incredible.”
Petra makes a smug little face. “I know.” She kisses him, then stands. “And you need to learn the fine art of telling people to piss off while smiling pretty for cameras.” Her demonstrated smile definitely says, ‘Fuck off’.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah.” She gathers dress, handbag, and shoes. Her feet are bare, which he finds amusing. “You don’t owe them explanations about anything beyond racing lines and tire strategies. They can fuck themselves if they think they own you.”
“Or you.”
An hour later, Nico’s sitting in the sim racing setup he convinced WolfBett to start bringing to every race. It’s nothing like the factory’s multi-million euro DIL simulator, but it allows him to test configuration changes at each circuit.
“Terrence preferred setup 3 through sector 2,” Heinrich says. Terrence is their test driver back at the factory. “He felt it gave the best downforce levels for Mexico’s altitude.”
Nico pushes through the virtual track, feeling how each adjustment potentially affects the car’s behavior. The simulator can’t perfectly replicate Mexico City’s thin air, but it gives the team baselines to work from and data to send back and forth with the DIL driver to help refine setups.
“Better through 15, but losing rear stability in 13.”
“Numbers confirm it.” Heinrich frowns at his screens.
Marcus appears in the doorway, expression grim. “Nico, we need to discuss some social media concerns.”
“We’re testing.” He’s halfway through another hot lap. “Five more minutes.”
“No. My office now. Heinrich, you too.”
Nico exchanges a look with the team’s chief engineer, then ends his session and climbs from the rig. Marcus wouldn’t interrupt if this wasn’t serious shit. They join their TP in his small office, closing the door and sitting. Victoria is already there and she looks unsettled, which is something Nico’s never seen before.
Marcus leans forward and folds his hands on his desk. “What I’m about to tell you, you repeat to no one. Clear?” He looks between each of them, waiting for acknowledgement before he continues. “I just spoke with Richard Morrison. There’sbeen a breach of team security that’s compromised technical information.”
“What?” Nico says, and Heinrich asks, “How?”
Victoria presents the face of her tablet. She’s pulled up what looks like a private F1 fan group. There are pictures of fans posing in the paddock, in the stands, in F1 hospitality, and with engineers and other team personnel inside garages. Victoria indicates multiple garage shots. “These photos show sensitive data obtained from several teams.”
“We’re investigating.” Marcus hesitates. “But given the fan enthusiasm over recent inter-team developments, we have to take a closer look at everyone’s relationships with outside personnel.”
Nico sees red and draws a slow breath before he looks at his TP from beneath his brows. The man is implying Petra had something to do with this breach. “Right. Because champions need to steal data to win races.” He nods slowly. “Makes perfect sense, Marcus.”
“Everyone’s a suspect right now, Nico.”
“Not Petra. Wrong suspect.” It’s only because he’s a master of emotional control after a lifetime of race training, and because he respects the man, that Nico doesn’t punch Marcus Wolfberg in the mouth. “Let me see those photos.”
“Here.” Victoria hands over her tablet. “They’re posted in a private Honey Bunnies group.”
The images show glimpses of engineering screens with technical data visible in the background of what look like photos of fans wearing bunny ears or sporting pink hair, posing with the engineering team and mechanics. They’re raising their fingers in peace signs, laughing, sticking out their tongues. These are photos of young female fans having fun and supporting the team they love. There’s nothing devious, unless you know what you’re looking for. Then it’s clear that whoever took the picturesframed them to capture the screens. One photo like that could be dismissed, but not a dozen. Especially since the focus isn’t on the fans, but the screens.
“These aren’t from our garage.” Nico zooms in on details. “That’s Nitro’s setup.” He taps the screen and turns it for them to see. “And look at the timestamp.”
