Part 43 (2/2)

It was all going to plan until, at the very bottom of Central Park, the two Renaults of Fabian and Etienne Trouveau appeared from out of nowhere, slotting into identical positions on either side of the Argonaut.

Ostensibly, they were just other racers legitimately trying to get back home as fast as they could - but the way they buffeted the Argonaut, slas.h.i.+ng at it with their razorsharp bladed nosewings, Jason knew that this was something more.

They were trying to put him out of the race.

For good.

He held them off grimly, banging from one to the other, hemmed in on either flank, at one point roaring down Broadway on his side - but then as he turned left onto 42nd St, only one right-hander away from home, the French racers got him.

The three cars took the left-hander onto 42nd St together - with Fabian on the inside, Jason in the middle, and Trouveau on the outside.

And at that point, with cool calculation, Fabian pushed Jason into Trouveau.

With nowhere else to manoeuvre, the Argonaut slid right, its nosewing coming closer and closer and closer to Trouveau's glistening bladed nosewing...

...and they hit.

CRACK!.

The Argonaut's nosewing splintered and broke and Jason lost all control.

The Argonaut veered downward, rus.h.i.+ng toward the hard surface of 42nd St - while the two Renaults flittered away like a pair of nasty ravens, their job done.

Jason somehow managed to pull his nose up and the Argonaut slammed into the roadway, landing awkwardly on its belly, right on top of its magneto drives.

Mags flew left and right, out from under the bouncing car: one, two, three, four of them...

...and the Argonaut - once beautiful, now battered and smoking - slid to a screeching halt in the middle of 42nd St, one turn and 800 metres away from the Finish Line.

RACETIME: 2 HOURS 56 MINUTES.

The crowd in the grandstand closest to the crashed Argonaut sighed with dismay at the unexpected crash. The commentators on TV went bananas: 'Oh, no! Chaser is down! Chaser is down - !'

'Ladies and gentlemen, the race leader has crashed - !'

'And with only four minutes to go! In what could have been one of the best gate-race runs ever! Oh, the shame!'

Fabian and Trouveau both swung right, onto Fifth Avenue, and a few seconds later, roared over the Finish

Line on 34th St, seven blocks away.

The Argonaut sat nose-down - crumpled and broken - on 42nd St, alongside the majestic New York Public Library.

Inside the stationary car, Jason raised his head weakly. The first thing he did was check behind him.

'You okay?'

The Bug groaned but nodded.

Jason keyed his power switch.

The Argonaut's internal organs ticked over but did not catch. The car remained still.

Jason tried to start her up again. No luck.

'Come on, car!' Jason yelled. 'Don't let me down!

You've still got two mags! There's still time for us to get over the line!'

He keyed the power switch one last time.

Vmmm.

The Argonaut rose exactly two feet off the ground - and stayed there.

Jason pushed forward on his thrusters, but the car remained in a stationary hover - its compressed-air thrusters coughing pathetically - the car held up only by its two remaining magneto drives.

It had lost forward thrust.

The Argonaut wouldn't - couldn't - go forward.

Jason's face fell. If this had been a regular Masters race, he could have run for the Finish Line with his steering wheel, as the Bug had done back in Race 50 at Race School. But this was the only race in the Masters that was Car Over the Line: the Argonaut had to cross the Line.

Jason looked up. 'Oh d.a.m.n.'

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