He gunned the throttle again and charged at Coppice for the turn into the long Dunlop Straight. Open the Ducati full and revel in the sheer power as the landscape stretched out into streaks of color on both sides. Focus spot was the track and the screaming bikes ahead. But they were throttled up full, and just as fast. He wasn’t going to catch them.

Four laps left. He did okay, didn’t slip any farther down the field. But his edge was gone, and he knew it.

Nine days now, and nothing. Something’s happened to her. This is serious. How bad is student radicalism these days? How violent do they get?

A checkered flag was waving on the gantry overhead. Ninth place; there were only fifteen bikes in the race. He took the slow lap around to the exit and drove through the paddock. The support vehicles parked in long lines down the tarmac lanes were even more antique than the Ducati. Spectators enjoyed them almost as much as they did the bikes. People were wandering along, wrapped against the cold February air, gawping at the old camper buses and engineering caravans, parents pointing out shapes and company badges to semi-interested children.

Callum’s team had an old Mercedes Sprinter van converted to a mobile workshop for the Ducati. It was parked down at the far end of the paddock, opposite the Redgate turn. Colin and Henry had set up an awning beside it, covering their collapsible chairs. A barbeque stood just outside, where Henry was turning the sausages.

Callum tried not to grin at Henry’s expectant father routine. After all, it was an excited Henry who had originally found the bike on a specialist auction site eighteen months ago, just as Callum was appointed crew leader. They’d formed a syndicate, all of them chipping in for the privilege of riding the superb old machine at rallies and club meetings. Between them they could afford it. But as they’d soon found out, it wasn’t the initial cost that was the problem, but the maintenance. And as for the price of specially synthesized petrol…

Callum parked the Ducati and took his helmet off.

“So was that a good result?” Dokal asked with apparent innocence. She was sitting under the awning next to her girlfriend, Emillie, both of them with a can of beer.

“We need to have a handicap scheme for these club meetings,” Callum said gruffly. “Some of those bikes are more powerful than the Ducati. They’re a lot younger, too.”

“That’s the spirit, chief,” Raina said. She came out of the back of the Sprinter, zipping up her leathers. “I’m going to have a couple of practice laps before my race, okay?”

“All yours.” Callum dismounted, trying not to make old-man grunts as his legs protested. “Watch out for the tarmac at McLeans and Redgate. There’s a patch starting on Craner, too.”

“Thanks.” She swung her leg over the saddle and started the engine.