High-Speed Showdown Read Free Page A

Magnusson said. “It’ll only stir things up even more if they know. Is that okay with you?”
    â€œWe prefer working undercover,” Frank said.
    â€œI’m sure you’re very good at it,” Magnusson replied. “Here, I’ll make out passes for you.”
    He took two tags marked Staff and wrote in their names, then signed them. As he handed them over, he smiled and said, “If anyone asks, just say your dad and I are old friends. My position does carry a few privileges with it, along with far toomany headaches. Now, why don’t I take you down to the dock and introduce you to a few people?”
    The crowds on Water Street were thicker now. Most of the people were strolling in the direction of the exposition. Lots of them paused along the way to stare through the fence at the docked racing boats. Frank and Joe showed their new passes to the guard at the gate and followed Magnusson out onto the main pier.
    â€œYou can’t imagine what a complex business it is, organizing a meet like this,” Magnusson remarked, as they walked out between the two lines of slips. “We’ve got almost a hundred entries, broken down into ten different classes. Most of our spectators come out to watch the really big, really fast Open Class boats. But the racers in the A, B, and C classes are every bit as important to the sport. Every bit as exciting, too, in my opinion.”
    â€œHow does it work?” Frank asked. “Do all the boats race at the same time?”
    Magnusson shook his head. “No. You do see that at smaller, one-day meets. But with an event of this size, it would be too dangerous and confusing. For each class we’ll run a series of heats over the next couple of days. Then on Saturday, there’ll be the final of each class. The top boats will have a shot at winning prizes and championship points.”
    â€œPrizes?” Joe repeated. “You mean, money?”
    â€œThe grand prize winner of the super boats thisyear will take home a silver trophy and a check for one hundred thousand dollars,” Magnusson replied. “Of course, almost all of the others will just be taking home their memories.”
    And some very hefty bills to pay, Frank thought to himself, as he looked over the sleek, powerful boats on either side of him.
    Joe touched Frank on the arm and said in a low voice, “Look—isn’t that what’s-her-name, who plays the lead on Brisbane Lane ?”
    Frank looked. About twenty feet down the dock was a tall, slim young woman in tight blue biking shorts and a bright yellow crop top that set off her mane of tawny blond hair. She was talking to a guy of about thirty-five, with longish black hair and a neatly trimmed black beard. He was wearing very faded jeans and a Baja California T-shirt. Judging by their gestures, Frank didn’t think the two were having a friendly conversation.
    â€œIf it isn’t her, it’s her twin sister,” he told Joe. “Susan Shire, right?”
    Magnusson cut in. “That’s right,” he said. “And that’s Dennis Shire she’s talking to. Her ex-husband. He owns a software company. They’re both real enthusiasts about offshore racing. They were a terrific team when they were still together. Now they’re more like not-so-friendly rivals. Here, let me introduce you.”
    As they drew nearer, Frank heard Dennis say, “You wouldn’t know anything about somebodyfouling up the timing of my fuel injection system, would you?”
    â€œSure I would,” Susan replied. Frank could hear the sarcasm in her voice. “You can’t lift the hatch on an engine compartment without fouling up something. That’s why, in the old days, I’d handle all our tune-ups. Remember?”
    Frank wasn’t sure if he should back away from this family quarrel or pay particularly close attention. These two were important competitors, after all.
    â€œHa!”