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“Where're we going?” Booster demands, as they take quick, striding steps away from the crowds gathered around the television.
“Pit lane.”
“What, why?”
“You'll see. Trust me.”
There's not exactly a hive of activity down in the pit lane, especially considering the Formula One practice has already taken place, but Ted knows full well that the man he's looking for isn't really bothered by that sort of thing.
“Jaime?”
“Oh, wow! Mister Kord!” Jaime's face lights up momentarily, then he hesitates, upon noticing firstly that there appears to be an inconsolable woman clinging to Michael Carter's arm, and secondly that Michael Carter's even in the same room as Ted by his own choice. “What's happened?”
“Have you ever driven a Ford Focus?”
“... What?”
“A Ford Focus. Have you driven one?”
“My dad owns a Mondeo?”
“Close enough. There's been an accident. Guy Gardner--”
“The ginger one?”
“That's him. We need someone who knows El Paso to get us to the hospital.” In the distance they hear sirens, and Jaime goes pale.
“Okay,” He nods grimly. Ted holds out a set of car keys into the test driver's waiting hands. “Let's go.”
They practically sprint out of the paddock, to the car park, where Jaime slides into the drivers seat of Ted's car with an almost-grin spreading across his face.
“Fanboy later, Reyes,” Ted says, not unkindly.
The ride to the hospital is what Ted would later describe as having taken years off his life. The stress of having a woman crying noisily, and not to mention, in Norwegian coupled with the reckless driving of what could only be a seventeen year old Formula One driver, didn't do anything for the heart condition Ted was convinced he was developing.
Jaime swerves to avoid trees, stray dogs, pushchairs, nuns – whatever happens to be in the way of the quickest route to the hospital. If he can get this sort of speed out of a three year old Ford Focus, Ted hates to imagine what he can do with an F1 car.
“Pit lane.”
“What, why?”
“You'll see. Trust me.”
There's not exactly a hive of activity down in the pit lane, especially considering the Formula One practice has already taken place, but Ted knows full well that the man he's looking for isn't really bothered by that sort of thing.
“Jaime?”
“Oh, wow! Mister Kord!” Jaime's face lights up momentarily, then he hesitates, upon noticing firstly that there appears to be an inconsolable woman clinging to Michael Carter's arm, and secondly that Michael Carter's even in the same room as Ted by his own choice. “What's happened?”
“Have you ever driven a Ford Focus?”
“... What?”
“A Ford Focus. Have you driven one?”
“My dad owns a Mondeo?”
“Close enough. There's been an accident. Guy Gardner--”
“The ginger one?”
“That's him. We need someone who knows El Paso to get us to the hospital.” In the distance they hear sirens, and Jaime goes pale.
“Okay,” He nods grimly. Ted holds out a set of car keys into the test driver's waiting hands. “Let's go.”
They practically sprint out of the paddock, to the car park, where Jaime slides into the drivers seat of Ted's car with an almost-grin spreading across his face.
“Fanboy later, Reyes,” Ted says, not unkindly.
The ride to the hospital is what Ted would later describe as having taken years off his life. The stress of having a woman crying noisily, and not to mention, in Norwegian coupled with the reckless driving of what could only be a seventeen year old Formula One driver, didn't do anything for the heart condition Ted was convinced he was developing.
Jaime swerves to avoid trees, stray dogs, pushchairs, nuns – whatever happens to be in the way of the quickest route to the hospital. If he can get this sort of speed out of a three year old Ford Focus, Ted hates to imagine what he can do with an F1 car.