There would be a new championship hunt for Vince, and the competition would be fierce. Word around the racing paddock implied that this would be the breakout year for the young Spanish prospect Luka Catala. There was also an Australianrider, Austin Spencer, who’d won the title a few years ago when Vince had been out after successive arm surgeries.
At the ripe old age of thirty-five, the media considered Vince past his prime, practically a dinosaur. Last year, he’d only won nine races, less than his dominant performances of the past, and Isaac had read predictions of fewer than three victories this year. Everyone who said that hadn’t seen what kind of shape Vince was in or the fire in his eyes. His brother was here to fight for the title, as usual.
Many of the flights arrived in Doha at about the same time from all parts of the world as the racing teams collected people from across the globe. Not just riders, but bosses, crew, and media personnel. It was a tight-knit community through the racing season, even if they scattered in the off-season.
“G’day,” said Austin Spencer, as though Isaac’s earlier thoughts had conjured him. His easy-going drawl sounded friendlier than it was. Something about the other man had always irritated him. Perhaps it was the Australian’s swagger or smug smirks that trumpeted he was better than everyone else.
Isaac nodded. “Spencer. Good flight?” The other man’s eyes skated past him and followed someone beyond Isaac’s back. A woman for sure, based on the way Spencer’s eyes gaze lingered.
“Hey, wasn’t that Spanish chick on tour with us seven or eight years ago when I was new?” Spencer’s square chin tossed toward the woman in question. A half glance confirmed it was Catarina as she and Anna wheeled their suitcases toward the buses outside waiting to take them to their hotel with the rest of the Honda crew.
Isaac clenched his jaw and shrugged. “Catarina. Yeah.” The man used to hit on her day and night. She’d never given him the time of day. There’d also been something about some of the other girls complaining he came on too strong.
“That’s a tasty piece with her, too. I’ll have to introduce myself to the ladies tonight. The sooner the better. This season is looking up already.” Austin Spencer strolled after them, leaving Isaac waiting for his delinquent suitcase.
He restrained himself from peering outside like an idiot, dying to confirm if Anna and Catarina had made it onto the buses without being accosted. Spencer’s words set his teeth on edge, although the Australian wouldn’t be the last man to notice Anna and Catarina. They were a striking pair who’d turn heads, especially in his crowd. Motorcycle racing was dominated by men, though there were women who raced in Moto3, the lightweight class. He’d known four in total, but no one had stayed more than a couple of years before moving on. Now, there was a women’s league or WorldWCR for short.
There were a few other women around the track, just not many. Several teams included a female mechanic or two, and a few riders brought their wives and girlfriends on a regular basis. All of them were off limits. Fabiano Perotti’s sister, who was his assistant, was also left alone. Messing with the Italian rider’s sister would be unprofessional. Umbrella girls were a different story and would be fair game.
Catarina would have no trouble fending off men on her own—she’d always been able to look out for herself. But something told Isaac that Anna wasn’t used to that kind of attention. He watched the exit where everyone else had gone, hoping for another glimpse. Anna and Catarina were more than beautiful, they were smart and interesting to talk to. The other night at Vince’s had solidified that opinion. Maybe he’d matured enough to appreciate those qualities. His mom would be happy.
Isaac had yet to learn Anna’s story, but they’d picked up double copies of three different books in Barcelona before their flights so they could read together. They’d each chosen one that looked interesting, and Catarina had picked another for them inthe spirit of fun. Isaac had invited Catarina to read along, but she’d just laughed and said it sounded too much like work. He’d asked to be polite and had been relieved when she’d declined. He couldn’t help it if he preferred the idea of hanging out with Anna with no one else around.
The first book they’d selected was about a 1920s gangster in America—a Prohibition rum-runner. He’d read for half the flight, enjoying the fast-paced story, even if the odd English word was unfamiliar. He planned to read some more later. With the time change, it might be tricky to sleep.
Isaac jumped when his bag arrived with a thunk onto the conveyor in what was probably the last batch from the plane. It reminded him of his job—he was here for more than a book club.
He hefted the suitcase and headed for the labeled team bus out front, carrying just his personal items. He’d shipped his racing gear ahead. His pit crew, crew chief, and Anna should be waiting already, as well as the second crew that made up his entire satellite racing team. He’d overheard Catarina offer to introduce Anna before boarding her own bus with Vince and the factory Honda team. He cursed his tardiness. If he’d been out there first, he’d have taken care of the introductions, and stood next to Anna for a few extra minutes.
Climbing aboard, the door whooshed closed behind him. He must be the last aboard. His teammate, Yoshi Sozui, nodded from one of the front seats on the right. Isaac nodded back and took the seat across from him, beside his chief engineer. The drive from here to the hotel would be brief, and because it was still just dawn, there wasn’t much to see of Doha, besides tall buildings and bright lights. During the day, the scenic city sported turquoise water, silver skyscrapers, and pale desert sand. So much wealth concentrated in one place made for a modern, beautiful city.
Anna looked up from her seat farther back, where she sat alone. She mouthed something, and he raised his eyebrow so she would repeat what she’d said. He’d rather move back and sit with her, but it was too late and would be rude to Angel and Yoshi.
“One hundred three.” She held their book up.
It took a second to register. That must be her page number. Digging through his carry-on, he checked and reported his progress in return. “Seventy-three.” She smiled and sunk lower into her seat, her eyes already back in her book as the bus rumbled onward.
“New friend?” said the crew chief in Spanish. Angel’s deep-set eyes peering out from his weathered face missed little, on or off the track. Though he could never replace Isaac’s late father, Isaac respected the older man and his opinions, about more than just racing.
Isaac nodded. “Just friends.” He might be interested in more, but it wasn’t what he expected. He still didn’t know where Vince figured in the equation, or if he cared what his brother wanted.
“Uh-huh,” said Angel with a slow smile. “I wondered what was up when your brother asked for her to come along. Not what I expected from an American. Quieter. She seems intelligent too.” He changed the subject. “How was your off-season? You and your brother get much training in over the winter?”
“Don’t worry. Vince had me up early every morning,” laughed Isaac. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been in such good shape.” He flexed his right biceps, making Yoshi laugh and show off his own.
Angel’s bushy gray eyebrows rose. “That’s saying something. You Vasquez brothers are always fit.”
When Isaac talked to the crew chief and the rest of his personal team, he always spoke Spanish, as that was everyone’s language. What would it be like to be surrounded by peoplewhose words flew by so fast that he’d be lucky to catch one word in four? It might get lonely. After giving Anna a chance to settle in, he would be sure to seek her out to chat. He didn’t want to come on too strong and scare her off, he wasn’t a Spencer, but he would keep finding excuses to talk to her. She would need someone with whom to practice her Spanish.
He returned his attention to his crew and chatted about the bike and its new features. They used English for certain words or brief bits to include Yoshi in the bike talk. While their bikes were a year older than the factory team rides that his brother and Luka Catala rode, they were competitive bikes, and what Vince had ridden for his twelfth championship last year.
Counting Vince out of the championship would be a mistake. Isaac looked forward to the reporters taking back their words and writing stories about the great Vince Vasquez instead of speculations about retirement.
Because they’d reached Doha first thing in the morning, they drove straight to the hotel to sleep instead of sightseeing in the city, like they might in other cities. All racing activities here took place at night, even practices. It was early Friday morning, and on race weekends, the schedule was Free Practice One, or FP1 and FP2 on Friday, FP3 and FP4 Saturday evening with qualifying later that night. The warm-up and the race would be on Sunday after the Moto2 and Moto3 races—the intermediate and lightweight classes. In most cities, the MotoGP races were afternoon affairs with as many as a hundred thousand fans in attendance, depending on the venue.
Here in the desert, they lit up the Lusail circuit like daytime and rode at night when the scorching heat wouldn’t be a factor. The reversal of day and night played havoc with Isaac’s internal clock, so he always ate dinner fare instead of breakfast when they arrived, a light mid-day meal in the middle of the night between practices, and breakfast when he first got up at dusk.Eating the proper food helped him to feel normal. He’d have to share his trick with Anna. He caught himself watching her several times during the short ride, but she was engrossed in her book and to his disappointment, she didn’t look up.
After check-in, the riders attended their first press conference, signed a few autographs, then had dinner. Isaac sat next to his teammate, his friends, and his brother before the public part of the evening wrapped up. The feeling that something was missing persisted. Anna hadn’t come down to eat. As Catarina stood, he stopped her with a hand on her arm, “Anna didn’t come down. Is she okay?”
