810 km/h is not a speed at which you want to lose control.

The Argonaut II lost control. First it lurched left - then it pitched dramatically to the right - touching the demag ripple strips, causing the car's magnetic power levels to plummet - before Jason engaged his compressed-air thrusters to get them off the debilitating strips.

The Argonaut II shot clear off the track, out to the right, out over the ripple strips - missing the entry to the pits completely - setting off in a wide arc out over the ocean, its mag levels plummeting even further down into the red.

The Argonaut II banked away to the right, out over the sea, out towards the far western horizon and Jason realised to his horror that after the collision, he could only steer to the right.

Then things got worse.

The Argonaut II slowed. Dramatically.

Thanks to the ripple strip, its magneto drives were now almost dry. The Argonaut II - with a broken nosewing and almost zero power - was now limping out over the open sea, only capable of turning right.

'Jason!' Sally's voice called in his ear. 'You okay?'

'We're okay...' Jason said through clenched teeth. 'Just p.i.s.sed. And I can only turn right.'

'What the h.e.l.l was that? Is every French driver in this industry a b.a.s.t.a.r.d?'

'Just stand by, Sally. We're not out of this yet. We're gonna try and make it to the pits...'

'How?'

'If we can only turn right, then we'll do it by only turning right...'

The Argonaut II puttered around in a painfully slow, painfully wide circle, a circuit easily several kilometres in circ.u.mference. But a circle that would end at - the pit entry.

'But you're going to have to come back over the demag strip,' Sally said.

'Then I hope we have enough power to take the hit,' Jason said.

The Argonaut II limped around in its arc, at a pathetic 15 km/h - it was almost unnatural to see a hover car moving at such a slow pace.

'Bug,' Jason called, 'do some calculations. How long is this circle going to take us?'

The Bug did the math in his head in about three seconds. He told Jason the answer.

'Three minutes!' Jason exclaimed. 'Minutes! d.a.m.n...' As Jason well knew, hover car races were won by seconds, not minutes. Once you went down by more than a minute, your race was run.

But still he flew on.

As he did so, the Bug kept an eye on the pits, on the other cars in the field that were whizzing into them at full speed.

The Bug counted them off: 15th...20th...25th...26th.

He informed Jason.

The 26th car had entered the pits.

They were now officially coming last.

Three minutes later, they came full circle and Jason lined them up with the entrance to the Fiumicino Pits.

By this stage, every other car in the race had sped off into the distance at full speed, leaving Jason alone, foundering off the coast near the Fiumicino Pits.

But his situation had provided the crowd camped on the rocky coastline with a special spectacle - they were enjoying watching him struggle and as such, were cheering him on, shouting chants, clapping in unison, willing the Argonaut II into the pits.

Jason eyed the demag lights directly ahead of him, blocking his way to the pits. The last hurdle.

He checked his mag level display:

MAG 1 2.2% 2.3% MAG 2.

MAG 3 4.1% 2.4% MAG 4.

MAG 5 2.2% 2.3% MAG 6.

Five of his six mags were on 2% power, one a little over 4%.

As he'd learned back at Race School, back in Race 25, a standard run over a demag ripple strip robbed you of 3% of magnetic power.

'I only need one per cent to make it,' he said grimly.

But as he also knew, if the Argonaut II lingered for too long over the ripple strip, it would lose more magnetic power than that - all his power - and that meant dropping out of the sky and into the water...

'Hang on, Bug. Here we go.'

The Argonaut II banked round towards the pit entrance at 15 km/h, heading right for the line of red demag lights.

The crowd hushed.

Jason held his breath.

The Argonaut II crossed the demag strip.

Jason's instrument panel squealed in panic, and his mag levels instantly changed: MAG 1 0.0% 0.0% MAG 2.

MAG 3 1.1% 0.0% MAG 4.

MAG 5 0.0% 0.0% MAG 6.

The display started flashing and blinking like a Christmas tree. Red warning lights blazed everywhere.

The Argonaut II cleared the ripple strip - and by the time it did so, five of its mags were dead.

But one remained.

With a bare 1.1% power left on it, bearing Jason's entire car all on its own.

The Argonaut II was still moving - by the skin of its teeth.

The crowd on the coastline roared with delight.

And so, creeping, crawling, hobbling like a wounded soldier leaving the field of battle, the Argonaut II entered the pits -

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Clank! - Clunk! - Hiss-wapp!

The Lombardi Team Tarantula worked fast.

Old mags came off. New mags went on. Compressed air hoses attached. And coolant fluid went in.

Every indicator on Jason's dash display sprang upward - refreshed, renewed, recharged.

Jason looked around the pit area. It was largely empty - all of the other pit crews had left, heading for the second pit area in Pescara on the other side of the country.

Jason searched the area, half hoping to see Scott Syracuse somewhere nearby, but it was to no avail. Syracuse hadn't come.

Then the Tarantula lifted clear of the Argonaut II and Sally smacked the back of Jason's helmet: 'Time to get back in this race! Go! Go! Go!'

Jason gunned everything he had and the Argonaut II blasted out of the pits, four whole minutes behind the pack, and headed back out into the race.

Behind him, Sally immediately started loading up her stuff - she had to get to Pescara.

The main pack of racers rocketed down the toe of the boot that is Italy before shooting through the Straits of Messina and thus commencing the Figure-8 round the islands of Sicily and Sardinia.

The crowds gathered on the coastlines of both islands cheered loudly as the jet fighter-like cars shot past them at a cool 800 km/h.

But the loudest cheer of all came for the lonely last-placed car: the No.2 car for the Lombardi Team, driven by the kid from the Race School, shooting along at full speed despite the fact that it was a hopeless four minutes behind the others.

The crowds loved it.

This lone Ferrari F-3000 couldn't possibly win the race and yet it was still trying.

Thanks to countless headset cell-phones, word travelled along the coastline ahead of the Argonaut II, so that when it arrived at a new spot, a super-gigantic Mexican Wave followed alongside it, the crowds urging it on.

The Lombardi Team hover-trailer carrying Sally McDuff across Italy shoomed down the freeway in a lane specifically reserved for race crews heading for the pit area in Pescara.

Neither Sally nor her driver saw the two black Ford hover cars cruising down the highway behind them, keeping pace with their trailer...

...watching them.

When the main pack shot through the Straits of Messina for the second time and rounded the toe of Italy, Alessandro Romba was in the lead, closely followed by Fabian and the second USAF car, with Xavier Xonora now having (impressively) moved up into 4th place.

Jason had closed to within two-and-a-half minutes of the main pack but with the race now three-quarters over, barring a miracle, he was just making up the numbers.

Then the main pack bent right, shooting down the heel of Italy's boot - none of them taking the bait and entering the famously difficult short cut.

Two-and-a-half minutes later, as the rest of them were rounding the base of the heel, Jason sighted Taranto, the town at the mouth of the short cut.

The Bug said something.

'As a matter of fact,' Jason replied, 'I am thinking about taking the short cut. Why? Why not? We're screwed as we are. Besides, you never know. We could get lucky.'

The Bug offered some more advice.

'Ouch, man,' Jason said. 'Don't hold back or anything.'

But the Bug wasn't finished.

'I know what Syracuse said,' Jason retorted. 'But he isn't here now, is he?'

'I wouldn't say that...' a voice said suddenly in Jason's earpiece.

It was the voice of Scott Syracuse.

Scott Syracuse sat in the back of the moving Lombardi Team trailer, alongside Sally McDuff, as it sped across Italy.

He had arrived in Rome only twenty minutes earlier, and had forced his way through the crowds, trying to get to the Fiumicino Pit Lane to meet Sally. But she'd left by the time he'd got there, so he'd chased her trailer down the highway in his black Ford and waved her down from the window of his speeding car.

As soon as he was on board the trailer, Sally had put him in radio contact with Jason.

'Mr Syracuse!' Jason's voice came in over the speakers. 'You came!'

'I'm sorry I couldn't be here earlier, Jason,' Syracuse said, 'but there have been some problems at the Race School in your absence and I couldn't get away. But now that I'm here, I'm going to get you back in this race.'

'How?'

Syracuse focused his eyes on the horizon. 'When you hit Taranto, Jason, take the short cut. If I can, I'm going to guide you through it.'