Chapter XXX

Clermont-Ferrand, France

A DAY BEFORE the French Grand Prix, Maddux entered the race garage in search of Gunnar Andersson. Maddux found the assignment intriguing, even though he had never recruited anyone before. His own recruitment process in New York was one based out of desperation, far from the textbook way taught during his training. The method was simplistic—explain the need, sell the vision, share the benefits, close the deal. Delivering the end result the agency wanted was the real challenge.

Maddux dodged forklifts zipping around the area transporting tires to different race teams. Power tools buzzed and mechanics yelled out instructions, sounds that could only be heard in between the intermittent revving of a car engine. When Maddux found Andersson’s designated spot, two mechanics were working beneath the car. Maddux knocked on the door and waited.

One of the mechanics slid out from beneath the car. “If you’re looking for Andersson, you won’t find him here.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Try the track. He always walks it a day before the race.”

The Charade track was new to Formula 1, having only hosted motorcycle races. And since Andersson had never raced anything but cars, Maddux realized every straightaway and turn at Charade would be foreign to Andersson.

“Thanks for the tip,” Maddux said as he headed for his car.

Maddux turned onto the course and drove slowly, searching for Andersson and finally catching up with him at the Courbes de Manson, one of the track’s famed curves.

“Need a lift?” Maddux asked after pulling up next to Andersson.

Andersson waved him off, refusing to even look inside the car. “It’s the day before the race. I always walk the course.”

“I promise this will be nothing like Barcelona,” Maddux said.

Andersson abruptly halted and stooped down to peer through the open driver’s side window. “I thought I recognized your voice. And I most definitely will not be getting in a car with you.”

Andersson resumed his walk. Maddux gunned his car and shot ahead of Andersson, parking along the shoulder of the road. Leaning against his car, Maddux pulled out a Lucky Strike and waited for Andersson to catch up.

“Those things will kill you,” Andersson said as he reached Maddux, who joined the driver.

“So will working for the CIA, but neither one of those things scare me that much. And quite frankly, they’re probably both safer than strapping yourself into a box surrounded by gasoline and hurtling over a hundred miles an hour around hairpin turns.”

Andersson flashed a wry grin. “That’s why I smoke, too. Why deny myself one of life’s simple pleasures when I’m going to die soon anyway?”

“I like your style,” Maddux said. “That’s why I’m here to talk with you today and see if you’re interested in a unique opportunity.”

Andersson stopped, furrowed his brow, and gave Maddux a sideways glance. “After what happened in Barcelona, you expect me to trust you again?”

“You know that was a misunderstanding.”

“A big misunderstanding, so big that it’s hard believe you didn’t understand what you were doing. You thought I was an assassin for the KGB? It’s so ridiculous that I don’t even know how to respond to it.”

“I may have something that sounds even more ridiculous, if you want to hear it.”

Andersson sighed. “Humor me.”

“We want you to work for the CIA.”

Andersson broke into laughter as he resumed walking. “You want me to work with you? That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

Maddux hustled to catch up. “Look, if you don’t want to help us, I understand. Our relationship got off on the wrong foot.”

“You call this a relationship? It feels more like you are a crazy stalker, someone who just can’t accept the fact that there never was a relationship, much less that there was one to repair in the first place.”

“You’re right,” Maddux said. “Things were bad, but there is an explanation. We had an agent who used you to deflect us away from what he was doing.”

“And what happened to this agent?”

“I killed him,” Maddux said coldly.

“You what?”

“You heard me. I killed him.”

“Are you going to kill me too if I don’t join your CIA?”

Maddux shook his head. “If you decide this isn’t something you want to do, feel free to walk away knowing that we’ll never contact you again.”

“After you shoot me?”

“That’s not how we do things,” Maddux said. “What’s the point in having to coerce someone to work for you? At some point when their interests are better suited to go in another direction, they will burn you. But if you choose to do this on your own, then you’ll have a lifetime partnership—or at least one that won’t vanish when the person decides to move on.”

“Let’s suppose for a moment that I want to help you. Tell me why I would do it.”

“You’re an honest man who wants to make a difference in the world and realize that simply driving a fast car around a track many times is never going to help you make an impact. You’ll just always be a guy who sped around a racetrack.”

“And what would you want me to do?”

“Nothing too dangerous,” Maddux said. “Plant a few bugs here and there. Pass intelligence to us from another agent. Keep an eye on the KGB. You have unfettered access to places we can’t get close to.”

Andersson stroked his chin and stopped walking. “This all sounds rather interesting. What’s in it for me?”

“You’ll be handsomely compensated for your participation. I may even be able to work in an appearance for an Opel commercial.”

“That sounds interesting. Let me mull it over and get back with you.”

Maddux pulled out a business card and scribbled a number on the back. “This is where you can reach me while I’m in town. You have until the end of the day to make your decision. After that, my offer expires.”

Andersson nodded and continued walking.

“I’ll be awaiting your decision,” Maddux called before he spun and walked in the other direction.