Eye of the Cobra by Christopher Sherlock Page B

this design once you realise two things: the new engine’ll push the car very fast, and it’ll have to corner quicker, handle well at higher speeds. In short, it’ll need better aerodynamics and suspension.’
    He now pointed to the section of the plan that showed the engine mounting points.
    ‘Here’s the weak point. The stress on the body is immense. It was me biggest problem.’ He rolled up the plan and took out another.
    Bruce had to respect this mad Irishman. At twenty-one Mickey Dunstal had left the Massachusetts Institute of Technology with a doctorate in aeronautical engineering, the youngest person ever to be awarded such a degree. It was presumed he’d join the Lockheed Aircraft Corporation, since it was they who had given him the grant to come out from Ireland and study at MIT.
    Instead Mickey had returned to England and started his own sports car company. His first design had won numerous prizes and excellent reviews from the motoring press, and the car had sold well, making Dunstal an overnight millionaire. Then he was bought out, and Mickey had moved into the world of Formula One, producing brilliant designs, hopping from team to team. Then, a year ago, he’d gone out of circulation.
    ‘Bruce, you know the ground rules as well as I do.’
    Bruce nodded and leaned over the plan, watching as Mickey pointed out the different areas of concern.
    ‘FISA sets them - the car’s width, before and behind the front wheels, the front and rear overhangs, wing height, total height and fuel tank capacity. Then we have to have crushable side-pods, the front end must survive a twenty-two mph crash test without any displacement of the pedals. And to top it all, the fuel tank must be rupture-resistant rubber and mounted more than forty centimetres from the car’s centre.’
    Bruce grimaced. ‘It’s depressing.’
    ‘Relax, let me get to the point. The rules say we mustn’t weigh more than 1113.3 pounds before any fluids are put into the machine.’
    He looked down at his notes again, his eyes glittering as he continued.
    ‘Oh, and I nearly forgot - the driver’s feet must fall behind the front axle line. And that’s where me problems began. You see, the Shensu 3500 is twenty per cent longer than the average Grand Prix engine, but it gives the driver a lot o’ fight in the corners.’
    Now he unfurled a very basic design of car, but with not enough detail for Bruce to get the total picture.
    ‘This is one of me first designs - just to show you the problems. Under the old rules I could just move the driver forward to accommodate the engine, but under the new rules I can’t do that. So I’ve got seven and a half extra inches of car. And I can’t gain weight.’
    Bruce whistled softly.
    ‘An’ that’s not the bloody least of it. The Shensu 3500’s fitted with massive oil coolers as well as a bigger radiator. So I’ve got to fit enormous cooling-ducts to the car - the new engine is good for at least 780 bhp.’
    Bruce looked sceptical.
    ‘I had me doubts too,’ the Irishman said, ‘till I saw it on the test-bed. Which leads us to me next problem - the car has to be driveable. That power’ll really hammer the driver. You see, it’s not enough for me car to perform well flat out, she must also sail round the corners. Give the driver a bit o’ fight.
    ‘So I came to thinking, well, you’ve got a very different engine, so it sort of deserves a very different kind of chassis. But to lose weight I had to spend a lot o’ Mr Shensu’s money. But he’s a generous fellah, to be sure. Watch carefully, Bruce.’
    Mickey unrolled a huge photograph. Bruce looked down, spellbound. Nothing was as he had expected it to be. Sleek and streamlined, the car set his pulse racing. She sat very, very low on the ground, and was squatter than an ordinary machine, with enormous cooling-ducts on either side. She had the look of a predator, an almost organic air of menace. The suspension system, even at a glance, was highly