Mystery ~ MV1

007. Whiskey and Aerodynamics

[Agent A]

The dimly lit bar was quiet enough that I could hear the ice cubes clink against my glass as I swirled the amber whiskey, my eyes fixed on the encrypted photos on my laptop.

The manifest numbers weren't adding up – quite literally.

The declared weight of the "spare parts" being transported to Dubai was off by exactly 127.4 kilograms compared to standard shipment weights, and the documentation referenced a non-existent storage facility in-

"You know, if you're trying to avoid someone, a bar two blocks from the circuit isn't the best hiding spot."

I looked up, cursing myself for getting so absorbed in the data that I hadn't noticed Max Verstappen, of all people, approaching. Despite deliberately choosing a booth facing the door. He slid into the seat across from me, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Let me guess," he continued, that playful smirk dancing on his lips as he leaned forward, "you're actually a hardcore Lewis Hamilton fan, and that's why you've been dodging me since Thursday."

Dodging was a strong word, but perhaps the right word. He made a point to try and catch my gaze while I a point to disappear after catching it. I had to, he was a distraction I couldn't afford.

I set down my glass, dimming the brightness of my laptop. "Bold of you to assume I have a favorite driver," I replied, letting Melina's French accent roll off my tongue. "Though statistically speaking, choosing Hamilton would be logical given his win rate of 35.8% across his career."

"Ouch," Max pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "No favorite driver? And here I thought we had a connection."

I took a sip of whiskey to hide my smile. "Shouldn't you be getting your mandatory eight hours of sleep?"

"Now who's dodging who?" He cut me off, eyes twinkling and hands folded in front of himself on the table as if he was proud of his ability to get me to change the topic. "What's so interesting on that laptop at 11 PM the night before a race?"

"Just editing some photos." The lie came easily, but something about the way he looked at me made me wish it wasn't necessary. Which was a scary thought I'd be ignoring. "What's your excuse for being out this late before the most technically demanding race of the season?"

"Couldn't sleep. Too much adrenaline from qualifying still." He gestured to the bartender for a water – at least he was being half responsible while being half not responsible. "Speaking of photos, can I see what you've been working on?"

My heart rate quickened slightly but I kept my face neutral as I looked to my dimmed screen to his face again. The manifests were still open, easily exposed if some looked carefully at my screen- hence why I sat at the very back in corner of the bar.

But luckily I'm a bit paranoid and had pulled up a random photo on an editing app just in case. I did truly take photos of actual formula one stuff just to keep my cover solid. So I quickly clicked to the saved tab only to try and fight the humorless smile as I turned it to show him.

Ironically, it was a shot I'd taken of his Red Bull RB19 streaming through the Swimming Pool section during qualifying, the car perfectly balanced on the knife-edge between perfection and disaster.

Max leaned forward, genuinely interested. "That's actually a great angle. You caught the moment right before I had to correct for the crosswind."

I scoffed as he waved off the move that was definitely not an accident.

"You mean when you deliberately let the rear step out by exactly 2.3 degrees to optimize your exit speed?" I found myself saying as I raised my glass to my lips again, my brain automatically calculating the angles visible in the photo. "The aerodynamic load at that point would have been approximately-"