37
Finally, the light turns. The two cars in front take an age to move, but all I need is a few inches. I pull out and around, wishing I'd gone for the Impreza.
I rag the Volvo up to its limit in each gear, fast-changing to gain some ground. Randall is off and flying along an empty stretch of dual carriageway road. But I make up some of the distance thanks to the turbo engine of the car.
The bastard must have caught on when he dropped off his goons. He pulls a sharp right into a residential neighbourhood. I slam on late and screech into the same road.
Randall's Land Rover is a hundred metres ahead. I'm gaining on every straight, so it's no surprise he takes a sharp left, trying to lose me.
Neither car is built for cornering. The Volvo feels like a boat as I nurse it into a tight avenu
