He knew he had one more race left in him; he was good for one more crack at the Indianapolis classic. But he needed a car. To get one, he had to amuse Bander son — who thought death was...
His death was a thin red line on a chart… not a gun, not poison, but simply the cold, errorless science of the doomsday men. And even as he prepared to fight it. Larkin knew grimly that — for him — there was no escape in this...