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of gold.”
    Mayer was a brusque American, totally devoid of emotion and not one to dwell on the past. But he realized that Fittipaldi’s defection was a huge loss. In his two seasons with McLaren, Fittipaldi had finished first and second in the Formula One world championship. In fact, the realization that Fittipaldi would not be driving for McLaren in 1976 hit him like a thunderbolt. He knew it was too late to sign a replacement top-line driver. Mayer picked up the phone to Hogan and asked him what to do. Mayer knew Marlboro would be very disappointed with the news.
    It was a cold night, and Hogan was at home with his wife, Anne, in Reading, Berkshire. Mayer didn’t waste time talking about Fittipaldi, as Hogan recalls: “Teddy rang me up and just said, ‘We need to find a driver.’”
    Mayer’s idea was to promote Jochen Mass, a German who was McLaren’s number two, to be number one driver, and the search would be for a good number two to replace Mass. But unlike Mayer, Hogan did not believe that Mass was good enough to be number one.
    Hogan knew he must find a star, a proper number one. In an ideal world, his first choice would have been to lure three-time world champion, the then 37-year-old Jackie Stewart out of retirement, but Hogan knew that wasn’t going to happen. As Hogan admits, as much as he may have liked it, “I couldn’t see Jackie sitting in the cockpit.”
    Instead, as Hogan recalls, “I knew who to get instantly—James.”
    Hogan decided to go after him, but he was immediately met with opposition from both Mayer and Alastair Caldwell, McLaren’s team manager; and he knew there would also be objections from his bosses at Marlboro headquarters in Lausanne, Switzerland.
    Hogan said, “I knew I had to make it look good, because Marlboro and McLaren would have been just as happy with Jackie Ickx.” In fact, Belgian veteran Jackie Ickx was immediately the bookies’ favorite to get the drive. But Hogan knew what everyone else didn’t: that by then, Ickx was a has-been. He was determined that Ickx did not get the drive.
    Hogan had always been very focused, and now all his focus was on Hunt. He instinctively knew there wasn’t a moment to lose. In his mind he could already envisage Ickx on a plane to Lausanne to sign a deal with his immediate boss, Marlboro’s European vice president of marketing, Pat Duffler. That terrible thought drove him on.
    But first Hogan had to find Hunt. On that cold Saturday night in November, he had no idea where Hunt might be found. First he called his home in Marbella, and the person who answered was drunk. The drunkard told Hogan, “We think he’s in London.” Exasperated, Hogan put down the phone and continued searching. Eventually he tracked Hunt down at Lord Hesketh’s town house in London.
    It turned out that Hunt already knew Fittipaldi would be leaving McLaren; the Brazilian driver had tipped him off a few days earlier. Hunt was very grateful and said, “This fine gesture by Emerson, from a business point of view, gave me warning—time to get myself ready.” He added, “I knew that if Emerson didn’t sign, I was going to McLaren. And I had known that since the beginning of September.”
    Hogan told a disbelieving Hunt, “I’m going to come see you now.” Hunt thought Hogan was joking, but Hogan jumped into his Ford Escort and drove from Reading to London at high speed.
    But Hunt’s confidence was misplaced. Except for Hogan, no one else wanted him to have the drive. Without Hogan lobbying for him, he had little chance of getting it. Ickx was always the favored candidate. In fact, the attitude internally at McLaren at the time was “Anybody but Hunt.” Fortunately for Hunt, Hogan’s attitude was the reverse. It was “Anybody but Ickx,” and Hogan ultimately had final say.
    When Hogan arrived at Hesketh’s house an hour and a half later, Hunt was much the worse for wear and had been smoking cannabis in the company of a girl Hogan hadn’t met