Jack Novac is a man who needs the rush of adrenalin shooting through his veins to satisfy his lust for adventure. Belted in his new racing airplane he revels in the sensations of the sleek, powerful racer. The roar of the engine. the acceleration of taking off. The blades of the huge propeller blur, chewing into the air to bolt him into the sky. Hard back on the stick, kicking the rudder, he snap rolls the plane. Visuals flash by, earth, sky, earth, sky. Blood rushes to his head, the safety belts bite into his shoulders. The force of gravity loads on his body are far greater than anything he felt in a race car. After surviving a Nazi torture chamber, he is devastated by the injuries he received. His auto racing career is over. Picking himself up with the love and aid of his wife, he starts a business and builds it to profitability. But the yearning to race grows, gnawing at him. His left hand can no longer steer a racing car, but his strong right hand can control an airplane stick, his feet the rudder. His determination and natural abilities impress his flying instructor and other pilots. He and Carl Sanders, his race car mechanic, decide to build a racing plane to go after airspeed records. Not everyone sings Novac’s praises. It could all end on a moonless night when a dark figure scuttles crab-like across the tarmac in front of a row of hangers, angry flashes of light spit from a gun barrel. Carl working on the plane from ladder falls to the ground. Blood pools under him.