Outside Chance (38 page)

Jakob looked up with a welcoming smile.

‘Ben! I didn't know you were coming tonight.'

‘Last-minute decision.'

‘Perhaps he's come to help,' Jeta suggested provocatively, glancing up from under her lashes.

‘Why? Can't you manage?' Ben responded smoothly, turning the taunt back on to her.

‘Of course I can!' Jeta flared immediately.

Jakob chuckled, straightening up and patting the rump of the horse he'd been brushing. Then he frowned. ‘Have you been fighting, Ben? What happened to your face?'

Ben shrugged. ‘Not all my assignments are as easy as this one,' he said. ‘Sometimes people don't like me asking questions.'

‘Your job?' Jakob shook his head. ‘I never thought . . .'

‘Well, it doesn't happen all that often. If it did, I'd find myself another career, I can tell you.'

Jakob looked as though he would have said something more but he was forestalled by a shrill whistle, which Ben knew was the signal to start making the final preparations: tacking up the ridden horses and peeling off the protective layers of clothing to reveal the costumes beneath.

The girls gave their two horses a final quick whisk over with the brush, undid them and set them free. As they passed Ben, Anna Kovac gave him a shy smile, whilst Jeta looked him full in the eye and reached up to run her hand lightly down his cheek as she went by. Ben couldn't prevent his gaze following her as she walked away, and she glanced back over her shoulder, confident that he'd be looking, and winked.

Shaking his head once more, Jakob muttered something in his native tongue.

‘Don't worry, I'm not about to fall into that trap,' Ben assured him.

‘I'm glad.' Jakob set his horse free to join the others and let himself out of the enclosed area, shutting the gate on a horse that would have followed him. ‘Your girl? Everything is well?'

Ben nodded. ‘Yes, everything's fine.'

‘Good. Now I must find that brother of mine.' Jakob patted Ben's shoulder in passing, and disappeared in search of Gyorgy.

Ben watched him go then turned to look at the horses. They were all shifting restlessly, most with eyes and ears turned towards the bustle of the preparations. He supposed they had been with the troupe long enough to be anticipating the start of the show and their part in it, and he wondered what they made of their change of lifestyle. They certainly looked pretty eager.

There was no time now to attempt to catch and scan any of the herd before the performance began, but Ben used the time to take the photo of Cajun King from his pocket and try to single out the possible candidates. It was frustrating that they were all milling about; he couldn't be sure that he hadn't counted the same horse twice, though there were at least four that were entirely the wrong colour, and two more whose general appearance ruled them out. Ben found he kept coming back to two in particular and decided that when he got the chance, he would start with those. Even so, it was hard to equate the sleek, immaculately turned out
thoroughbred of the picture with any of the horses in front of him.

‘Ben! We start in two minutes.' Nico's voice sounded just behind him and such was the state of his nerves that he almost jumped out of his skin.

‘Thanks.' Gathering his wits, Ben stuffed the picture into his jacket and turned, but Nico was already several feet away, striding off in the jaunty way that showed he was in showman mode, the silver trimmings on his costume gleaming. Before long he would be in the arena and the silver would sparkle under the blaze of lights as he wowed the audience with the seemingly casual brilliance of his horsemanship.

Ben sighed. How could Jakob put all this in jeopardy for the sake of revenge, however well-deserved? And how could he involve Nico, a young man with a glittering career ahead of him? It seemed so out of character, but then, when you considered how close they were as a family, perhaps it was inevitable. Indeed, maybe the idea had come from the younger members of the troupe; it was quite possible he would never know.

‘Hell and damn!' Ben muttered. He looked again at the loose horses. It was still just possible that he was on the wrong track entirely, but he wasn't terribly optimistic on that front. The more he looked at the two strongest candidates, the more he felt drawn to the larger of the two. There was just something about him.

He took the photo from his pocket again and compared it with the horse in front of him. The one in the picture was considerably darker, having
what was known as a blanket clip – which left the natural coat on the animal's back, quarters and legs – whereas the horses in the herd had all been clipped right out at some stage, presumably to remove previous clipping patterns such as King's. With the cold weather, though, their coats were already growing back.

‘Still here, Ben?'

Jakob had returned with Gyorgy, each paying out a length of nylon rope that stretched off towards the arena; it was hooked up at strategic points to form a corridor down which the herd would pass on the way to their ten minutes or so in the limelight.

‘You'd best get to your seat. This should be a good one.'

‘I'm on my way.'

Ben was just in time to see the now familiar opening sequence, with the ten loose horses cantering into the arena and milling about aimlessly in the eerie greenish mist. Then, almost ethereal, came Duka, dashing round the herd and sending them down the arena in one tightly grouped bunch, with only the occasional glimpse of flattened ears or bared teeth as inducement. With his noble bearing and flowing, whiter-than-white mane and tail, he was the stuff of dreams and, looking into the audience, Ben could see wonder in the shining eyes of children and adults alike.

Unhappily aware of the job he shortly had to do, Ben couldn't enjoy the performance as he usually did. The scanner was digging into his hip,
as if to remind him, and he wondered, without joy, what mental state the horses would be in, having been rousted about the arena for ten or fifteen minutes by the Andalusian. His best opportunity would come, he felt, towards the end of the second half, when the entire troupe would be in the arena together, showing off the skills of the Magyar herdsmen. Then, with any luck, the area around the thoroughbreds' barn would be deserted. Resignedly, Ben settled down for a wait of ninety minutes or more.

The show was a huge success: the performance sold out and the crowd loud in its enthusiasm. In consequence the Csikós seemed to pull out extra stops. Each time Ben saw them, they seemed to have added something to their routine, and this time Nico even threw in Duka's trick with the hat – learned only two days before – which drew delighted laughter from the audience.

The interval, with its frenzy of ice-cream buying, came and went and the show continued. Suddenly the arena was full of whip-cracking Magyar plainsmen and Emilian was telling those watching about the girthless saddles. With a shock Ben realised that his moment had arrived – had almost passed, in fact. If he didn't get a move on, he wouldn't have time to catch his two suspects and scan them before the troupe left the arena again to prepare for the finale.

Slipping from his seat, Ben climbed the wooden steps between the tiered seating and descended to the door that led outside. A man he didn't know was guarding the entrance to the barn complex but he let Ben pass when he showed his ‘crew' badge.
From the logo on his navy blue jumper, Ben knew the man was part of the security force the troupe's promoter had provided to steward their events.

His feet made no noise on the peat as he made his way through the shadowy nether regions of the warm-up area, finding it deserted except for Jakob and Gyorgy, who stood holding three horses apiece, blankets thrown over their saddles, patiently waiting for their next stint under the spotlights. Ben kept his eye on them, but they were facing the other way and he passed unseen into the walkway that led to the stable area.

Surprisingly, there were lights on in the barn.

Ben's steps faltered. He'd pictured himself moving quietly among the horses in the semi-dusk, able to duck down and merge with the shadows in the unlikely event that anyone came along. This put a different slant on things. He would have to try and locate the light switches because, lit as it was, he'd feel uncomfortably exposed. How could he, of all people, ever convincingly explain away his presence in a barn full of horses?

As it turned out, the question was irrelevant. He turned the last corner to see that Tamás was already there, his veterinary holdall open on the ground at his feet and a bowl of pinkish water beside him as he tended to a gash on the neck of one of the herd.

‘What's happened?' Ben enquired as he approached.

Tamás looked round.

‘Oh, they all tried to come through the gateway at the same time and that horse of Nico's kicked out. He's a troublemaker, that one.'

‘I thought they were unshod,' Ben said,
observing a neat row of stitches in a shaven area on the animal's neck.

‘I think he was pushed against the gatepost, where the metal sticks out,' Tamás said, indicating the catch.

‘Shouldn't you be riding? Who's taken your place?'

‘Jeta. She has plaited her hair and put it under the hat, so to look like a man.' The vet turned back to his stitching. ‘She loves to show that she can do what the men do.'

‘So, which horse is the troublemaker?'

Tamás didn't look round, but there was a sudden stillness about him.

‘The big brown one,' he said, after a moment.

‘It's a nice-looking horse.'

‘Yes.'

‘Why did you call it Nico's horse?'

Ben kept his tone casual and Tamás's reply was equally so.

‘Oh, when we bought them he said it was the pick of the bunch, so whenever it makes trouble I say, “That's your horse again, Nico!” and he scowls so.'

He produced a fairly accurate, if exaggerated, impersonation of Nico in one of his more stormy moods and Ben laughed, allowing Tamás to believe he'd carried the moment.

Two more deft stitches and the vet straightened up. In the arena the music changed, heralding András and Miklós with their clowning routine which would be interrupted, as usual, by Nico's dramatic entrance, hanging precariously under Duka's neck.

‘He'll be fine now,' Tamás said, patting his patient. ‘And I must go. It is almost time for the finale.'

He turned the horse loose with the others and picked up his bag.

‘I haven't time to put this back. Could you look after it for me, Ben?'

‘Yeah, no problem.' He fell into step beside Tamás, taking the bag from him, glad to be able to postpone the examination of Nico's troublemaking horse.

The mood was high after the performance. The ‘meet the cast' session seemed to go on for ever, and a cameraman sent by Ben's own editor begged a photocall with Nico and the others to get some promotional shots to flag up his article.

When the horses were all settled and the last members of the public seen off the premises, the troupe headed noisily towards Gyorgy's wagon for the usual post-performance gathering.

‘Ben? Are you coming?' Nico called, seeing him fall behind.

‘Yeah, be with you in a minute. Just got to speak to my editor.' Ben waved him on.

‘All right, but don't be too long, my friend, or Emil will have drunk all the beer!'

He dodged as the portly Emilian aimed a lazy roundhouse at his head, and they were laughing as they made their way across the crisply frozen grass to where the canteen shone like a beacon in the darkness.

Moving swiftly, Ben retraced his steps to the stable complex and climbed stiffly over the locked
steel gate that secured the area. He'd found out from Jakob that two security guards now patrolled the buildings at night, courtesy of the Csikós' promoter, who was obviously keen that nothing further should occur to deter them from returning to England. He'd been glad to learn that the men weren't accompanied by dogs and, from what he'd seen so far, they tended to do their rounds together, for the most part chatting and only occasionally shining their torches into darkened corners.

So it proved to be. Waiting until they had wandered down to the barns and back, Ben jogged down there himself, sliding the heavy door open a few inches and slipping through. Leaning back against the door he looked around him, breathing heavily and wishing his ribs didn't feel as though a herd of elephants had used him as a doormat.

The moon was three-quarters full and four sizeable polycarbonate roof panels let in a surprising amount of light, by which he could make out the shapes of the ten horses inside, all gathered around the two wall-mounted, galvanized steel hayracks. Their scent came to him, along with the usual sweet, dungy, dried-grassy smell of stables the world over. The atmosphere was calm, the air filled with the wonderfully contented sound of many sets of equine teeth munching on soft meadow hay, and the temperature was several degrees warmer than it had been outside. Every now and then, one of the horses would snort and blow as dust tickled its nostrils, but, although one or two looked up at
Ben's entrance, none of them seemed unduly worried by his presence.

So far, so good.

On the peaty floor, just inside the door and still outside the horses' enclosure, two or three bales of hay had been left, presumably ready for use the next morning. Ben dropped his car keys beside these, kicking some loose hay over them. This, he hoped, would provide him with a backup story if, God forbid, he should need it.

This done, and having taken a quick look to check that the guards hadn't unexpectedly returned, there was nothing further to delay his foray with the scanner. Taking one or two deep breaths to try and bring his heart-rate down into the low hundreds, Ben lifted a rope halter from a nail by the door, threaded it over his arm to keep his hands free, and let himself through the gate into the horses' enclosure.