Page 33

The silence in the tack room was stifling, yet Popov looked relaxed.

Adrenaline pumped through Jake’s veins.

He had to find a way out.

When a horse whinnied outside the door, Popov glance away, and Jake dove toward him, slamming into him and knocking him backward.

At that instant, Maggie opened the door, ramming into the Russian from behind.

The gun went off, a whizzing sound as the bullet thudded into the rough wooden wall.

“Jake!”

Maggie shouted.

Still on their feet, the two men grappled for control of the weapon.

Clutching the Russian’s wrist, Jake twisted the gun barrel upward.

He heard Maggie’s gasp as the second muffled gunshot rained a shower of splinters down from the ceiling.

Maggie threw herself at the Russian, raking her nails across the side of his face.

Swearing, he slapped her viciously, knocking her into the corner.

Popov came after Jake.

Jake drove an elbow under the Russian’s chin and kicked Popov’s feet out from under him. Both men crashed to the floor, fighting for control of the weapon.

Popov rolled on top, his free hands curling around Jake’s throat, biting into his flesh and cutting off his air supply.

He could hear Maggie’s movements as she struggled to her knees and began frantically searching for a weapon.

The smell of Russian tobacco drifted up from Popov’s clothes as Jake pried the man’s fingers from around his throat, and his hand locked around Popov’s wrist.

The pistol moved between them, discharged, once, twice, both men jerking with the shock, the dull thuds muffled by the body the bullets smashed into.

The smell of gunpowder filled the room.

Maggie stood transfixed, an expression of horror on her face.

A warm, oozing wetness soaked the front of Jake’s once-white shirt.

A growing pool of crimson spread on the cold wooden floor.

“Jake,”

Maggie whispered, rushing to his side.

“It’s all right, it’s Popov’s blood, not mine.”

Jake shoved the Russian’s body away and surged to his feet.

“They’ve poisoned the water.

We’ve got to stop them!”

Jake charged for the door, but when it swung open, the black-haired man Jake had met at the tavern stood in the opening.

The man responsible for the attacks on Ellie and Shep.

“So, Comrade Straka, we meet again.”

The pistol in his black-gloved hand pointed directly at Jake.

Easing Maggie behind him, Jake could feel her trembling.

“You won’t get out of here alive,”

Jake said.

“Neither will you.”

Running footsteps sounded outside the door an instant before the door burst open, hurling the man forward as Clay crashed into him and the two men rolled in a jumble of arms and legs at Jake’s feet.

“Bloody bastard!”

Recognizing him as the man who’d attacked Ellie, Clay grabbed him by the shirtfront and punched him hard in the face.

Clay kept hitting him until his eyes rolled back and his jaw hung slack.

Clay’s arm went back to hit him again, but Jake caught his shoulder.

“They’ve poisoned the water! We’ve got to get to the horses!”

“Good Christ!”

Clay turned and ran back out the door, Jake and Maggie right behind him.

Shoving riders and grooms aside, they raced toward the barn where the horses were stabled.

Just ahead of them, Jake spotted Ellie and Daniel, running toward them.

“Popov’s dead.

They’ve poisoned the waterline that leads into the barns.

We’ve got to get the horses out!”

“Oh, God!”

Ellie started running toward Jube.

Clay ran toward Max.

“Split up,”

Daniel ordered Jake and Maggie.

“Cover as much ground as you can.

Get everyone to help.”

But when they reached the barn, they found the horror had already begun.

In the Canadian team stalls, two of the horses were down.

Others were snorting, pawing, and nickering wildly, their eyes rolled back until only the whites appeared.

Two horses in the British section, excited by the pandemonium around them, tried to climb over the top of the open stall doors.

On a bench outside, his neck stiff and his eyes bulging, one of the grooms thrashed against the building, his muscles twitching spasmodically.

The British chef d ‘equipe stood over him, calling out orders while one of the female riders knelt beside him trying to restrain the young man’s rigid, flailing body.

Don’t let them die, Jake thought.

Don’t let it be too late.

In minutes, word was spread that water had been poisoned.

Like the grooms and riders around him, Jake began jerking open stall doors, leading the horses to safety. One after another, they were led out and away from the death in the usually life-giving liquid.

Some of the animals hadn’t been watered since the first release of the deadly poison, so they were not at risk.

Others were reacting so violently to the excitement it was difficult to tell if they had been affected.

So far, none of the people or horses were dead.

An ambulance, its siren wailing in a high-low, sing-song manner, roared up in a cloud of dust.

Another siren rang out.

In seconds, white-coated attendants were directed to the groom who had drunk some of the water.

They set to work on him immediately, shoving a needle into his arm.

Others were being checked out, but it looked as if the only other victims were the horses.

Making a sweep of the barn, Jake approached Daniel, who’d been speaking in low tones to the ambulance attendants who worked over the groom.

“How is he?”

“They’re administering sodium pentobarbital intravenously.

They give him a good chance of recovery.

Our people are testing the water now, but as near as we can tell, the poison was being released in small doses.

Probably because the horses are watered at different times. They didn’t want to alert anyone before they’d gotten to them all.”

“There was a note,”

Jake said.

“It was signed by me, claiming I was the one responsible.

There’s a man in the tack room—“

Daniel’s palm settled gently on his shoulder.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a haphazardly folded sheet of white paper and handed it to Jake.

It was the note Popov had forged.

“Our people have taken care of the body and arrested the man they found in the tack room.

You take care of the note.”

Jake’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“Thank you, Daniel.”

Leaving the British and Canadians, he returned to the American section.

“The horses are all out of the stalls,”

Ellie told Jake as they approached.

“Most of them seem all right, but some of them…we can’t be sure.

Jube’s all right.

So is Rose. The vet’s with Lass. She doesn’t look good. Maggie’s helping Shep.”

“What about Max?”

Jake asked.

Ellie’s eyes filled.

“Max is down in his stall.”

Her voice broke.

“Clay needs help.”

“I’ll get Lee there as fast as I can.”

“Gerry went to get him.”

Wiping her eyes, she turned and raced back to Clay.

He was sitting on a mat of fresh straw on the floor of the stall, holding Max’s head in his lap, talking to him softly.

The stallion’s eyes were dilated, his muscles rigid then twitching, his teeth bared, his jaw clamped shut.

“Be careful,”

Clay cautioned.

“He may start convulsing again.”

Outside, people rushed past, horses whinnied, and grooms busied themselves carting the deadly water away.

“Where the hell is Lee?”

“Gerry went to get him.”

Kneeling next to Clay, Ellie touched his icy hand.

At the contact, the muscles in his forearm tensed.

With a slow breath, he forced himself to relax.

“He’ll be all right,”

Ellie said, fighting back fresh tears.

“He’s got to be.”

The vet ran up just then, Jake and Maggie right behind him.

“We’ve got to get an I.V. started,”

Lee said.

“Jake, get the oxygen.”

Another paroxysm struck, set off by the touch of the doctor’s hand as he slid in the needle.

Max went rigid, his eyeballs rolling up until only the whites appeared.

His body twitched spasmodically, hooves thrashing, head jerking, a terrible keening sound coming from deep inside.

A sob came from Ellie’s throat.

“He needs darkness and quiet,”

the vet said softly.

“As you just saw, even a touch can set off a spasm.”

Jake reappeared with the oxygen and as soon as the paroxysm had ended, Max’s soft dark muzzle was covered and the oxygen turned on.

“His pulse is extremely weak,”

Lee said.

“I’d say he’s taken the largest dose by far.”

A shudder rippled through Clay.

Ellie rested her cheek against his shoulder.

She could feel the fearful pounding of his heart.

“Will he make it?”

Clay asked while the vet checked the dosage and the short-acting barbiturate continued to flow.

“Too soon to tell.”

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Jake climbed to his feet and silently left them, joining Maggie outside the stall door.

He closed it behind him, throwing the stall into shadow.

Ellie swallowed past the thick lump in her throat.

“Is there anything else we can do?”

Lee released a sorrowful sigh and shook his head.

“At this point, I’m afraid not.

I’ve got to be truthful.

It doesn’t look good.”

Coming to his feet, he moved toward the door.

“I need to check on Lass.

I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Clay nodded.

Lee left them and the stall fell into semi-darkness.

Faint light slanted in through an air vent above the door.

Max whimpered and tried to lift his head, but the stallion was just too weak. His chest moved in short shallow pants.

“It’s all right, boy, you’re going to make it,”

Clay said softly, and refit the oxygen mask.

His hands shook where he held it over Max’s nose.

A shuddering breath whispered out.

“I can’t stand to see him like this,”

Clay said.

Ellie reached for his hand.

“Just keep talking to him, Clay, the way you always do.

I’m sure Max can hear you.

He’ll know you’re here.”

“Talk to him,”

Clay said, his voice turning gruff.

“Stupid for a grown man to talk to a horse.

He’s just an animal after all.

Just a dumb animal. If he dies, he dies. There are dozens of others who could take his place. He’s just a horse.”

Ellie laid her palm against Clay’s cheek.

It felt as cold as his hand.

His jaw was clamped, his muscles rigid, as if he shared his friend’s pain.

He turned his head away, but not before she felt the wetness on his cheeks that dampened her fingers.

“It’s all right, Clay.

I know you love him.”

“He’s just a horse,”

he repeated, but his voice cracked, making the words come out low and strained.

“Not to you,”

Ellie said softly.

“He’s Max.

And he’s your friend.”

Max’s shallow breathing filled the room.

The musky smell of straw mingled with the sweet smell of alfalfa and the stallion’s familiar scent.

He shuddered, grew rigid, then released a last, final, noiseless breath.

Clay closed his eyes, fighting the burning sting of tears and the terrible ache in his chest.

When he looked down at Max, a shaft of sunlight touched the stallion’s red-brown ears.

So much heart, he thought.

And wondered how he’d ever be able to replace him.

He felt like that same little boy who’d taken the jump wrong and broken his horse’s leg.

This time it wasn’t his fault but that didn’t stop the pain he felt inside.

They’d been a team, he and Max.

One of the best in the world. In Seoul, they might have proven it beyond a doubt. Without Max, Clay wasn’t certain he wanted to go.

He swallowed hard, his eyes still locked on the animal’s beautiful ears.

Just hours ago, Clay had been rubbing them as Max so loved.

They’d ridden well today, one of their best performances ever.

How much further might they have gone? What greatness could have been theirs? Together, they might have won the gold.

Lock it away , Clay told himself.

Forget the pain .

He had done it before.

He could do it again. He had Ellie to think of now.

Still, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t quite shut down his emotions.

In a last, small gesture of affection, Clay ran his hand along Max’s sleek neck as he had so many times before.

Such a beautiful animal, he thought.

Max managed a faint whiffle, and Clay started, realizing the stallion wasn’t yet dead.

“He’s a fighter, Clay,”

Ellie said softly.

With a steadying breath, Clay turned and buried his face in her hair.

Ellie’s arms went around his neck, and Clay just held her.

“Thank you,”

he said.

For understanding were his unspoken words.

“I love you,” she said.

In minutes that seemed hours, Lee returned.

“He’s still breathing.

He hasn’t given up yet.

If the spasms stop completely, we’ll administer a gastric lavage using a potassium permanganate solution. This isn’t over until it’s over.”

Clay felt a surge of hope.

He felt Ellie’s hand in his and laced their fingers together.

Later, during the long hours of the evening, Jake called the team together and explained what had happened.

He left out nothing, including the part he had played.

He didn’t ask for forgiveness, only that they try to understand.

His resignation, he promised—over their extremely vocal protests—would be tendered as soon as they reached the States.

In the end, he agreed to accompany the team to Seoul in an unofficial capacity.

Daniel asked that he explain the Soviet Government’s cooperation in the incident, the steps they were taking to apprehend the individuals responsible.

The Russians wanted it made clear that they were in no way sanctioning what appeared to be acts of violence by a small group of influential men bent on destroying U.S./Soviet relations.

Good will with the United States would continue, they promised.

Glasnost would succeed.

Jake prayed their words were true and wondered what earth-shattering changes might take place in the world if they were.

Ellie and Clay sat with Max throughout the night.

By morning it was obvious the big blood bay stallion was going to live.

Max nuzzled Clay awake where he lay sleeping next to Ellie on the straw.

Clay sat up.

Reaching out, he ran a hand along the animal’s powerful neck.

“So, you wouldn’t let them win.”

Max nickered as if he understood.

“You never did like to lose.”

Ellie came to her knees beside Clay.

“He’s all right?”

“Looks like he’s going to make it.

He’ll need some special pampering for a while, but he deserves it.”

Ellie slipped her arms around Clay’s waist.

“I knew he could do it.”

“I see Max is up before the two of you,”

Jake said as he opened the top half of the stall door, standing arm-in-arm with Maggie.

“Clay, I’m so glad for you,”

Maggie said.

“What about the others—Lass and the British groom?”

Clay asked.

“We got to them in time,”

Jake told him.

“The plan failed.

Everyone’s going to be okay.”

Ellie sagged with relief.

“That’s wonderful news.”

“I don’t want to think what would have happened if the plan had succeeded,”

Clay said.

Maggie leaned into Jake, who wrapped an arm around her.

“Everyone’s all right,”

Clay said.

“And it appears the two of you are going to be fine, as well.”

He smiled, dimpling his cheeks.

“We’re getting married.”

Jake looked at Maggie.

“We’d like you both to be there.”

Ellie grinned.

“We wouldn’t miss it.”

Max tossed his beautiful head and nickered.

“Apparently, Max approves.”

Everyone laughed.

“When?”

Clay asked.

“As soon as we get home. You?”

“The same.

Unfortunately, if I know my father, we’ll have to endure the whole damned ritual twice.

He’ll want some huge social affair, and I’m not about to wait that long.”

“Well, one thing’s certain,”

Jake said.

“There’ll be an error on the programs in Seoul.

There’ll be a new Chef d’ Equipe for the U.S.

team. And the assistant director and one of the riders will both have new last names.”

Ellie looked at Clay.

“In that case….”

She flashed him a challenging grin.

“One way or another—a Whitfield is bound to win the gold!”