He would not hear of Quantrill's paying for his meal. 'In my own city of Merida, I could find no better companions,' said Sorel, who knew Merida like the back of his hand. 'Please be my guests at the gaming tables this afternoon, gentlemen. Or perhaps we could bring cards to my room. No risks to anyone,' he added, relishing his secret play on words.
Quantrill burped gently. 'Much obliged, Matthias. But I always take a solo walk after a meal like this. Later, maybe.' He did not add that his stroll would take him to the desk clerk at the Early Bird.
'After siesta, then?'
Quantrill pushed his chair back and returned Sorel's smile. 'Probably around dark,' he hazarded, getting up. 'I kinda thought I'd catch a stage to Soho and the Thrillkiller this afternoon.'
'An excellent idea,' Sorel replied. He had his own reasons for learning the layout adjacent to the delta landing strip. Quickly he turned his smiling glance to the others. 'Would you gentlemen be my guests for such a trip?'
'Whatever,' said Longo lazily.
'Okay by me,' Slaughter replied. 'How 'bout it, Coulter?'
Quantrill made a quick decision. This was probably a wild goose chase anyhow; why not combine business with pleasure? Good sense should have told him why not; yet, 'Fine,' he said. 'See you at the tables.'
Watching Quantrill's exit, Longo muttered, 'You sure we want that guy underfoot?'
'As cover, yes. We may even find that we need him. A man who uses my money can be surprisingly grateful,' Sorel murmured. As he signed the tab, Sorel reflected that this was true only for simple, friendly fellows like Coulter. San Antonio Rose was a different sort: short on gratitude, long on greed. He would follow orders — making three singleton reservations for that delta at separate hotels, for instance — only because he would be paid in cash for his services.
Quantrill had found the same to be true of desk clerks. Even if he'd had a shield to flash, he would have used a crisp bill instead. It got you the information, sometimes more of it than you expected, without giving your own status away. This time he learned that the Early Bird housed a pair of tough-looking gents who might be the 'friends' he sought to surprise. For a second bill, the clerk arranged to be relieved for ten minutes and, finding the pair's room empty, made his brief reconnaissance of the gaming rooms. He returned beaming, having found both men at the roulette table.
Quantrill made a wary approach, reminded himself that the Gov had insisted he obtain backups before drawing on Felix Sorel. He found one man consulting a programmable calculator, nervously scanning the display as he muttered orders to a companion. They were only men with a system to beat the wheel, and it was clearly failing. They did fit the general descriptions he gave the desk clerk, but he'd wasted forty dollars to locate a couple of incurable optimists. Quantrill sighed and moved on. Whatthehell, he might as well find Matthias and escort him to the Thrillkiller complex. There was something about the Mexican that he liked, beyond his willingness to spend money. Maybe, he thought, it was that aura of easy self-confidence…
Chapter Sixty
The stage to the Thrillkiller complex was loaded to its running boards, and two small boys were 'forced' to sit up with the driver to their whoops of delight as they looked down on the rumps of the four-horse team. Their parents sat with Sorel's party and discussed the Thrillkiller; that is. until they saw it. Rounding a bend, the occupants of the stage all fell silent before the spectacle that sprawled the length of the valley.
They passed the quaint urban jungle of Soho to the left, on their way to a broad ground-level parking area a kilometer or so farther. A pair of sunken hotels flanked two sides of the parking area, and a vast hangarlike structure, housing most of the amusement rides, loomed beyond. Stretching alongside these structures, angling toward the butte at the head of the valley, was a well-surfaced airstrip with hangar space for small visiting craft as well as Heinkels and Spitfires. But no one spent much time staring at these secondary attractions. Even Sorel, who had come solely to see the delta moorage, stared in awe, speechless as the two boys who were first to spot a Thrillkiller capsule spiraling down from the lip of the butte several kilometers away.
From this distance, only the silver two-place capsule and its maglev rails glinted in the sun, the support structures painted to blend into the ochre tints of Wild Country. When Quantrill spotted it, the tiny bubble-topped dart was emerging from its downward spiral and onto the high-speed straight, heading in their general direction. It dropped from sight as the stage negotiated a gentle bend toward the parking area and did not come into view again until they were passing the natural earth berm of the nearest hotel. It was still nearly a kilometer away, but now over the clip-clopping and homely squeaks of a horse-drawn stage they could hear the synthesized turbine howl of the capsule. Even at this distance, they found it easy to believe that the thing was streaking along at supersonic velocity.
The little capsule banked into a broad turn, arrowing nearer, then sweeping to parallel the parking area before braking for its last series of gut-wrenching chicanes. In seconds it had disappeared, heading for the start- finish arcade near the other rides. 'That tears it,' said the father of the boys in a hushed voice. 'Nobody in his right mind would let his kids ride that thing by themselves.'
'That's the hypersonic track,' Quantrill offered. 'Besides, WCS won't let children ride alone.'
'Then that
'I'm with you,' Quantrill said, grinning. He could see his new friend Matthias studying the curve of the maglev rails, nodding, smiling. Chiefly for the Mexican's benefit and mindful of their heavy lunch, he added, 'It can empty a full stomach in a hurry, they say.'
Stepping from the stage near a berm walkway, they watched a double-decker London bus lurch away, half- filled with patrons, toward the distant Soho. The other passengers ambled away to leave Quantrill and his party alone. The place might be thronged by holiday season, but today the hubbub of foot traffic was light. Still gazing at the rails gleaming laserlike in the near distance, Sorel said, 'I would not have thought you could resist a challenge like that, Mr. Coulter. You have been here before, without trying this Thrillkiller?'
On his first trip Quantrill had been on duty for WCS, and in any case he had not given expensive thrill rides much thought at the time. A manhunter, even a part-time deputy, found challenges enough without creating them. 'I was with a miz,' he lied, and followed it up with another. 'Which reminds me, a girl I knew from Alpine used to work at one of these places. Really should look her up. If she's homesick, I could get lucky.' He winked. 'Where'll you three be in… oh. an hour, I reckon?'
Sorel laughed, accepting the fact that Sam Coulter liked to cruise for women alone. It also occurred to him that he could better study the delta moorage without Coulter. He looked around, saw the concession signs beyond an ornamental cactus garden, and pointed. 'Under the 'Dee and Dee' sign, then, in an hour.'
Quantrill entered the nearest hotel while Sorel and his companions strode off in the direction of the concessions. Longo, noting that the crowd was too sparse for his liking, said, 'I feel like we're naked out here in the open.'
'I must get a close look at the air terminal, such as it is,' said Sorel. 'Perhaps it would be better if you two separated and mingled with the tourists. If you pick up a little
Chapter Sixty-One
Quantrill drew a total blank in the modem hotels. The patrons sleeping in Soho, he teamed to his surprise, could only make reservations a week or more in advance. It made sense; WCS was not about to run such an expensive spectacle as the Battle of Britain when only a handful of paying guests were scheduled. The casual tourist was encouraged to visit Soho, but the last bus left Brewer Street at Big Ben's last stroke of ten every night. A very few hardy souls might stay in the pubs until someone called, 'Time, gents,' but they faced a long walk in darkness to the glow of the distant hotels, and Texas rattlers did not go to sleep with the sparrows.
