'Shit. I thought they'd given up trying to compete with the Meadowlands.'
'The city needs the tax revenues, so they decided to give it another shot. They refurbished the place and opened up for night racing about a month ago. They're getting good crowds.'
There was a prolonged silence on the other end of the line, then, 'Maybe the fact that the place will be open for business could work to our advantage. Horse players don't give a shit about anything but the tickets in their hands and what's happening on the track. The parking lot will be jammed with cars, and you should be able to move with the crowds. But you're there and I'm here; you have to make the decision.'
There was no real decision to make, Veil thought. If they were captured, Toby would die, anyway. 'Tonight,' he said.
'Okay. I'll leave John near a gate with the engine running, and I'll come in for you. Where will you be?'
'It'll be better if we stay with the crowds until it's time to split. Make it near the rail at the west end of the track.'
'Nine-thirty?'
'Nine-thirty.'
'How's the girl holding up?'
'She's all right.'
'Tough cookie.'
'Yeah. I hope to hell John thought to put a bottle of Scotch in that black bag of his.'
'Would you believe he didn't?'
'But there's always the Walrus to think of these things, right?'
'Do sharks shit in the ocean? A quart of Chivas, gently filed between analgesics and antibiotics.'
'See you later.'
'Yup.'
Veil and Reyna, with Toby propped up between them, stood near the outer restraining wall as the fourth race began. The K'ung, his bandaged head covered by one of the three hats Veil had taken from a maintenance equipment room, was conscious but leaning heavily on Reyna. Reyna stood with both arms wrapped around him, fingers tightly gripping his blue coveralls, trying to make it appear that they were lovers. Veil carried the Nal-toon, wrapped in a plastic trash bag.
As Walrus had suggested, no one in the crowd pressing around them paid the slightest bit of attention to anything but the details of their own special world, dominated by running horses and parimutuel tickets.
'Veil,' Reyna whispered, 'I'm afraid.'
'We're almost home free.'
'I'm still afraid. What you say is going to happen just seems too easy.'
Veil glanced at Toby. The bushman's open eye was glassy, and he was bent forward with both hands pressed to his stomach. Sweat ran off his face in steady, glistening rivulets. Still, despite his obvious pain, Toby seemed to Veil strangely serene—as if the K'ung had given himself up totally to their care and was no longer concerned with what happened.
'You're just hooked on excitement and having to do things the hard way,' Veil replied softly, reaching around Toby and gently squeezing Reyna's shoulder. 'Don't worry. Walrus will walk us out of here to the car, and everything's going to be fine.'
Reyna did not reply, and Veil glanced at his watch; it was nine twenty-five. He resisted the impulse to turn and try to see if Walrus was making his way down through the crowd toward them, for he did not want the people behind him to glimpse his face before it was necessary.
The roar of the crowd subsided at the finish of the race— only to be supplanted by a curious beating sound that came from somewhere in the darkness high above the racetrack. Veil cocked his head, listening intently.
'Holy shit.'
'Veil, what's the matter?'
'Let's go,' Veil said, gripping Toby's arm by the elbow and pulling the K'ung under the rail. 'I do believe our ride is here.'
'Wh—'
'Our chauffeur's decided on an alternate mode of transportation. Damn it, Reyna,
The beating sound came closer, falling out of the sky just above the harsh glow cast by the floodlights circling the central oval. Two jockeys cooling out their mounts sharply reined in their horses at the sight of the three people crossing the dirt track in front of them; one horse bridled, throwing its rider.
A low murmur came from the crowd, quickly rose to an excited roar that had nothing to do with racehorses.
Veil and Reyna, dragging Toby between them, were already halfway to the center of the grass oval when the Jet Ranger helicopter, its running lights out and its identification numbers masked, dropped into the brilliant sea of light, bounced once, then came to rest on the grass.
As had often happened to him in combat, Veil now experienced the strange sensation that he existed in a world apart from everything that was happening around him. Despite the din of the crowd and the beat of the helicopter blades, Veil had a peculiar sense of quiet inside his mind in which particular sounds were amplified—his own breathing, their muffled footsteps on the grass, Toby's hoarse, tortured gasps as he tried to run, stumbled, and was dragged forward.
And then they were at the helicopter. Walrus, a hulking man with massive, sloping shoulders and a face that was a map of scar tissue, was seated at the controls of the Jet Ranger, casually holding out a tumbler half filled with Scotch. A young man with smooth, handsome features and prematurely gray hair was leaning out of the open cargo bay, his hand extended. Dr. John Schneider grabbed Toby's hand and pulled him into the helicopter while Reyna jumped up and rolled inside.
Veil handed the Nal-toon to Schneider, then planted his palms on the metal edge and prepared to leap into the cargo bay.
Someone was tugging at his leg. Without turning, Veil swung his fist behind him. His knuckles hit bone, and the hands came off his leg. With Schneider pulling on his collar, Veil leapt into the cargo bay and grabbed the glass from Walrus's hand as the scar-faced man pulled back on the control stick and the craft rose into the air.
'Cheers,' Veil said with a laugh as he braced himself against a strut and downed a Scotch.
'What was the order of finish in that last race?' Walrus asked as he banked to the left and just cleared the tops of the flags on the track's grandstand. 'I couldn't see the board from up there.'
'Sorry, I missed it too,' Veil replied. 'I was looking at my watch.'
Walrus grunted, then turned his attention to the craft's small radar screen, on which three blips had suddenly appeared. Reyna, who had been shrieking with exultant laughter and pounding the floor, abruptly sobered when she saw that Toby had passed out. John Schneider, who had been examining Toby's head wound, checked the K'ung's pulse, then quickly administered an injection.
'I think he'll be all right,' Schneider announced calmly.
'Reyna,' Veil said, 'meet Dr. John Schneider, our onboard medico.'
'Thank you so much, Doctor,' Reyna said, tears springing to her eyes.
'My name's John,' Schneider said easily, without looking up from Toby, 'and you're quite welcome. Who could turn down a free trip to Africa?'
'Walrus,' Veil said as he poured himself another drink, 'you were always a showboat, but this is ridiculous.'
'Yeah,' Walrus replied absently as he continued to study the blips on the radar screen. 'Sorry about the change of plan. I sent Raskolnikov out on the point a couple of hours ago, and he reported an inordinate number of policemen taking an inordinate interest in every car leaving the track. All things considered, an airlift seemed like the best idea. Raskolnikov couldn't come in and tell you, because we were afraid he'd be spotted.'
'How the hell did you come up with a Jet Ranger in two hours?'
'Ah, my friend, you wound me. You don't think I make contingency plans?'
'Sorry I asked.'
'Reyna?' Walrus said, reaching back with his right hand. 'As you may have guessed, I'm the Walrus. Come up
