Jungle Of Steel And Stone (29 page)

"A piece of cake. I made it into a stand of trees, hid the Nal-toon behind one, sat down, and started screaming. When the cops came, I just pointed and said that my boyfriend was chasing some crazy, naked black man who'd tripped over us. They ogled me for a while, then ran on. And here I am."

"I'm suitably impressed."

Reyna touched the unconscious Toby's forehead. "Lord, Veil, he's burning up."

"I know. We're running out of time. Check the parked cars and see if there are keys in any of them."

Reyna ran up and down the block, trying the doors and looking into the windows of the parked cars. She darted across the street, repeated the procedure, then ran back to Veil. "Nothing," she said, panting. "Do you want me to steal a police car?"

"No. They'd have us in five minutes. I could break into one and try jumping it, but the cops could be coming out of there anytime now. I'm afraid that carrying around Toby and the Nal-toon makes us a bit conspicuous." He paused, thinking, finally continued, "We're too close to what we want to risk losing it all by rushing things. The whole area's probably crawling with cops. After all that shooting in the cemetery, there could be roadblocks. What we need is a place to hole up, at least for a couple of hours."

"Veil, the racetrack! Aqueduct's only a few blocks away. If we could get in, there'd be water to cool Toby, and telephones! Do you think—"

"I certainly do," Veil said. "Let's go."

"Toby must be getting awfully heavy."

"No. Keep a steady pace. We're exposed now, and looking like we're in a big hurry will only draw more attention. Stay close and try to keep the Nal-toon between us.

They walked on, Reyna keeping close to Veil and using the Nal-toon and her shoulder to help support Toby's weight as best she could. People stopped and stared at them, but they continued walking at an even pace, their eyes straight ahead.

"I can see the parking lot!" Reyna cried as they turned a corner. "Veil, we're going to make it!"

Suddenly Toby stirred, opened his eye, spoke.

"Veil? Toby says that he can walk."

Veil set Toby on his feet. The K'ung swayed unsteadily, but remained on his feet. Reyna pressed the Nal-toon against his chest. Toby's arms came up, wrapped themselves tightly around his god. Veil and Reyna gripped Toby's arms, and they hurried forward until finally they stepped over a chain into the darkness of one of the racetrack's vast, empty parking lots.

"I'll run around," Reyna said. "There
has
to be some way for us to get in."

"No time," Veil said, taking the gun from the waistband of his jeans. "Too many people saw us, and I don't want to be wandering around if a police car comes cruising into this lot."

Using rags from a trash can to muffle the pistol's report, Veil fired two shots at the lock on one of the gates; the bullets served only to jam the locking mechanism. He was successful at a second gate; the first bullet pierced the lock pins cleanly and forced them apart. Reyna opened the gate, closed it behind them, and they moved into the racetrack.

T
he enormous clock on the wall over the bank of pay phones read eleven o'clock. A few of the trainers and jockeys who had arrived before dawn were still working their horses on the track, but the stands were empty—at least for the time being. There had been a few policemen wandering through the complex, but fewer than Veil had expected.

The phones were in the open, at the junction of a long concourse and an exit ramp. Hunched down behind a row of seats just behind the ramp, Veil scanned the area around him. Satisfied that there was no one around, he vaulted over a steel railing to the ramp, then hurried to the nearest phone. He dropped a quarter in the slot and dialed the number Walrus had given Reyna. The phone was answered in the middle of the first ring.

"Yeah."

"Walrus, we have a problem."

"Where are you?"

"Aqueduct. It looks pretty quiet around here at the moment, but the police must be watching the neighborhood."

"Oh, you bet your ass they are. Besides the police, you've got what must be half the population of New York City wandering around Queens looking for the three of you. You'll have to wait until after dark."

"That's a long time to wait, Walrus. Toby's living on borrowed time. Is John there?"

"He's on another line talking to my documents people in Canada. You want me to get him?"

"No. There's nothing he could really tell me from there, anyway. I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that every hour counts with Toby."

"I hear what you're saying, Veil." There was a long pause, and then the mercenary on the other end of the line continued, "If you want, I'll bring a car over right now and take you out. What worries me is the possibility that a car going into an empty parking lot will attract attention; then we have to get the three of you and the idol out and into the car. If there are eyes on the place, we'll be fucked. If you can hold things together until tonight, at least it will be dark."

"We'll still have a problem, Walrus. They've got night racing here again."

"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,
come!"

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."