Secretariat Reborn (31 page)

“How much extra?” asked the sheik.

“Another ten million,” said Christian.

“Twenty million!” said Price. “That’s outrageous. The colt’s run only one allowance race. He’s not even a stake winner. The sheik won’t pay it.”

“I think he will,” said Christian. “The sheik knows a great horse surfaces only once in a lifetime. Man o’ War in the first part of the century, and Secretariat in the second half. I’ve heard Derby winners can go for fifty million. Twenty million is cheap.”

“You are correct,” said the sheik.

“I’ll have a contract drawn up,” said Christian, “that I’m selling you a two-year-old horse, and I’ll guarantee he’s sound and healthy, but that’s all. Also in the contract, I want the chance to buy him back if you decide to sell.”

“I will not be selling him,” said the sheik. “My lawyers shall look over the contract before we exchange the money and horse.”

Christian glared at Price. “Is this son of a bitch gonna be my
colt’s trainer? He’s known for maiming and killing horses so he can collect on their insurance.”

Price abruptly rose. “That’s bullshit!”

The sheik raised his hand, motioning for Price to sit down. “I have never heard such things about Mr. Price, but I assure you that no harm shall come to your colt. He will have a round-the-clock security guard posted at his stall. As for Mr. Price, I have agreed to let him handle your colt, since he found the horse and kept me abreast of his workouts and races.”

Price’s mouth bent into a settling-the-score grin.

“All right,” Christian said. “As long as there’s a guard, I’ll do the deal. I don’t want anything bad happening to my colt.”

“And neither do I,” said the sheik. “My veterinarians shall be at your colt’s barn first thing in the morning and perform the health examination.”

Christian nodded. “My stepfather is a lawyer. He’ll draw up the contract and fax it to me. If the deal goes through, I’ll stop by the racing office and list Price as my new trainer. He can pick up the Jockey papers and give them to you. After the vet exam, your lawyers can look over the contract. We sign it. You give me a certified check, and I’ll hand over the colt.” He stood up from his seat.

The sheik also rose. “It has been a pleasure, Mr. Roberts. For one so young, you certainly are a shrewd businessman.”

“I’m a fast learner,” Christian said, and they shook hands.

Christian picked up the bucket and left the restaurant. On the long walk back to the barns, he pulled out his cell phone and called Frank at his law office.

He and his stepfather reviewed the details in the contract. The purchase agreement would state that for twenty million, Sheik Abdul was buying a two-year-old horse and nothing else—no mention that it was a registered Thoroughbred and could be raced or bred. Christian would warranty that the colt was free of liens and encumbrances and, on the date of exchange, the horse was sound and healthy. The
sheik would give Christian first right of refusal if the horse was put up for sale.

“Twenty million,” said Frank. “You actually have a horse worth that amount and a buyer for it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Christian said. He had walked past the guard station and stood on the side of the road across from the first barn. “Frank, I need to ask you something, as my lawyer and not as a stepfather. If it’s discovered that this horse has different DNA than from the horse listed on the registration papers, will this contract protect me from a lawsuit or from being charged with fraud?”

“Does this horse have the wrong DNA?”

“Yes.”

Frank was quiet for a moment. “If the sheik signs this contract, it’d be hard for him to win a lawsuit, and a prosecutor would have an even tougher time proving fraud. First of all, you have only guaranteed a two-year-old horse. The horse’s name and registration numbers are not on the contract, no mention that the horse is even a purebred. Did you make any oral promises to the sheik, like this horse will win races?”

“No, I was careful. I implied a little, said a Derby winner was worth fifty million, but I only stated that the colt was probably the fastest two-year-old in the country. And that’s true. I even made sure that I didn’t give the registration papers to the sheik. I said I’d list Price, the sheik’s trainer, as my new trainer. That way, he goes to the racing office and gives the horse’s papers to the sheik.”

“It sounds like you’ve covered all the bases,” said Frank. “I suppose you don’t want to tell me the whole story about this colt?”

“I’d rather not, at least not yet.”

“Well, this sheik is not going to be happy when he finds out you switched horses.”

“Switched horses? I didn’t—” A grin slowly emerged on Christian’s lips as he thought about it. “Ya know, Frank that’s an interesting concept. This sheik and trainer screwed me and Dad out of a horse. It’s now payback time.”

“Okay, I’ll fax the contract to your hotel. Call if you need me.”

Christian walked down the road and passed more barns. When he initially got Mystery, he had every intention of keeping his promise to his father and fulfilling his dream; race the colt, win the Triple Crown and Breeders’ Cup, make a ton of money, and then retire Mystery and geld him. All the secrecy and lying would be over.

After learning how Secretariat had affected nearly every soul in the country, he knew it would never be over, though. The horse’s fame would last a lifetime, a lifetime of deceit and guilt, the dream becoming an endless nightmare. The fame and money wasn’t worth it, at least not to Christian. He had earlier decided that Mystery had run his last race, and he’d tell Allie everything, but then the sheik called, and he saw another way out, a way to get even.

He reached the small barn where the day’s winning horses were kept until their blood and urine were checked for drugs. If a horse didn’t pee, he could be there for some time. In the shade of a large oak, he leaned against the trunk and waved to Allie ten yards away where she walked Mystery around the small shed row.

She smiled at him, her eyes bright with elation. Like his father, she was a horse trainer with the same hopes and prayers—that some day a magical horse would come along and take her over the rainbow. That day and the big red horse had come.

“Shit,” he said. He was about to shatter her dreams. How and when should he tell her that he had sold her magical horse out from under her? No doubt she would be extremely upset, probably furious.

All this time he had followed his father’s advice and sworn to secrecy, not disclosing to Allie that Mystery was a clone, keeping her clear of the scandal. How could he explain the colt’s sale without telling all? He wondered how she would handle it, being hot tempered when it came to her horses. Could she keep her cool when they signed the contract and the sheik and Price walked away with her baby?

“We’re celebrating tonight,” she cheerfully called to him.

He produced a phony grin and nodded.

To not tell her prior to the sale—my God, it would blow her mind. He pictured her bewildered face when they led Mystery away, followed by her questions, then the rage. Their relationship might not survive the betrayal.

At the end of the hotel corridor, Christian stood in front of the ice machine and filled a small plastic bucket. He slipped a few dollars in the nearby soda machine. With ice and a few Cokes, he trudged back to his room like a man walking to the gallows. Entering the room, he heard the shower water stop.

“Allie, you want a cocktail?” he called into the bathroom.

She stuck her wet head out the door. “I sure do,” she said with a smile.

Her smile—so beautiful and sincere, never faked—it could light up the darkest room and ease his miseries. It told him how good things were. He wondered now if he would ever see that smile again. He picked up the rum bottle and fixed two cocktails. Holding a drink, he collapsed in a chair by the sliding glass doors.

Allie came out of the bathroom wrapped only in a white towel, the tresses of her blonde hair still dripping. “Where should we go for dinner?” she asked and picked up other drink.

“Allie, sit down. We need to talk,” he said, his expression deadpan serious.

Her smile vanished, and she slowly sat down on the bed, facing him. “Christian, you’re rid of Vince. You own a spectacular colt, and our life together, I thought, was pretty good, but you’ve been brooding for weeks. I hope you’re finally ready to tell me what’s eating you.”

“I sold Mystery.”

“What!” She leaped to her feet, spilling her drink.

“Sheik Abdul is paying me twenty million. They’re picking him up tomorrow.”

“No, no, no, Christian. Mystery’s time was better than the best
three-year-olds. He’s got a great shot at winning the Triple Crown, Breeders’ Cup, and even the Dubai Cup. The purses alone would be about twenty million. And after racing, his stud fee would be like Storm Cat’s, five hundred thousand a pop, a minimum of fifty mares a year, that’s twenty-five million the first year in your pocket. Even if you did sell him, a syndicate would probably give you half a billion for him. You’re crazy to go through with this deal and, of all people, with that fucking sheik and Price.”

Christian stood and stared out the glass doors at the empty racetrack below. “Mystery is not worth anything. And if I kept him, I decided today would have been his last race.”

“What the hell, Christian?”

“Allie, he’s a clone.”

The vets and their assistants had come early in the morning. They took X-rays of Mystery, scoped his lungs, and performed blood work. In the end, the colt received a clean bill of health. Allie had held the lead and stroked him during the procedures, speaking softly to the majestic colt, her eyes slightly puffy and bloodshot from the previous night’s tears. Mystery kept nudging her, waiting for his saddle, so he could go to the track for their daily exercise.

Christian had stood in the stall doorway and watched in silence. Since rising that morning, dressing, and driving to the barn, he and Allie barely spoke. After the night before, there was nothing more to say. He had utterly killed the fantasy.

She had learned everything about Mystery and the cloning. To his surprise, she never became angry once he told her, but was more in a state of shock. She tried to put on a strong front, saying horses, unlike cats and dogs, rarely had lifetime owners. She was used to losing horses. Mystery was just another horse passing through her life. That front didn’t last long. She broke down and cried, her tears evolving to a numbing grief, as if a loved one had died. She was now going through the motions, like picking out the casket and burial plot, trying to get through the day and sale.

Christian was also despondent. He loved the horse, but he had found it was the best way to pull the plug and get resolution. He would get the money, and in doing so, take his revenge against the sheik and Price for cheating him and his father. When the sheik learned that Mystery could not be raced or bred, Christian figured he would easily buy back the colt.

A large limo pulled up to the barn. Price and the sheik and several of his men dressed in their Arab garb got out, along with two white men in dark suits, probably the lawyers.

“Mr. Roberts,” said the sheik, strolling, along with his group, toward him and Allie, who stood by Mystery’s stall. “You haven’t changed your mind?”

“No.” Christian shook his head. He handed the sheik an envelope containing the contract and health certificate. The sheik passed them to one of the suits.

Allie shuddered. “I can’t do this. I’ll be in your SUV.” She hugged Mystery’s neck and kissed his nose, and then walked off, wiping more tears away with her sleeve.

A lawyer read the short contract and looked at Christian with a baffled expression. He turned to the sheik. “Sheik Abdul, I urge you not to sign this contract. It does not have the horse’s birth date, sire, or dam, or even the horse’s name. The Jockey registration number is missing that would confirm you’re buying a purebred Thoroughbred. Delay the sale for one hour, and we’ll draw up a new and complete contract.”

“Nope,” said Christian. “We sign this one or nothing at all. I said I’d only guarantee a sound two-year-old, and that’s all.” He chuckled a little. “If you think I’m trying to pull a switch, you can check the colt’s lip tattoo.”

“Sheik Abdul,” said Price, “this is the colt that broke a track record yesterday. I guarantee it. We’ll have the horse and his papers. That’s all we need. This contract is meaningless.” The trainer was so eager to get his hands on Mystery that he was helping Christian make the deal.

The lawyer whispered into the sheik’s ear. “My lawyer still suggests a stronger contract,” said the sheik. “Surely, Mr. Roberts, you can wait another hour.”

“Look, sheik,” said Christian, “I was up all night with an upset girlfriend who’s also the horse’s trainer. She doesn’t want me to sell and definitely thinks the colt is worth more. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I need to hold off and consider other offers.” He turned and took a few steps toward his SUV.

“Wait, Christian,” Price called and turned to the sheik. “Sheik Abdul, you’ll never find another colt like this.”

The sheik ran his fingers through his beard. “You win, Mr. Roberts. Against my lawyer’s advice, I will sign your contract.”

Christian glanced back at them, crossed his arms, and hesitated long enough to make them sweat. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “Let’s do it then.”

After he and the sheik signed the contract, Christian was given the check. Price placed a lead on Mystery and brought the big, handsome colt out of the stall. With a toothy grin, Price displayed the colt before the sheik.

Mystery, unfamiliar with the strange handler, swiftly lifted a back leg and cow-kicked Price, hurting the trainer’s leg and confidence.

Christian enjoyed watching a red-faced Price hobble from the minor injury. But when his colt was led away, Christian bit his lip and became solemn. Halfway down the courtyard, Mystery stopped and looked back at Christian. His large intelligent eyes seemed to question, “Why are you not leading me? Where is Allie?” Price tugged on his lead and got him moving again.

Christian felt sentimental moisture growing in his eyes.
Don’t worry, boy. We’ll be together again, I promise
.