Felix Francis - Triple Crown

‘Maybe George Raworth is collecting semen from his colts and freezing it to breed from later, even if it’s not permitted by the rules.’

‘I very much doubt that,’ I said. ‘It’s not all that easy to get semen in the first place, not unless you have a mare on heat to get the colt excited. You would also need specialist collecting equipment, and I saw none of that during my search. And what would be the point? He couldn’t use the semen for breeding, anyway. Nowadays, every Thoroughbred foal has to be DNA-tested to confirm its parentage before it can be registered into the stud book.’

‘Then your guess is as good as mine,’ Tony said.

It was Sunday afternoon and I was behind the track kitchen, talking on the telephone. I had purposefully chosen a wide-open space so that no one could creep up to listen to my conversation without being seen. It also had the added advantage that I would be able to see any potential attacker from afar.

I spun through 360 degrees.

No eavesdroppers. And no Diego.

‘So what do we do now?’ Tony asked. ‘Don’t you think we have enough for a raid?’

‘I think we should wait a while longer,’ I said.

‘What for?’

‘Two reasons. First, I am interested in finding out what the semen is used for, and second, I am off to Pimlico tomorrow. I’ll be down there until after the Preakness. There would be no point in planning a raid here at Belmont if I’m not around to see any reaction if Raworth is forewarned.’

‘Is his whole operation moving down to Pimlico?’ Tony asked. ‘We could mount the raid there.’

‘He’s sending only five horses down in a truck — three run in the Preakness itself, and the other two in different races. The rest of them stay here.’

‘How did you manage to get yourself included?’ Tony asked.

‘I was lucky. In the right place at the right time. Four of the staff are going, including me, plus George Raworth himself.’

‘Well, it’s your call,’ Tony said. ‘Can the British do without you for another week?’

‘Paul Maldini was not expecting me back for at least two weeks.’

‘But it has already been two weeks since I met you at Dulles.’

So it had. Somehow, it didn’t seem that long.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I need a bit longer.’

‘Shall you tell Paul or shall I?’ Tony asked.

‘It might be better if it came from you,’ I said. ‘Tell him that I’m not coming back just yet.’

‘How long shall I say you’ll be?’ Tony asked.

‘You said to me in London that you needed me to work for you for as long as it takes. Paul Maldini was at that meeting. He didn’t object.’

I reckoned Paul hadn’t objected because he knew I was contemplating leaving the BHA. He was aware of my unhappiness that I no longer had the opportunity to work undercover. Perhaps he thought it was better to lend me to Tony for as long as it took, and then have me back, than to lose me altogether.

‘Tell Paul that it might take a little longer, that’s all,’ I said. ‘When is the Belmont Stakes?’

‘Not for another four weeks,’ Tony said. ‘You’re surely not thinking of working as a groom until then?’

‘For as long as it takes,’ I said.

On Monday morning, after normal stables and exercise, Keith, Diego, Maria and I loaded the special horse-transport that would take us the 200 miles southwest to Pimlico.

I was more used to British-style horseboxes than the huge eighteen-wheel articulated lorry with its massive cab that arrived for us at nine o’clock. It was similar to the one I had seen arrive at Churchill Downs to collect Hayden Ryder’s horses on the morning he’d been shot.

Quite apart from the five horses, there was a mass of other stuff to go — feed, tack, buckets, blankets, bedding, pitchforks and brooms — not to mention our own personal effects.

There had been a few murmurings from Raworth’s other grooms, but not because I had been chosen to go to Pimlico ahead of them, rather for the reason their individual workloads would increase here due to me being away.

Charlie Hern told them to shut up and get on with it, or leave. ‘There are plenty of others wanting your jobs,’ he warned them. In my opinion, it wasn’t the best example of how to conduct relations with one’s labour force, but I didn’t say so. I just got on with the loading.

Diego was a pain. Twice he purposely knocked things out of my hands as I was carrying them to the vehicle.

‘ Estúpido gringo, ’ he said each time. But he was the stupid one, I thought. I wouldn’t fancy a year on Rikers Island for any money.

George Raworth drove a white Jeep Cherokee four-by-four right up inside the barn at the far end from the office, next to the drug store.

Charlie Hern had been in there for a while busily filling boxes with pills, potions and other paraphernalia, and these were now put into the Jeep, along with the CryoBank flask.

George and Charlie carried the heavy white metal cylinder out of the drug store together, each holding one of the handles, and then they lifted it into the vehicle, placing it upright behind the front passenger seat. They did it when they thought all the grooms were otherwise engaged and wouldn’t notice. But I’d been keeping a special eye out to see if they would take it.

But I still had no idea why.

Finally, when everything else was packed, the five horses were loaded into the trailer.

I led Debenture out from Stall 2, patting him all the while on the neck to keep him calm. Horses generally don’t like any changes to their routine. It can make them nervous, and half a ton of skittish horseflesh can cause a lot of damage both to themselves and anyone close by. That’s partly why the five-year-old gelding went in first. He was the old man of the five, the other four being three-year-olds, and his presence on board should help settle the younger horses.

Next, Ladybird, the filly, was loaded, going into a stall at the rear of the trailer behind a solid partition. It was not ideal to take colts and a filly on the same transport, as the very presence of the filly could make the colts become excited. Hence the use of a solid partition and the placing of the filly at the rear so that, as the vehicle moved, the airflow prevented the colts from smelling her. I knew of one transport operator in England who sometimes resorted to smearing Vicks VapoRub into the colts’ nostrils to overpower the smell of fillies travelling in the same horsebox.

Fire Point was the last of the horses to be loaded.

He appeared to be in perfect condition, the muscles in his neck standing out sharply and those in his flanks rippling gently under his short summer chestnut coat. Keith coaxed him up the ramp and into his travelling stall in the trailer. All the horses had thick bandages wrapped around their legs and rubber boots on their hooves to reduce the chance of injury caused by a bump or kick, but Fire Point went in without anything more than a shake of his narrow head, as if he already knew he was the star of the show.

Keith and I rode in the back with the horses while Diego and Maria were up front in the cab with the driver. It was an arrangement with which I was very happy. I didn’t have to keep my eyes on Diego to prevent him niggling me, or worse, and I didn’t have to fight off Maria’s sexual advances. Not that I really wanted to, but the fallout from Diego wasn’t worth the reward.

Our route went right through New York City and I was able to glimpse some of the iconic sights of Manhattan, including the Empire State Building, before it all disappeared from view as we descended into the Lincoln Tunnel under the Hudson River, and on into New Jersey.

Keith lay down on some bales of straw and went to sleep, while I counted the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike, as in the Simon and Garfunkel song.