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  “Who will I be competing against?”

  “The best of the best,” Jake said.

  “On an unknown horse?”

  “All you’ll have to do is put on a show, jump through the hoops. Make it look legit.”

  “I don’t know. This doesn’t sound right.”

  “You’d be riding again and possibly helping to save the lives of hundreds of people.”

  “Okay.” Edgar’s black eyes showed determination. “I’m willing.”

  Jake smiled. “Just for the record, I’m not sure you deserve my confidence after what you did to that horse owner. You mess with me, and I’ll make you sorry.”

  Edgar frowned at the floor. “I won’t.”

  “If I thought you would, I’d kick your butt out the back door.” Jake walked over and patted him on the back. “Meet me in the restaurant in ten minutes for lunch. From here on out, my friend, you watch my back, I watch yours.”

  Heads Up: Thank you for reading this far! The next book in the series, RELIC, is now available on Amazon. Grab a copy today. Now back to GHOST SHIP.

  CHAPTER 31

  Club Sustantivo

  January 7

  Standing at the rail, Jake had a nice view of his newly-leased racing facilities. The track had been graded and looked as smooth as the sea on a windless day. He got out a disposable cell phone and dialed.

  A woman answered the phone in Spanish.

  “Hablo con Diego, por favor?” Jake said. As vice president of Richter’s sporting division, Diego Petri managed a stable of the most successful racing horses in the world. He was a dangerous man because he not only worked for Richter, but also ran his own sports racket on the side. A couple of his athletes had had fatal accidents outside of competition, and there were rumors that they’d been killed for crossing Petri.

  “Mr. Petri is not available. May I take a message?”

  “I need to talk to him now. Tell him the horse is the stuff of legends and his rider is one of the most famous jockeys in the history of horse racing. My client might be willing to play ball with Mr. Petri, but I need to talk to him now—right now.”

  “Hold on, please, sir.”

  Jake waited.

  A deep voice came over the phone.

  “Petri here.”

  “Mr. Petri,” Jake said, “my name is Lee Butler. I have an opportunity for you, sir. I can assure you that this is no ordinary proposition.”

  “Look, Butler, I’m a busy man, so get on with it.”

  “As you probably know, a year ago, the horse racing world mourned the loss of Rodnell Faust, the legendary jockey who died in a plane crash over the Sahara after winning the Dubai race.”

  “I recall,” Petri said. “Cargo plane. The horse died too.”

  “Yes, very sad. I often think—”

  Petri cut Jake off. “I didn’t mourn his death. As I recall, I drank a bottle of Champagne. That guy beat my best horses every time, and he did it with two different mounts. His accident was the best thing that ever happened to me. Just mentioning his death brightens my day, but you better get to the point fast.”

  “Rodnell Faust is alive.”

  “What? Are you some kind of a nutcase?”

  “No, sir. Faust staged his death with the plan of starting a new life in another country with a new identity—and even got plastic surgery. His plan was to ditch the media attention and public acclaim, which had become overbearing and was making his life miserable. The poor guy couldn’t even go to the supermarket without getting mobbed.”

  “Poor guy—right. Every one of my jockeys would cut an old lady’s throat to share in half of Faust’s glory. I hear that rat made millions.”

  “Well, Faust learned very quickly that living off his winnings was a depressing way to exist. It was great for the first year, but after that, boredom set in, and he began to realize that he either had to get back into racing or he was going to die of apathy.”

  “This is some kind of joke, right?” Petri laughed. “Who put you up to this?”

  “I’m quite serious. Faust is not only alive, but will soon make a back-from-the-dead comeback tour—a potentially huge publicity event—and he will play ball with you. His new mount is the fastest yet. He’ll cut you in and ride for you too.”

  “He wants to race my horses? Why would he come to me?”

  “Because Richter is the master of publicity.”

  “Alright, give me your number so I can get back to you.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Petri. I’ve got other people to talk with today. Read the old papers. It’s well-known that Faust was having issues with his previous trainer. Now he wants a package deal.”

  “What’s the horse’s name?”

  “You’ll find out later. Everything is on the hush for now.”

  “Okay, let’s say I’m interested. How do I know Faust can deliver?”

  “Who else has won so many big races?”

  “It depends on the horse, and you don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Just give him a chance. If this horse is as fast as I say, you’ll get a chance to buy in.”

  “What do you want?”

  “That’s better. Faust is already in Chile and training his mount. If you want to inspect the goods, we need to arrange a race at your track.”

  “Slow down, partner. If Faust wants a trial, he’ll have to do it somewhere else.”

  “No deal. It has to be your training facility. It’s the only way to guarantee that Rodnell is not recognized. We need to control the timing of any press releases because a back-from-the-dead tour, if well-timed, has the potential to be a mega media event.”

  “Who are you anyway?”

  “A man with a lot of money. Other than that, I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. We’ll do the trial in three days.”

  “Sorry, I’ll be in Vegas on Wednesday. No way to get out of it.”

  “I have other people who are more motivated to work with Faust.”

  “Hold on a minute. I’m dead serious. One of my boys is boxing a championship match in Vegas. I’ve got over a million dollars riding on this just for starters.”

  “Friday or Saturday.”

  “Make it Friday, but if you’re messing around with me…” Petri laughed.

  CHAPTER 32

  San Juan Islands

  Taking a break from her constant research, Ashley found that the Friday Harbor marina was a quiet and peaceful place. She felt safe and relaxed away from the university. She was glad that Jake suggested she camp out on his boat. There were hundreds of other boats around, but not many people. She was sitting in a deck chair with her legs crossed and her feet resting on a cooler when the phone rang. It was Jake.

  “How are you?” he said.

  “I’m great.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine. I’m doing my best to relax. I just pulled up the crab pot and got three crabs.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  “That’s very sweet.”

  “Look,” he said. “I need you to keep an eye on the Queen Mary’s course and stay on the boat and away from the university for now. You know where the gun is, right?”

  “I’m fine, Jake, really. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Wan-Si is going to drop by tomorrow to check on you. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  “That’s really not necessary. I’m perfectly safe here.” Ashley watched the yachts chug by as evening drifted toward darkness. She listened to the seagulls and smelled barbecued salmon in the air. The ferry landed at its dock nearby and then sailed away again, its lights shrinking into the black of night.

  CHAPTER 33

  Club Sustantivo

  Santiago, Chile

  Edgar stared eagerly at the track at Club Sustantivo. “Looks like this place has been run into the ground.”

  He slid through the parched gray rail and kneeled. He sifted the freshly-harrowed dirt through his fingers. “Let’s go see the horse.
”

  “Soon. My trainer’s working with him now.”

  “Your trainer? Didn’t know you had one.”

  “I do now. Her name’s Lorena Chavez.”

  “A woman?”

  “Hired from a poster I placed on a billboard at Club Hípico de Santiago.”

  “What?” Edgar raised his voice. “That’s not how you hire a trainer. You don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?”

  “Probably not, but I hired my jockey the same way.”

  Edgar grumbled something. He looked around the abandoned park with an agitated expression on his face.

  They walked around to the front of the grandstand and into the concession area below the bleachers. Frayed banners hung from the rafters like torn sails on a derelict boat adrift after a hurricane. Dead leaves and trash lay in heaps below boarded-up betting windows.

  “Since the place is abandoned anyway,” Edgar said, “I think I’ll find a place around here to crash for the night.”

  “Suit yourself. I’ve set up a little demonstration for you. Come on.”

  They climbed the bleachers and sat on the wooden planks that were covered in a thick layer of dirt.

  Jake opened his cell phone. “Okay,” he said. “Give her a run.”

  A fire-red chestnut stallion with a petite rider emerged from a decrepit stall complex.

  “What’s her experience?” Edgar said.

  “Never mind that. She likes horses and she can ride. Watch this.”

  “Oh, geez.” Edgar put his hand over his face and shook his head. “I probably deserve this.”

  The horse and rider walked onto the track. The horse exploded into a run while the rider appeared to become one with the graceful animal.

  The horse skimmed around the first turn like a thundering myth and flew down the front stretch with an easy stride, covering a lot of ground. It swung around the next turn at high speed and ripped down the backstretch.

  Jake was impressed that Lorena rode with calm confidence. For a moment, he felt like he was entering into the glamorous world of horse racing, but just as fast he was reminded that this was all an illusion, or would at least play a part in one.

  For the first time, Lorena tapped her horse with the whip. The horse screamed around the track and poured it on double into the home stretch. He opened up down the lane and flashed across the finish line with awesome power.

  Jake looked over at Edgar, who was leaning forward, holding his chin in his hands, watching intently as the horse gradually slowed.

  Jake said, “Not bad, huh?”

  “You hired a kid?”

  Jake shrugged.

  They walked to the track where Lorena rode up and dismounted. The young lady with a doll’s face patted the horse on his neck. “That was fun.”

  “Great job,” Jake said. “Do me a favor. I left a halter in the truck. Go get it for me, will you?”

  “Sure.” Lorena jogged around the grandstand.

  Edgar turned to Jake. “How much you pay for the horse?”

  “Five grand. His stud fee alone is more than that.”

  Edgar gave Jake a somber look. “You expect me to go up against top-flight horses with a five thousand dollar plow horse and a kid trainer?”

  “She’s nineteen. That makes her an adult. And you call that a plow horse? What planet are you on? Didn’t you see him run?”

  “Yeah, I saw him. Why do you think they let him go for six grand?”

  “You should know better than that by now. I have an eye for talent.”

  “He’s not worth two. What’s his pedigree?”

  Jake handed Edgar a piece of paper.

  Edgar unfolded it. He studied for a moment. His eyebrows rose an inch. “Sired by White Fire. That horse was not only a stakes winner, but a champion.”

  “Lorena said he was one of the best.”

  “That was a long time ago. He’s getting old for a stud nowadays, which explains the bargain stud fee.”

  “He comes from a gorgeous mare who won over $73K before getting hurt. His full sister won seven races with earnings of $370,000.”

  “I hear that kind of stuff all the time. Is his sister going to run for him?”

  “Seriously. Do you think he can do the job?” Jake said.

  “He’s balanced, athletic, confident—and lazy. He wasn’t giving a hundred percent out there. Worse yet, he was fighting the rider on the backstretch, trying to swing wide. The horse has an attitude problem. Why else do you think they let him go so cheap? I once had eight lengths on the field early on at the Hollywood Park for fifty grand. I would’ve won, too, but my horse took it easy down the final stretch and lost by a nose. A good horse needs white-hot desire. What else can you tell me?”

  “Came out of his last start in September with chip in the right knee. The chip was removed, however, and the vet says his prognosis is excellent for a successful return to racing.”

  Edgar frowned. “How’s he been on the track?”

  “Look, you’ll have get the details from Lorena. I think she said the horse loves mud, turf, and dirt surfaces. In futurity trials, he had a rough start. His first out he wasn’t prepared for the lights and he jumped shadows down the lane. His second run he was on the rail. When a horse came in on him, he backed off slightly. Lorena says once he settles down, he’ll be fantastic. He’s got the bloodline.”

  “Lot of horses do,” Edgar said. “Bloodline is fine, but what counts most is spirit—and whether he’s lame.”

  “Why don’t you take him for a ride?”

  “You sure his knee won’t collapse?”

  Jake shook his head in irritation. “His leg is fine. The vet was confident.”

  “Why didn’t you consult me first? How could you let a kid buy a horse with a spotty history?”

  “We don’t have weeks to train. We race in five days.”

  “That’s all the more reason I need a player.”

  “Look,” Jake said, “he doesn’t have to win. He just needs to put on a good show.”

  Edgar grunted. “Fine. I’m just in this for a paycheck anyway. What do I care?”

  Edgar stood with his back to the horse. After Lorena was around the grandstand he turned to Jake. “I will not take this beast against Diego Petri’s animals. Petri will smell a fraud, and the man has been tied to eight murders in the international sporting world.”

  “I explained all the risks before. You said you were game.”

  “Not with this plow horse. I ain’t getting myself killed because of your rash actions.”

  Edgar threw down his skull hat and walked off the track. “I’m out of here. I’m going to Escondido’s.”

  Jake grimaced. “Sure, get smashed. There’s your race. And you said my horse lacks spirit.”

  “Shut up!” Edgar yelled. He wheeled around and glared at Jake. His fists balled up, and his forearms with their burn marks tensed. “Shut up or I’ll kill you.”

  Jake kicked the dirt. He watched Lorena walk the horse around the track. As he beat the dirt with his boot, he pondered how he was going to get a new jockey and fast.

  After a few minutes of brooding, he dialed Ashley. “My jockey quit. I need someone else.”

  “Maybe you should back off,” Ashley said. “Come home, it was a crazy idea, anyway.”

  “The only way I’m backing off is…what about Richter’s other ship? Have you tracked it down?”

  “The Weissenburger.”

  “Where is it?”

  “No, I haven’t found it.”

  “Keep trying and keep an eye on the Queen Mary. I’ll check back later.”

  ***

  Jake found Edgar sitting at the bar in Café Escondido’s. “Mind if I join you?”

  Edgar shrugged. His fingers tapped his glass and the ice cubes rattled.

  Jake took a seat across the table. “I’m sorry about the horse,” he said. “I probably should have delayed making the purchase, but I’m working against a tight time frame. I believe a lot o
f lives could be at stake.”

  “If this cat smells a fraud, my life could be at stake.”

  “I told you the risks.”

  “Why don’t you just back off? Let the authorities handle it.”

  “They won’t do anything if I don’t have the evidence. That’s what I’m here for. If I don’t do anything, hundreds could die.”

  Edgar sipped his drink. “You mean murdered.”

  “I don’t know for certain, but you can see how important this is. The horse race is not about winning. It’s about helping me get close to critical information. It’s about keeping innocent people safe.”

  Edgar sighed and looked away for a moment. “I don’t care about beating Petri’s horses. Hell, it’s not even a real race. I just don’t want to go out there and be exposed as a fraud. You said yourself these people are pitiless killers. I don’t want to be their next victim.”

  “So what do you want me to do, Edgar? I need a jockey and fast. If you want out, then I’ll find someone else, but I need to know right now.”

  Edgar was quiet for a moment as he sipped his drink. With slightly bloodshot eyes he stared at Jake. “I did three years in prison,” he said. “I ruined my life and squandered my dreams. Why? I was desperate and out of control. My life is a study in shame and disgrace. To be honest, I’m desperate. I need a break, and you’re the first person who’s taking a chance on me.”

  “It’s a serious risk.”

  “I agree.”

  Jake was quiet.

  Edgar shook his head. “I have a chance here to do something that’s not just about me.”

  “Yeah, but you’d have to be just as determined as you expect your horse to be. I’m not sure you’re capable of that. I’m putting my neck on the line here, and I can’t afford to trust someone who’s not committed.”

  “No,” Edgar said. He held out his arm. “You see these burns? They held me down and pushed cigarettes into my skin in the big house. You know why? For a laugh, that’s why. My third day in I was pushed down stairs. That’s how I hurt my back. After that, my cellmate stood up for me and didn’t ask nothing in return. I’ll never forget that. Now, as you said, others are in danger, and I have a chance to protect them. I’m going to repay my dues.”