Fred’s only sign of nervousness was that he was smoking a cigarette. Drake knew that he smoked, but he usually did it in private because none of the runners smoked. Of course. And yet, Drake had once met a man in England who said he was a mountain runner, meaning that he ran up mountains such as Scotland’s Ben Nevis, the highest peak in Great Britain at 4,400 feet. Drake was impressed, and then dumbfounded when he found out that the man smoked.
They were in Fred’s room at the motel in Lompoc. Drake mentioned that he had talked to Sterling-he kept Melody out of it-and that Sterling had admitted his part in the betting. Fred took a drag on his cigarette.
“I hired Sterling to make sure that the runners followed the rules-and also to check up on them during the runs to see if anybody was in trouble. I didn’t expect him to bet on the outcome.”
Drake produced copies of the two letters from a folder.
“Sterling admitted he wrote the first letter, but he says it was at your insistence. We’ve proved that the second letter was written on his portable typewriter. He said you got it delivered it to the motel where we were staying.”
Fred reached out his hand and took the two letters. He studied them for a long time.
“I love the broken English. I suppose he wanted you to believe that the writer was Russian or something. How did you say you found Sterling?”
“His fingerprints were on the first letter. They were in the FBI database. He’s a known felon, and he’s used the U.S. mail for extortion, among other sins.”
“I wouldn’t have hired him if I’d known that. So you tracked him to a motel in Solvang. Clever of you.”
Drake didn’t mention Peaches or Grace. Let Fred think he’d done it all himself. He waited for Fred to say something more. Fred reread the letters, as if trying to memorize them.
“You had Sterling cornered. Of course he’s going to try to spread the blame. I can assure you that I and my staff didn’t have anything to do with these letters.”
Drake could prove otherwise, but he wasn’t going to play his trump cards at the moment. “Anyway, Sterling’s gone. Actually, fleeing for his life would be more apt. You never know what those Vegas folks are going to do.”
Was that a shudder from Fred or just a noisy exhale of cigarette smoke? Whatever it was, Fred quickly gained control of himself.
“Drake, I want to thank you very much for bringing this to my attention. I guess I don’t have to take any action on Sterling because he’s gone. We don’t really need him anymore. The rules have changed, and it’s going to be easy to keep track of the runners on Route One, which we will be following for many miles. I apologize for the problems this has caused you. I trust that you won’t be harassed again during the rest of the race.”
“There’s one thing more you should know. I asked Sterling why they bet on Melody and me since we were such long shots. He said all we had to do to win was to finish. The mob would take care of the rest. As I said before, they can get pretty nasty. Our good guys should have them neutralized soon, but I just wanted you to know what could have happened.”
Fred’s hand shook as he put the cigarette to his lips.
CHAPTER 21
After two very tough days of running, today will be a little easier. The run goes from the top of the hill past Lompoc to the top of the first (much shorter) hill after you cross the Santa Maria River, which is close to the border between Santa Barbara County and San Luis Obispo County. Be very careful on the steep downhill at the beginning of the run. It is steeper than the downhill during yesterday’s run. Don’t go so fast that you injure your knees. Again, since we will be inland all day, the weather will be warm. We will provide water along the way, but carry plenty of liquids.
“It looks like everybody’s learned their lesson.”
Drake was referring to the fact that all nine teams were taking the downhill in one loose pack. Nobody was charging ahead. Several people had suffered knee problems from yesterday’s run. Winthrop’s were the worst; he and Glen trailed the other runners at the moment. Drake and Melody had passed them, overall, and moved into sixth place. They had also gained on everybody else except the two leading teams.
Melody changed the subject. “We’ve gotten rid of Sterling and, hopefully, the threat from Las Vegas. Fred hasn’t admitted anything, but from what you’ve said, you scared him. He must think you’re some kind of Superman to have dug up all that information while you were running.”
“I don’t think that Fred will be playing any more games with the boys from Vegas. They’re out of his league as far as evil is concerned.”
“So the question is whether we should be talking to Casey about all this.”
“I’ve been giving that some thought. What would be our objective? To get rid of Fred? At least he’s not bothering you and Grace. We would have a tough time proving anything without Sterling’s and Grace’s involvement. If we botched it, Grace could be without a job. If Fred is on the straight and narrow, maybe we shouldn’t rock the boat.”
“Maybe we could communicate better if you didn’t use all those American cliches.”
“Wasn’t it your own Shaw who said we’re separated by a common language? You can be my fair lady, and I’ll teach you proper English.”
“It’ll be a bloody day in ‘ell before you do that.”
Drake wasn’t expecting a knock on the door. He had gone through his evening ritual of bathing and stretching. He was tired after three hard days of running. He was happy with his performance, but he also had to get his rest to keep it up. He was dressed only in his briefs and was about to retire to his bed with one of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels. Spying through rose-colored glasses where the good guys were always good and the bad guys were always bad. He didn’t want to get dressed if he didn’t have to.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Grace.”
What the devil did she want?
“Just a minute.”
He grabbed the first item of clothing he saw, a pair of running shorts, and pulled them on. Two weeks ago he wouldn’t have been able to do that without feeling excruciating pain. He went to the door and opened it. Grace stood there looking beautiful in her standard costume of shorts and a Running California sleeveless shirt.
As he looked at her she was looking at him-at his bare chest. For a moment he felt what he supposed women felt when men stared at their breasts. The tableau couldn’t have gone on for more than a couple of seconds, but it seemed longer. Then Drake remembered his manners and opened the door enough for Grace to come in.
She seemed to emerge from a brief trance when she entered the room. She didn’t speak, and Drake felt it was his duty to break an awkward silence. “Where’s Melody?”
“Oh, she went out for a drink with Tom and Jerry.”
“And you didn’t go because you don’t cotton to runners.”
“Something like that. Although they invited me. Can we sit down?”
The only chair had Drake’s suitcase on it. He took a step toward it when she spoke.
“That’s okay. We can sit on the bed.”
It wasn’t okay. She sat down beside him on the bed, so close that their bare arms and legs touched, generating something akin to static electricity. Drake was distinctly uncomfortable. He also felt something else he hadn’t felt much of since the race had started. He tried to sound jovial. “So what can I do for you?”
“Nothing. Just sit with me and keep me company.”
She glanced at his chest again. “Your bruise is all gone.”
She reached out her far hand and touched him just below the breast bone. His muscles retracted a little in a reflex from being touched in a sensitive place. She hesitated. He couldn’t make her think he didn’t like her. “Sorry. Reflex. Like when the doctor hits you below the kneecap.”