Citizen. Charlie Brooks

Чтение книги онлайн.

       15

      In the normal course of events, Shalakov would have completely forgotten the existence of the pretty little hooker he’d bundled so hastily out of his penthouse. But, as it turned out, he had cause to remember her a few months later.

      Shalakov had described his racehorse operation to Ana as disappointing. In fact, things had been going well enough in Moscow, where the rebuilt Hippodrome was complete and fully operational. And other facilities on the Russian side were on target. The problems lay in England, so Shalakov called a meeting to sort things out.

      Sinclair and Shaunsheys were both summoned to the Shalakov penthouse, as well as Nico who, with his perfect command of English, had been drafted in to conduct the meeting. The General sat in on it, though, silently smoking, drinking coffee and listening. A disconcerting presence for the two Englishmen, who could never determine how much of the dialogue he was actually able to follow.

      Taking his cue from notes he’d made during a prior briefing with Shalakov, Nico spoke first to Sinclair.

      ‘Mr Sinclair. General Shalakov has asked you here because he is wondering why he should not dispense with your services.’

      Sinclair took this like a sharp blow to the solar plexus. He had to force his face not to crumple.

      ‘Well, I haven’t had much of a chance,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I can explain—’

      Nico flipped the palm of his hand towards Sinclair to shut him up.

      ‘The General has had a total of nine horses with you this season,’ he went on, his voice turning pleasurably steely, his glasses glinting. ‘One of them, Salammbo, won a Group One before she broke down and had to be destroyed. Two others, Inquirer and Mr Thatcher, were placed in no less than five Group races between them, but they didn’t win any. Of the others, none were Group class, although two, Colorado Lode and Jedediah, were supplemented for classic races after you reported they showed exceptional speed on your gallops.’

      Nico had a few silent misgivings of his own about grilling Sinclair, since he’d personally done pretty well out of the information that he’d received from him over the past year. But this was what Shalakov had specifically told him to convey to the trainer. And now he was rather enjoying himself.

      ‘Now, naturally, the General is very disappointed with these results. You assured him that his English racing operation would be self-financing through prize money, sales of successful horses and eventually stud fees. This would not seem to be where things are heading at the moment. So can you please explain why General Shalakov should not move to another, more successful trainer?’

      Sinclair cleared his throat. Failure in racing is not necessarily open to rational explanation, but owners rarely accept this. So trainers become expert in manufacturing plausible excuses. The horse scoped dirty after the race; the mare was coming into season; there was a filly in season in the race that put our fellow off; the colt ran into traffic on the final bend and was barged out of it; the overnight rain; the lack of overnight rain; the bloody handicapper; the jockey disobeying my orders.

      But something told him that, in this case, off-the-peg mitigations like this would hardly wash. He smiled at Nico and turned directly to Shalakov. He had decided on a bold strategy—with him, an almost unheard of one. He would risk telling the honest truth.

      ‘General, the fact is we’ve had a desperately unlucky season. Salammbo was a very good horse indeed; her accident could not have been foreseen. If she’d lived I have every reason to believe she would have been one of the race-mares of the decade. Inquirer and Mr Thatcher each had a good season. Not winning a single Group One race between them was pure bad luck. As you know in some cases they were touched off by only a few inches. If the dice had fallen even very slightly in our favour these three horses would have fulfilled all your requirements. We would have had real success at the top level, with no less than a quarter of the string. Anyone will tell you that would have been sensational. So I ask you to continue to be patient. On the other hand, General, if you want to ensure success I would urge you to do more.’

      He took a deep gulp of coffee and an even deeper breath. What he was about to say would make him or break him. He didn’t hold a particularly good hand, but he was going all in. He put down his cup.

      ‘You must increase your investment,’ he said. ‘In the end, the way to win top races is to spend big money buying only the very best-bred stock. That’s what the Maktoums did. It’s what John Magnier did and what O’Callaghan’s in the process of doing. I am absolutely confident, if you commit enough funds to this project, we can make you the most successful owner in the country, within the next four years. If not in Europe.’

      He realized he’d been trembling, but he felt better now. He kept his eyes fixed on Shalakov, though the General seemed absorbed in the view of the sky through the window. His only response was to grunt when Nico said something to him in Russian, after which Nico smiled emolliently and thanked Sinclair. Then he turned to Shaunsheys, who had the look of a Victorian schoolboy waiting outside the headmaster’s study.

      ‘Now, Mr Shaunsheys. You have been given the opportunity to buy a mare for General Shalakov, but you keep suggesting unsuitable animals.

      Shaunsheys opened his fishlike mouth to speak but Nico got in first.

      ‘I am going to tell you for the last time. General Shalakov considers any markings on a horse to be a weakness. So he doesn’t care how much you like a mare. Unless it has no markings on it, no white legs, no stars on its forehead, he is not interested. Do I make myself clear? It must be just one colour. Chestnut, bay, brown, black. He doesn’t mind as long as it is the best. Price no problem.’

      Shaunsheys nodded quickly. He felt his system flooding with the champagne of relief, when he’d expected to be given a stomach full of vinegar. Price no problem! Perhaps God was not a delusion after all.

      ‘Thank you, Nico,’ he said nodding his head vigorously. ‘You’re a gentleman. Thank you, General. I won’t let you down. I promise.’

      After the two Englishmen had left the General and Nico discussed the state of Sinclair’s business, and whether it was worth persisting with.

      ‘I won’t make an immediate decision about it,’ said Shalakov. ‘And in the meantime we shall update the dossier on Sinclair. If I do decide to stay with him, I have to know what’s going on inside that stable.’

      ‘Why not put someone in there?’ suggested Nico. ‘Someone who can report back to you, without Sinclair knowing.’

      Shalakov stroked his chin. Suddenly the image of the little prostitute that he’d been denied came back to him. What had she said? Horses were my main interest in life, Comrade-General, my passion actually. He didn’t think she’d need much СКАЧАТЬ