The Spoilers / Juggernaut. Desmond Bagley

swallowed. ‘I don’t know.’ He made a feeble gesture at the table. ‘I’ve … I’ve lost it,’ he said plaintively.

      ‘Too bad,’ said Tozier evenly. ‘Better luck next time.’

      Warren patted the notes together. ‘A hundred thousand,’ he said, and pushed the stack across the table.

      ‘You’ll still put this on for us, won’t you?’ said Follet, pushing the money across to Raqi. ‘You said you would.’

      Raqi nodded. He hesitated, then said, ‘Could … could you … er … could you lend me some – until it’s over?’

      Follet looked at him pityingly. ‘Hey, kid; you’re in the big time now. You play with your own dough. You might swap nickels and dimes in a penny-ante school but not here.’

      Tozier’s snort of disgust seemed to unnerve Raqi and he flinched as though someone had hit him. ‘But … but …’ he stammered.

      Warren shook his head. ‘Sorry, Javid; but I thought you understood. Everybody here stands his own racket.’ He paused. ‘I suppose you could say it’s not good form – not good etiquette – to borrow.’

      Raqi was sweating. He looked at the backs of his hands which were trembling, and thrust them into his pockets. He swallowed. ‘When do I have to go to Jamshid’s?’

      ‘Any time before the nags go to the post,’ said Follet. ‘But we’d like to get the dough in fairly early. We don’t want to miss out on this – it’s the big one.’

      ‘Do you mind if I go out for a few minutes?’ asked Raqi.

      ‘Not so long as you’re back in time,’ said Follet. ‘This is the big one, like I told you.’

      Raqi got up. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘Not more than half an hour.’ He went out and seemed to stumble at the door.

      Follet listened for the click of the latch, then said softly. ‘He’s hooked.’

      ‘But will he come back?’ asked Warren.

      ‘He’ll be back. When you put a sucker on the send he always comes back,’ said Follet with cynical certitude.

      ‘How much did we take him for?’ asked Tozier.

      Follet counted money and did a calculation. ‘I make it just over forty-eight thousand. He must have drawn out his savings for the big kill, but we got to it first. He’ll be sweating blood right now, wondering where to raise the wind.’

      ‘Where will he get it?’ asked Warren.

      ‘Who cares? But he’ll get it – that’s a certainty. He knows he’s on to a good thing and he won’t pass up the chance now. He won’t be able to resist cheating Jamshid, so he’ll find the dough somehow.’

      Tozier and Follet matched coins while they waited for Raqi to come back – a sheep to the slaughter – and Follet came out the worse for a change. He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter – the percentages are still on my side.’

      ‘I wish I knew how,’ said Tozier venomously. ‘I’ll get to the bottom of this one yet. I think I can see a way.’

      There was a soft knock at the door. ‘That’s our boy,’ said Follet.

      Javid Raqi came into the room quietly when Follet opened the door. He came up to the table and looked at the hundred thousand rials, but he made no move to touch the money. Warren said, ‘All right, Javid?’

      Slowly Raqi put out his hands and took the wad of notes. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m ready.’ He turned suddenly to Follet. ‘This horse will be all right – it will win?’ he asked urgently.

      ‘Christ!’ said Follet. ‘You’re holding a hundred thousand of our money and you ask that? Of course it will win. It’s all set up.’

      ‘Then I’m ready to go,’ said Raqi, and swiftly put away the money.

      ‘I’ll go with you,’ said Follet. He grinned. ‘It’s not that we don’t trust you, but I’d hate some smart guy to knock you off when you’re carrying our dough. Consider me a bodyguard.’ He put on his jacket. ‘We’ll be back to watch the race,’ he said as he left, shepherding Raqi before him.

      Warren sighed. ‘I feed sorry for that boy.’

      ‘So do I,’ said Tozier. ‘But it’s as Johnny said – if he were honest this would never be happening to him.’

      ‘I suppose so,’ said Warren, and fell silent. Presently he stirred and said, ‘Supposing the horse wins?’

      ‘It won’t,’ said Tozier positively. ‘Johnny and I picked the sorriest screw we could find. It might win,’ he conceded, ‘if every other horse in the race breaks a leg.’

      With what might have been a chuckle Warren said, ‘But what if it does win? Someone must have faith in it.’

      ‘Then we’ll have won a hell of a lot of money – and so will Raqi, depending on how much of a stake he’s been able to raise. We’ll have to go through the whole business of breaking him again. But it won’t happen.’

      He began to match coins with himself and Warren paced up and down restlessly. Follet and Raqi were away for quite a long time and arrived back just as Warren switched on the set to get the race. Raqi sat at his place at the table; a slight, self-contained figure. Follet was jovial. ‘Javid has the jitters. I keep telling him it’ll be okay, but he can’t stop worrying. He’s been plunging, too – I reckon this is a bit too rich for his blood.’

      ‘How much did you back the nag for?’ asked Tozier curiously.

      Raqi did not answer, but Follet gave a booming laugh. ‘Fifty thousand,’ he said. ‘And the odds are fifteen to one. Our boy stands to make three-quarters of a million rials. I keep telling him it’s okay, but he doesn’t seem to believe me.’

      Tozier whistled. Three-quarters of a million rials was about £4,000 – a fortune for a young Iranian clerk. Even his fifty thousand stake was a bit rich – about £260 – approximating to a sizeable bite of Raqi’s annual income. He said, ‘Where did you get that much? Did you go home and break open your piggy bank?’

      Warren said sharply, ‘Shut up! The race is about to start.’

      ‘I’ll pour the drinks for the celebration,’ said Follet, and went over to the sideboard. ‘You guys can cheer for me – the nag’s name is Nuss el-leil.’

      ‘I don’t get the lingo,’ said Tozier. ‘What’s that mean, Javid?’

      Raqi opened bloodless lips. He did not take his eyes off the screen as he answered, ‘Midnight.’

      ‘A good name for a black horse,’ commented Tozier. ‘There they go.’

      Warren glanced sideways at Raqi who was sitting tensely on the edge of his chair, the bluish gleam of the television screen reflected in his eyes. His hands were clasped together in a knuckle-whitening grip.

      Tozier jerked irritably. ‘Where the blazes is that horse? Can you see it, Javid?’

      ‘It’s lying fourth,’ said Raqi. A moment later he said, ‘It’s dropped back to fifth – no, sixth.’ A tremor developed in his hands.

      ‘What’s that bloody jockey up to?’ demanded Tozier. ‘He’s throwing it away, damn him!’

      Fifteen seconds later the race ended. Nuss el-leil was not even placed.

      Follet stood transfixed at the sideboard. ‘The little bastard double-crossed us,’ he breathed. In a moment of savagery he hurled a full glass of whisky at the wall where it smashed explosively. ‘I’ll fix his goddam wagon come tomorrow,’