Crooked River(70)
Pendergast opened his briefcase and pulled out a file, handing it over. “Unfortunately, nothing came of the searches. It appears the Empire Carrier was smuggling a cargo of Iranian caviar, and that’s what was seen dumped in the satellite pictures. The other vessels proved even less interesting.”
Commander Baugh took the file with a grunt and pushed it aside without looking at it. “Now I want to talk about this oceanographer you’ve been working with. Pamela Gladstone.”
A chilling silence.
“I thought you’d take my gentle hint,” the commander went on, “but it seems you chose to ignore it instead. I know all about it, so no more secrets. She and her crackpot ideas have no place in this investigation. I’ve already sent her notice of termination, and I’ve ordered a full accounting of her work, expenses, and results, such as they are. I’ve made it clear to her and her assistant that any further work in this regard will be considered interference, and I will yank her oceangoing research permits so fast her head will spin.”
Silence.
“Now, what about your man in China? Anything happening there?”
“He was murdered.”
“What? Murdered? How the hell did that happen and why wasn’t I informed?”
“You were not informed because I’m growing increasingly concerned he was killed because of a mole in this investigation. Most likely on your staff.”
“A mole? On my staff? That is an outrageous accusation! By God, Pendergast, this is a step too far. I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice.” He stood up, his face darkening. “I hereby terminate your involvement in this case—which, as commander of the task force, I am fully authorized to do. Pack your bags and get out. I’ll be in touch with your superiors about your insubordination and obstruction—you can be sure of that.”
Pendergast stood up as if to leave. Perelman was aghast. Was that it—he was just going to walk out, after getting himself kicked off the case?
But then he hesitated. “Before I take my leave,” said Pendergast, “I wanted to express my sincerest condolences for your loss.”
At this, Baugh exploded. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“I’m referring, of course, to the tragedy of having to put down your horse, Noble Nexus.”
Perelman had never seen such a crimson color on a human face as he now saw on Baugh’s. The commander lowered his head and leaned over his desk, speaking in a whisper. “Get the hell out.”
Pendergast didn’t move. “Once upon a time, there was a man who purchased a lovely dressage horse. His name was Noble Nexus.”
“Get—the fuck—out.”
Pendergast stopped and said, in a voice that froze Perelman to the bone: “It is in your best interest, Commander, to hear my little fairy tale about the rider and his beautiful horse…and the tragedy that followed.”
The commander fell into apoplectic silence.
“Noble Nexus was a Dutch Warmblood out of a famous lineage, bred and trained at Rocking Horse Farms in Georgetown, Kentucky. The rider purchased Noble Nexus for one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. The former owners were concerned about selling the horse to the rider, because they had watched him ride and weren’t sure he was experienced enough to handle such a high-spirited animal. But good money is good money, and so they sold him the horse.
“The rider took the horse home to his little ranch in Palmdale, Florida, and began riding him in dressage competitions. The man, in truth, was not a good rider, but he compensated by having a highly trained horse with a strong desire to please. So, while the rider did not distinguish himself in these competitions, he did well enough. That gave our man the idea he was a far more talented dressage rider than he actually was. It also helped him qualify for the Florida Winter Equestrian Jubilee.”
Perelman saw that Baugh looked almost paralyzed. His face had gone from red to palest white. Darby was sitting like a statue, still holding the steno pad and pen.
“At the jubilee, when his turn came, the man rode Noble Nexus into the dressage arena and began to perform. Noble Nexus was a marvelous horse, with spirit, beauty, and athleticism. He had a heart as big as the world, ready and willing to perform his very best. But his rider was nervous and unsure. In the arena, with all those people watching, Noble Nexus tried to understand what the rider wanted him to do, but the rider was sending him contradictory signals with the wrong leg pressure, the wrong touch, the wrong weighting. What was worse, to steady his nerves the man had taken a quick drink before the competition. Horses have an extremely keen sense of smell, and this new and ugly scent on his rider alarmed Noble Nexus. Things reached a crisis when the rider tried to get Noble Nexus to perform a difficult maneuver known as tempi changes, in which the horse changes lead in the middle of a canter, multiple times in a row.”
At this Pendergast paused and tilted his head to examine Baugh with a cold eye.
“They started cantering around the arena, but Noble Nexus was confused and scared. When he didn’t know what to do, the rider jabbed his spurs hard into his flanks. So Noble Nexus did what any normal horse would do: he threw his rider. In front of the entire stadium.”
Another long pause.
“The rider was unhurt physically, just a little dusted up. But he was humiliated. This rider had a particular kind of personality: he was one of those men who are supremely sure of themselves, who rise in life from the ability to project absolute self-assurance to all those around them. A man who is never wrong, who has no self-reflection, a man to whom any mistake or problem must be someone else’s fault. In short, he was a man who would go to any lengths to preserve his self-image. To such a man, getting thrown from a horse in front of ten thousand people could mean only one thing: the horse was at fault. More than that—the horse was dangerous. There was only one way the rider could prove to the world that it was the horse, and not he, who was to blame: Noble Nexus had to be put down.”