by Brian Cain
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was the day prior to Taunton Barr running at a Wincanton trial, George Smith arrived at his office within the complex of the Bastion Corporation, a group of merchant bankers of which George was a leading partner. Short plump, grey, balding, red faced he had recently had his office moved from the upper floors as the stairs had become a problem with his decaying age and lack of attention to needs of health. Ready for him on his desk, a cup of weak tea, a piece of buttered toast and The Times newspaper. He sat down at his desk and sipped his tea, he took off his glasses cleaning them with a cloth from the desk top draw and clumsily put them back on. He opened laid the paper on his desk and began to read the headline below the picture of a galloping black horse as he sipped at this tea.
TAUNTON BARR TO RUN THE GRAND NATIONAL
Winston Blake of Flax Burton Somerset, well known racehorse owner held a press conference to announce his new steeplechaser Taunton Barr, a powerful black stallion, will run in the British Grand National. Without having run a single steeplechase Blake claims the horse will follow the gruelling path a horse need take to enter the controversial event with ease. The Flax Burton operation run by Blake recently lost horse whisperer Roger Palmer, passing away unexpectedly. It is common knowledge that Palmer and Blake were fiercely opposed to elements of the National and vowed never to support the event.
Smith put his cup of tea down and with a face of amazement read on.
Taunton Barr is a twelve year old horse that cleared a fence higher than the highest recorded jump ever made by a horse and by witness of journalist Levin Graceless present at the press conference, 'runs like the wind and sends an exciting shiver across ones entire self'. Blake stated any kind of claim to such fame is without substance or relevance. Blake bought the all conquering Flaxmead from a farmer in Island for a few hundred pounds, the horse was undefeated in every major event it entered. 'There are horses out there that jump and run as fast as the best every day, it's only the establishment that prevents them from being just as revered as Flaxmead.' When asked why he thought the horse would win the National Blake replied. 'Because he can and I can get him there.' The horse will be ridden by the worlds most well know celebrity jockey Lindy Cumberland, she took Flaxmead to most of his wins, Flaxmead never ran with a male jockey. When asked if he was concerned about the welfare of the very petite Lindy Cumberland in the most gruelling and often perilous race like the National he replied. 'Yes I am concerned, about the rest of the field, they have to deal with a pocket dynamo with the best racing brain on earth aboard a horse that has one goal, to win, and loves it.' Taunton Barr looks a dead ringer for Flaxmead, he runs like him, is the exact age group the horse would be now and when pressured about the coincidental facts Blake replied. 'The UK has a horse called Flaxmead, couldn't run out of sight on a sunny day. Now has a horse called Taunton Barr, perhaps the answer to these similarities can be answered by the BHA. I don't make the rules I just follow them.' Blake was asked if the name Taunton Barr was similar to the choice of name Flaxmead, named after the towns of Flax Burton and Temple Meads. 'Yes, Roger Palmer spent much time in the area of Taunton and Barr, he was often at our Glastonbury operation. He found a foal he thought would do the job in Barr near Taunton. Will be six years before the foal gets to run the national, I may not live to see that so the lord cometh early.'
The Elite Hurdle is a Grade 2 National Hunt hurdle race which is open to horses aged four years or older. It is run at Wincanton over a distance of about 2 miles or some 3,219 metres if you are metric minded, and during its running there are eight hurdles to be jumped. The race is scheduled to take place early November. Blake has sponsored the event to the tune of one hundred thousand pounds for the win. If Taunton Barr wins the event he will well exceed the thirteen thousand pound requirement for horses that run the national. Taunton Barr need run five steeplechases to run the national, to date this is the only event that has been announced by Blake's stables.
Blake was asked about his vow never to run horses in steeplechase as he and Palmer were fiercely opposed to the format, Blake replied. 'Never has come.' If Taunton Barr wins at Wincanton, a spotlight brighter than any that has come before will be focused on the British Grand National. Blake was asked if this had anything to do with the armed guards that flanked Taunton Barr at his first press conference. 'We act as if no one needs a gun, then find the only one with one holds the cards. Horse races are organised by humans not horses, humans invented the gun. Wherever you find lots of money, you will find a gun. An attack on this horse would be front page all around the world, we have terrorism to consider as well, it is the way things are, risk must be calculated and contingencies put in place.' Blake was a very successful merchant banker and suffered immense oppression when he entered the horse racing industry in later life. He has risen to head a stable that puts back into the sport what it gets out of it and even more beyond. It remains to be seen if Taunton Barr is up to the task, the facts and my observations would leave me to state, absolutely.
Source; Lee Hayford.
Smith picked up his phone as he studied the picture with a look of firm belligerence. 'Get my car to the door immediately.'
'You have several appointments this morning.'
'I'm aware of that Miss Campbell, inform all I am currently unavailable say nothing else.'
'As you wish.'
As soon as Smith got in his car, he made a mobile call. 'Ah, it's me George.'
'I realise that ol boy.'
'I'll meet you immediately just inside the Albert Gate in Hyde Park.'
'Not supposed to meet till lunch this afternoon at the club, and Hyde Park are you serious, full of commoners man.'
'You get down there, should be there in five minutes goodness sake its just across from your office and would be the last place people would look for us. You seen the paper.'
'No, had an avalanche of meeting requests, everyone wants to see me yesterday all of a sudden.'
'Pick up the damn paper and get over to the park gate.'
'Well judging by your tone and insistence I guess it must be serious, will head over there, fortunately it's a nice morning.' Smith hung up, Grant Farnsworth looked at the mouthpiece with puzzlement as he put the phone down. The Parliamentary Under Secretary of State for Sport, Tourism and Heritage called his secretary. 'Do you have this mornings Times..........thank you if you could.' A paper was gently place beside him as he read some papers, he picked it up opening the front page. He pushed his paperwork to one side and read on. He sat back in his chair. 'Good god.'
Hyde Park was always a busy and pretty place, especially on an early autumn day. Smith could not walk far from the gate and they sat down on a bench beneath the giant oaks adjacent to the west Albert lawns. Farnsworth was a stark contrast to Smith, he dressed casually and lean and wiry with dark hair greying around the edges. They sat close as to hear each other, they had said little prior to checking around them for populus that knew them, they had never been there to meet before and was the last place people in the know would expect to find them. Smith muttered in a growl. 'You read the paper.'
'Yes'
'We had to wait for the front page of a newspaper to inform us of things we assumed we have full control of.'
Farnsworth looked nervously both ways. 'Ashby mentioned nothing of this.'
'Ashby tells me he knows nothing of it.'
'You were the one who put him there, man's damn fool.'
'You had no qualms when we suggested his placement man.'
'We are discussing cross purposes, we need to know what's going on and we need to relieve Ashby of his position.'
'What the hell is Lee Hayford doing with a story on the front page of the Times for god sake man, she writes about sport belongs on the back page.'
'We are not the only ones with influence, others will benefit from the story now and as it progresses, I have a call telling me the stock market is in a grand rally, they are speculating it is due to the jubilant news to do w
ith the Grand National.'
'Oh spare me man, we have much riding on the success of certain things, and a surviving public martyr of past if indeed Hayford is correct is going to cause us indelible pain.'
'It's a horse race George and horses that can run fast and jump over things generally dominate proceedings. We have no evidence other than speculation that this animal can win a race let alone qualify for the national.'
Smith gazed at him with recourse, his face went bright crimson. 'Do you remember what that damn animal did to us not so long ago.'
'Some of those people were asking for it George, had that not happened you would not be where you are, and I would certainly not be where I am.'
'You're missing the point man, we have done nothing wrong and yesterday is yesterday.'
'Are we sure this Taunton Barr is Flaxmead.'
'The identification chip implants bear the same number.'
'Then why is it granted another name.'
'Because Ashby thought it was a good thing to intimidate the masses by calling a donkey the same name, when can we dispose of him.'
'I summoned him soon as I read the paper and made my way here, he feel on his sword and refused to attend.'
Smith looked anxious. 'That is very unlike Ashby, he may be a fool but he generally holds his ground.'
'There is the pending possibility Blake will be assisted by people far beyond our halls of power, I suggest we don't go there and obvious Ashby feels the same.'
'Yes, we don't want the remnants of the MI elite stalking the corridors, if we play this right the fallout will be minimal.'
'Why an earth is Blake suddenly turning on the national, I just can't work it out, what's in it for him.'
'He's a changed man to when we dealt with Hornswaddle and Fothrington. They left the entire damn empire to him.'
'He's doubled it's wealth in the last three years, man's a genius.'
Smith coughed and drew a hanky from his top suit pocket covering his mouth till he stopped. 'I wonder who the hell he has up his sleeve, armed guards around that reached animal, makes everyone involved look like a villain.' He coughed some more.
'It's where he's at man, we need replace Ashby with someone he warms to.'
'That Beaker, Ashby's understudy, he's been flying up and down to see Blake. Something's not right and Beaker looked to be the only one that Blake would entertain.'
'You would trust destiny to a person whom could be a puppet for Blake before we even start.'
'Beaker has quite a past, things are not often as they appear, I suggest Beaker would be an excellent replacement and not out of place, he is next in line.'
Mmm, I get the impression Beaker could be persuaded beyond trust should the need arise.'
'Oh the need will arise ol boy, the ear we had at Blake's operation was relieved of duty, we have no idea of form from that stable forthwith.'
'We can plant another, that information has been of outstanding value, I have a trail of customers that will be furious.'
'Blake isn't that stupid, he has appointed an ex army engineer to manage Flax Burton, rather different than dealing with Kalika Palmer. Man has absolutely no sense of humour whatsoever.'
'The mechanic I hear, trying to tell us something.'
'No, apparently his real name is similar to somewhere you'd catch a train in Wales, Blake would do something like call him by his desired profession, one thing Blake does have is a sense of humour.'
Smith put his hands on his knees and looked at the ground. 'What is it exactly that you have against Beaker.'
'To tell anyone would unleash the wroth of hell, Beakers main focus is looking after his mother, she is terribly ill. All I can say is that if he thought that comfort could be compromised he just may bend a little to the point of cooperation.'
'Well you better get on with it.' Just at this point an elderly couple came and sat next to them, other end of the bench, they fell silent.
The elderly man put on his glasses and held up the Times front page beginning to read. He had a broad cockney accent. He read for a while then made an outburst. 'Gol blimey Maude, look, that black horse remember it, have a butchers.'
He held the paper in front of her face, she squinted holding one side of her glasses. 'Oh a,' she read for a while. 'That's that Flaxmead with that lovely little girl Lindy look, remember, the only time we ever went to Royal Ascot.'
He took the paper back and read on. 'Mentions that could be called Taunton Barr and will run in the next Grand National.'
'Oh Stan do you think we could afford it, just think was a grand day we had.'
'They named that horse Flaxmead here, got caught out, lost a fortune, bloody thing was still running when I got home.'
'Well it did cure you from gambling now we're much better off.'
'Dear oh dear, having to look after him with guns again, sickening aint it love.'
'Must frighten the hell out of that poor little girl, he loves children that horse, do you think it's really im, one of my most wonderful memories seeing him run across the line at Ascot with that lovely little girl aboard.'
'He's running in November at Wincanton.'
She poked him in the ribs. 'Oh we could make that Stan, Robert could take us up for the day.'
He rolled the newspaper up, stood and took his wife by the arm helping her up. 'Come on Maude, lets see how much they know about this down The Rose and Crown.' They shuffled away toward the street.
Smith looked at Farnsworth with embellished disdain, they stood up and walked in opposite directions.