Eddie and Gabe are finishing mucking out their stalls and meet out in the aisleway.
   “What was that man thinking about?” say Gabe as he shakes his head. “Lee says that he was going to squeeze a big gollup of liquid aspirin into King’s feed.”
   Eddie shrugs his shoulders. “I would have gotten a positive when they drew blood for the prerace test…”
   “And you would’ve been scratched,” say Gabe knowingly.
   “This is bad publicity,” grimaces Eddie. “Thank goodness Lee caught him in time. Where is the little weasel?”
   “They’re holding him the State trailer. The Captain is on his way in. I guess he clammed up and won’t say anything more.”
   Eddie looks in on King comfortably relaxing on the crossties and sighs.
   “When you think of all the trials and tribulations this horse has gone through to get here…”
   “Jealousy is an evil sin Camptown,” agrees Gabe. “One of the 7 deadliest.”
   “And sloth too,” laughs Eddie. “Let’s finish up and walk these two for a bit!”
   “You got that right,” chuckles Gabe.
   And they both went back to work.

   The Yukon is speeding towards Warrensburg with Miller right on the bumper. Evans is studying the laptop. He suddenly calls out. “I’ve lost my eyes!”
   Chace immediately calls Miller.
   “You still got eyes?”
   “No,” came the reply, “I lost them 300 feet back.”
   “Get back to the spot where you last had them and stay put,” instructs Chace. “Keep us updated as we go along. I’m calling in the locals and state. Miller?”
   “Get a chopper in the air and direct them to the barn.”
   “You got it!” says the excited Miller as he whips a U-turn. He shoots back to the area with reception, pulls over to the side of the road, and impatiently waits while he gets a picture.
   His falls flat.
   “Chace!” he calls out into his phone. “I’ve got eyes back on the barn but there’s no SUVs, or people… and no sign of the truck!”
   “Shit!” says Chace as he speeds along. He looks at Evans. “Anything?”
   Evans grimly shakes his head “no.”
   “Have them pan out to a five mile radius,” adds Chace. “They can’t have gotten that far.”
   “Want some more good news?” asks a frustrated Evans.
   Chace eyes him sideways.
   “Warrensburg got one local on today… a reserve about 70 years old.”
   “And the State guys are all over in Delaware at the track - some type of mess is going on – the one chopper they have is down in Columbus escorting a privately owned whirly up to the track… that sultan who owns the big horse.”
   “Damn,” says Chace with grind of his teeth. “Miller?” he calls out into his phone. “Anything?”
   “I did catch one car heading towards that abandoned gravel pit on CR415… but then it blipped out.”
   Chace looks at Evans wide-eyed. “They’ve got some type of cloaking device on those rigs…”
   “Gaddamn Romulans,” grunts Evans with a scowl.

To be continued