Invasion by Robin Cook Page B

to the courts. He and Beau played frequently in the intramural three-on-three league. The competition was always good. A lot of the players could have played intercollegiate had they had the motivation.
    As was his custom, Pitt arrived early in order to practice his shooting. He felt it took him longer than others to warm up. To his surprise Beau was already there.
    Beau was dressed to play but was off to the side, behind a chain-link fence, conversing intently with two men and a woman. What was surprising was that the people appeared professional and in their middle to late thirties. All three were dressed in business suits. One of the men was carrying a fancy leather briefcase.
    Pitt picked up a ball and began shooting. If Beau noticed him he didn’t give any indication. After a few minutes something else about the situation seemed surprising to Pitt. Beau was doing all the talking! The others were simply listening, occasionally responding with nods of agreement.
    The other players began to arrive including Tony Ciccone who made up the third person on Pitt and Beau’s team. It was only after everyone had arrived including the opposition team and had warmed up that Beau wound up his conversation with the three businesspeople and joined Pitt. Pitt was now doing some stretching exercises.
    “Hey, man, good to see you,” Beau said. “I was afraid after that marathon you put in at the ER you weren’t going to make it today.”
    Pitt straightened up and lifted a basketball in the process. “The way you were feeling the day before yesterday, you should be surprised you’re here,” he said.
    Beau laughed. “Seems like ages ago. Now I feel terrific. In fact, I’ve never felt better, and we’re going to cream these pansies.”
    The other three players were continuing to warm up down at the other basket. Tony was tightening the laces of his high-tops.
    “I wouldn’t be too cocky,” Pitt said, squinting against the sun. “See the muscle-bound guy in the purple shorts? Believe it or not, his name is Rocko. He’s a ball-breaker and a good shot to boot.”
    “No problem,” Beau said. He snatched the ball away from Pitt and let it sail toward the basket. It went through the goal with a snapping sound having hit nothing but net.
    Pitt was impressed. They were standing a good thirty feet away.
    “Best of all, we have a cheering section,” Beau said. Putting the tip of his thumb and index fingers together and puckering up his mouth, he let loose with a shrillwhistle. About a hundred feet away an enormous light-brown dog got up from where he’d been lying in the shade and sauntered over. He collapsed at the edge of the tarmac of the court and lowered his head on his front paws.
    Beau squatted down and gave him a series of pats on the top of the head. The tail wagged briefly then went limp.
    “Whose dog?” Pitt asked. “If you can call it a dog. It looks more like a small pony.”
    “He’s mine,” Beau said. “His name is King.”
    “You got a dog?” Pitt asked incredulously.
    “Yup,” Beau said. “I felt like some canine companionship, so I went out to the pound this morning, and there he was, waiting for me.”
    “A week ago you said you didn’t think it was fair to have big dogs in the city,” Pitt said.
    “I changed my mind,” Beau said. “The moment I saw him I knew he was the dog of my dreams.”
    “Does Cassy know?”
    “Not yet,” Beau said. He scratched King enthusiastically behind his ears. “Won’t she be surprised?”
    “That’s an understatement,” Pitt said, rolling his eyes. “Especially a dog that size. But what’s the matter with him? Is he sick? He seems lethargic and his eyes are red.”
    “Ah, he’s just having trouble adjusting,” Beau said. “He’s just been let out of his cage. I’ve only had him a few hours.”
    “He’s salivating,” Pitt said. “You don’t think he has rabies, do you?”
    “Not a chance,” Beau said. “Of that I’m certain.” Beaucupped