Page 51 of End Game

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‘So we still don’t know what he was carrying?’ William said, after Ross had phoned to brief him.

Ross sighed. ‘Faulkner was at least two steps ahead of us. Again. He even spotted me.’

William frowned. Should he have told customs to check what was in the box when Faulkner’s plane landed at Biggin Hill? He had placed his bet on seeing who the package was delivered to, and lost.

‘Did you get any photographs of the package?’ Ross asked.

‘Several, but I don’t know how much they can tell us. It looks like a normal shoebox. Blue, probably cardboard. But anything could be inside.’

Before he could pursue that thought any further, Ross added, ‘I’ll get in touch with TfL and see if the CCTV can tell us anything, but I’m not hopeful. The train Faulkner got on was probably an older one, unlikely to have any cameras installed, and there’s no way of knowing where the person he left the package with got off. It could take days to trawl through the footage of every station on the District line.’ He paused. ‘Do you think this is just another distraction?’

‘No, I don’t,’ said William. ‘They wouldn’t have tried so hard to lose you if this had just been about wasting your time. Whatever is in that package, it’s something they don’t want us to know about. I’ll call Professor Meredith and see if he can come up with any suggestions.’

‘No doubt he will come up with something even worse than the stadium lights going out,’ said Ross.

‘That’s his job,’ said William, with a sigh.

One of his other phones began to ring.

CHAPTER 17

Sunday, 29 July – day 3 of the Games

ARTEMISIA HAD SPENT A FEWHOURSroaming around the Olympic Village, making herself more familiar with her surroundings, and by the early afternoon she’d decided it was time to take the plunge – and plunge turned out to be the appropriate word.

Artemisia joined the queue for lunch and selected a salad, a slice of chocolate cake and a Diet Coke, then began looking around the room in search of a table. She spotted a girl wearing a British tracksuit sitting alone in the corner. She strolled across to join her.

When she looked up and smiled, Artemisia said, ‘Hi, I’m Annie, and don’t ask.’

‘I’m Kelly,’ she said, offering her hand. ‘And don’t ask what?’

‘How long I lasted,’ said Artemisia, as she placed her tray on the table and sat down opposite Kelly. ‘Because I wasknocked out in the first round of the épée competition yesterday. I only managed to survive for twenty-seven minutes.’

‘Then you did far better than me,’ said Kelly. ‘I lasted for two minutes and nine seconds. I came fifth in my heat of the one hundred metres butterfly and only the first four went through to the second round.’

‘But you decided, like me,’ said Artemisia, as she took a sip of her Diet Coke, ‘not to go home.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Kelly. ‘It might have been my final race before I retire, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy the next two weeks, because this will certainly be my last Olympics.’

‘So is this your second Olympics?’ asked Artemisia.

‘My third,’ said Kelly, ‘and before you ask, I came seventh in the mixed relay in Beijing, which was the highlight of my career. And you?’

‘I didn’t make the squad for Beijing,’ said Artemisia, ‘so this will be my first and last Olympics, but like you I intend to hang about and enjoy every minute while it lasts. I love the atmosphere.’

‘Not to mention the fittest men on earth,’ said Kelly, as she glanced across at a table full of Australians, one or two of them glancing in their direction. ‘So many of them to pick and choose from,’ she added with a sigh, ‘and it gets better as the week goes on.’

‘How come?’ asked Artemisia.

‘As more and more competitors get knocked out, you end up with a larger selection.’

Artemisia burst out laughing.

‘And you?’ Kelly asked.

‘Oh, I’ve got a boyfriend.’