Page 13 of End Game (William Warwick #8)
W HEN THE TEAM GATHERED for their morning briefing, no one seemed surprised to see Ross sitting in his old place at the far end of the table. They were all well aware that it could only be a matter of time before he officially returned to the fold.
‘I’ll let Sergeant Hogan address the first item on the agenda,’ said William.
Ross took his time taking them through what he’d witnessed when he joined the mass of protesting cyclists on their slow journey from Tower Bridge to Westminster.
‘It’s not difficult to work out what their chosen route will be next Friday,’ suggested William, ‘which just happens to be the evening of the opening ceremony.’
‘When they could hold up as many as half the spectators on their way to the stadium,’ said Paul, ‘who won’t arrive in time to see the Queen take her place in the Royal Box.’
‘You’re halfway there,’ said Ross.
‘So what’s the other half?’ asked Rebecca.
‘The Queen won’t even make it to the Royal Box.’
‘Hold on,’ said Jackie. ‘What are we talking about here – an inconvenient hold-up or a royal assassination attempt?’
Rebecca was shaking her head. ‘That would never happen. The cyclists may be a nuisance, but they’re not terrorists.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ said Ross, ‘but while Faulkner’s involved, I’m assuming the worst and only hope I’m proved wrong.’
‘Has MI5 been fully briefed?’ asked Jackie.
William nodded. ‘As has GCHQ. They understand our fears, but reminded us how sketchy our evidence is at the moment. They’re keeping a close eye on developments, but if anything were to go wrong during the Games, it would be our responsibility.
At present,’ he added, ‘we are not anxious about Her Majesty’s safety.
What does concern us is the possible disruption to the opening ceremony – and why any disruption would be welcomed by the Russians.
We have no idea what else they might be planning on the back of it, but if we have to deal with the unexpected on the night, we need to know what they have planned next, so we’re not on the back foot. ’
After a moment’s silence, Jackie said, ‘But the Queen is always accompanied by a group of highly trained outriders, who make sure everyone moves aside so the royal party can carry on without ever having to stop.’
‘Perhaps a well organized bunch of determined cyclists won’t be moving aside,’ suggested Ross.
‘There are five routes Her Majesty can take on her journey from the palace to the stadium,’ said Paul, looking down at the map spread out on the centre of the table.
‘That all end up in the same tunnel,’ added William, which stopped any more interruptions.
‘The cyclists would not only slow the traffic down,’ continued Ross, ‘but if they can reach the tunnel before the Queen, they could then abandon their bikes and leave them in the middle of the road. It would take us hours to remove them, while HM would be stuck waving in the back of her car and not sitting in the front of the Royal Box.’
‘While we,’ added William, ‘become fully occupied and they – and by they, I mean the Russians – move on to the second part of their plan, whatever that might be.’
‘Turning the opening ceremony into the closing ceremony would be my bet,’ said Paul.
No one laughed.
‘Then we’ll just have to ban any protests planned on the day of the opening ceremony,’ said William.
‘You will recall, sir,’ said Rebecca, ‘that the Law Lords ruled cyclists are not protesters, but a public procession.’
‘Then we’ll have to arrest every one of them before they become a public procession.’
‘I don’t think you have the authority to do that, sir,’ said Jackie.
‘Then I’ll serve them with a Section Twelve notice,’ said William, becoming more irritated.
‘But Section Twelve is only used in case of riots,’ Rebecca reminded him.
‘Or serious disruption to the life of the community,’ William countered.
‘If we start arresting innocent members of the public,’ Paul said firmly, ‘they’ll certainly take us to court, and win.’
‘Which, I would suggest,’ said William, ‘is preferable to having a half-empty stadium with the Queen stuck in an underpass – or worse.’
No further objection was voiced before they moved on to the next item on the agenda: the upcoming arrival of the Olympic torch in London.
21 July 2012 – 6 days to go
W HEN THE TORCH-BEARER ENTERED Greater London for the first time, Ross was more than ready to take over from his country colleagues.
He was relieved that the torch relay had so far gone without a major incident, despite large crowds lining the routes right across the country.
Still, he wouldn’t relax until the torch had finally reached the stadium.
Ross had kept up his running schedule of four miles a day, as well as spending an hour at his local gym pumping weights. This would be his Olympic final.
During the last few sections of the relay, the members of the dedicated Torch Relay team had remained at a discreet distance surrounding each torch-bearer, looking for the slightest suggestion of trouble or anything suspicious.
If such a situation arose, Ross knew he would have to make an instant decision, as there would be no time to consult anyone.
A thousand carefully selected torch-bearers would wind their way through three hundred miles of the sprawling metropolis until they handed the ‘Mother Flame’ over to seven young athletes chosen by seven former gold medallists.
The next generation would then light the two hundred and four petals, representing two hundred and four competing nations, that would continue to burn until the Games ended and the torch was passed on to the Mayor of Rio de Janeiro.
It might look like a lot of pomp and circumstance on the surface, but Ross understood the real significance of such ceremonies.
The torch was the symbol of the Olympics, and the Olympics were an occasion when the world came together in peace and friendly competition, not in war and conflict.
This simple flickering flame represented a great deal to so many people in troubled times.
Ross waited impatiently until he could hear cheering, just a distant rumble to begin with, then a roar that grew louder and louder long before the torch-bearer came into sight.
A local traffic warden was greeted with as many jeers as cheers as he lit the torch of a waiting NHS nurse, who was welcomed with thunderous applause as the flame was passed over and she set off on the next lap.
The atmosphere was intense, and Ross was reminded once again of the weight William and his team had carried on their shoulders for the past seven years. This excited, eager crowd of onlookers were the people who would feel let down if anything were to go wrong.
Ross, accompanied by the Torch Relay team, eyes darting in every direction, remained a few yards behind, just in case anyone decided to join the relay uninvited.
Few of the crowd would have noticed the minders, as their eyes were fixed on the torch and its latest bearer.
Ross continually scanned the crowd on both sides of the road, looking for the one person he didn’t doubt had plans to disrupt the progress of the torch.
Six police motorcyclists and an ambulance hovered a further hundred yards behind Ross and his team of runners, along with an armed car containing the ‘Mother Flame’, protected by four armed officers, bringing up the rear.
When the nurse came to the end of her leg, she lit the flame of a torch carried by an elderly gentleman who had taken part in the 1948 Olympics.
The crowd cheered the octogenarian every step of the way, Ross jogging a few yards behind.
The old man managed about a quarter of a mile before he passed the flame over to a local postman, suitably dressed for the occasion, an empty postbag over one shoulder and the torch in his hand.
Ross could tell that the torch-bearers were enjoying every moment of the experience, and expected that each torch would remain a family heirloom to be passed down from generation to generation.
Ross had to lengthen his stride, as the next recipient was captain of his local Hare and Hounds cross-country club, every bit as fit as Ross – and ten years younger. He might have got away if he hadn’t had to hold the torch aloft for all to see, which slowed him down.
Ross increased his pace when he saw the next runner coming into sight, a local fireman suitably dressed for the occasion, holding a large red bucket in one hand and his unlit torch in the other. Ross recognized him immediately.
When Ross saw that the bucket was full of water, he quickly cut down the distance between himself and the fireman.
The waiting runner placed his bucket on the ground, causing a few drops of water to spill out onto the road. As the captain of the cross-country club approached the fireman, he held up his torch so that the flame could be passed from one carrier to the next without delay.
Once it was lit, the fireman held his torch aloft, for all to see – and that was when Ross knew for certain what was about to happen.
As the fireman began to lower his torch slowly towards the bucket of water, Ross charged across the road and aimed a sharp kick at the bucket, sending it flying, water spilling out onto the pavement, just moments before the eternal flame would have been extinguished.
He grabbed the fireman and thrust an arm behind his back.
The crowd around them gasped, and the excitement of moments before fell to an eerie silence, broken only by the fireman’s cries of, ‘Let go of me!’
Ross ignored him, handing the still-lit torch over to the captain of the cross-country club, who was jogging on the spot, looking as bemused as the crowd around them. ‘Go and don’t stop running until you reach the next torch-bearer. Go!’ he repeated loudly.