Page 20 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

W ILLIAM WAS SO EXHAUSTED that he couldn’t sleep.

He toppled out of his camp bed just after five, took a cold shower and got dressed.

He left the stadium before the sun had risen and began to walk slowly around a deserted Olympic Park.

He would, like Ross, have run, but he found he couldn’t fully concentrate while jogging.

He began by trying to get his thoughts in some order.

How close had they come to total disaster?

Far too close. And if this had been engineered from high up in the Russian government, as he feared, then what was coming next?

He would need to gather all the salient facts from his inner team before he could brief the Hawk.

Last night, Ross had attempted to interview the engineer they’d arrested, but with little success; so far, the man wouldn’t talk.

Ross would try again this morning, but William held little hope of any real information being forthcoming.

In the meantime, there was someone else he needed to speak to: Professor Meredith, his contact at GCHQ.

If there was anyone who might be able to throw some light on what they could expect, it was Meredith, a man who spent his life thinking outside the box and continually preparing for the unexpected.

They had met several times in the run-up to the Olympics, and William knew he could rely on his discretion. But at what hour could he wake him?

William circled the swimming arena and began to make his way slowly back towards the stadium – a stadium that would remain quiet for another week before the starter’s pistol was fired for the first track and field event.

In the meantime, the opening week of the Games would be colonized by a myriad of different sports ranging from swimming to gymnastics, boxing to weightlifting, cycling to equestrian events, fencing to …

The list was endless. Forty-three world championships held in a single week in an area the size of a village: the Olympic Village.

Most of the competitors had waited four years for their moment on the world stage, and for some, it would be no more than a curtain lowered, while their rivals progressed to the next round, fewer still reaching the semi-finals and only a handful the finals, leaving just three to mount the podium and be awarded a gold, silver or bronze medal.

Those lucky few would bask in glory for a lifetime, while one, perhaps two, would lay claim to immortality and add their names to the scroll of Olympic history.

William checked his watch once again as he approached the stadium: 5.43. He returned to his dungeon in the basement to prepare for the morning team meeting. So many items on the agenda fell into the category of ‘contingency planning’.

William switched on the light in the Gold Suite, relieved to see the bulb obey his order.

He looked up at the bank of CCTV screens.

The army engineers had continued working through the night so that the public – and, more importantly, the press – would never find out there had been a problem.

The generator room had been fitted with new Banham locks, while two guards were posted outside and another two inside, as well as half a dozen over-qualified electricians carrying out four-hour shifts, so it wouldn’t be necessary to once again call on General Norton’s services.

At six minutes past six, William decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He checked the name on his priority list before slowly dialling the number. Only one ring and the call was answered by a man who sounded wide awake.

‘Good morning, Professor Meredith,’ said William. ‘I hope I didn’t wake you.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ said a voice that didn’t sound surprised to find the Commander on the other end of the line. ‘I’ve been waiting for your call. Forty-eight seconds was a little too long for a blackout to have been a scripted part of the show. So, what happened?’

After William had recounted last night’s near-disaster in detail, he asked, ‘Can you draw any conclusions, Professor, that might assist us in the future?’

‘Only one of any importance,’ responded Meredith.

‘There’s someone out there whose sole purpose is to ensure that the London Games will not be remembered for their sporting prowess.

’ He paused. ‘If you are able to identify who that person is, you’ll be halfway to stopping them in their tracks, if you’ll forgive the pun.

You said the three men involved are all Russian, so it seems plausible to assume their government may be involved in something on such a grand scale.

But somebody has to be in charge of the operation, so that’s the person you need to identify. ’

‘We caught one of them red-handed,’ said William, ‘and he spent the rest of the night in the stadium’s prison cell, but, I confess, the other two got clean away.’

‘The one you caught was no doubt nothing more than a foot soldier,’ said Professor Meredith. ‘Has he been questioned yet?’

‘He wouldn’t answer a single question last night. But my team will be trying again this morning.’

‘I suspect he’s no more than a small cog in a very large wheel that is being operated out of Moscow. I doubt he’d know anything of significance anyway.’

Meredith’s tone of voice left William in no doubt of the size and potential danger of the threat.

‘What do you consider should be my next move, Professor?’ he asked.

‘I’m not altogether sure, Commander,’ admitted Meredith, ‘but then, you have to remember that all of us at GCHQ are trained to play the long game. Your particular nemeses have only a two-week window of opportunity available to them, and they will be well aware that another opportunity such as this may not present itself again for several years, if ever – which means they may have to take an occasional risk they would not normally consider. Surprisingly enough, Commander, that could turn out to your advantage.’

William didn’t interrupt.

‘However,’ continued the professor, ‘you have an added problem, as I’m not convinced that it’s only the Russians who are involved. This could even be a three-headed hydra and, therefore, cutting off one of the heads might not solve your problem.’

‘And the other two heads?’

The professor didn’t answer the question directly, but said quietly, ‘You mentioned that you fear a known criminal may be working for the Russians?’

‘Miles Faulkner,’ said William, ‘a white-collar criminal who has crossed my path several times over the years, and has done time – twice – and after this might well spend the rest of his life in jail.’

‘Could Faulkner be strapped for cash?’ was Meredith’s next enquiry.

‘Far from it,’ said William. ‘Croesus is his brother.’

‘Croesus the Great, 620 to 546 BC , didn’t have a brother,’ said Meredith, ‘but I take your point. However, one is bound to ask what’s in it for Faulkner if he doesn’t need the money, because if he were caught, he could be charged with treason.’

‘But if he succeeds,’ said William, ‘I could lose my job, and he’d like nothing more. And there’s something else – Miles Faulkner has been spotted taking a great deal of interest in a Van Gogh self-portrait that is part of the Russian Hermitage collection currently on display at the Fitzmolean.’

‘Ah,’ said Professor Meredith. ‘I begin to see things more clearly. I’ll have a team tracking the Russian Ambassador night and day to see if that particular magnet will attract any filings.

But for now, I’ll let you get on with the day job – and, William, don’t hesitate to call if you think I can help. ’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said William, before putting the phone down. A third party , he repeated to himself, and then he remembered who else was seated in the Russian Ambassador’s box.

···

Across the other side of the park beneath the Olympic Stadium, Ross and Jackie were sitting in a police interview room. Opposite them sat the man they had arrested the previous night. He had been down there for nearly twelve hours, having slept in the cell next door.

The three of them had been in the interview room for the past half-hour and, so far, the suspect had barely opened his mouth, other than to drink the occasional glass of water.

Whenever he did speak, he gave short, monosyllabic answers in Russian.

The only words he spoke that Jackie and Ross understood were: ‘No English’, although Ross was fairly sure the man understood every word they were saying.

They had requested a translator, but while they were waiting, Ross tried again.

‘What was the purpose of last night’s break-in?’

‘No speak English.’

‘Under whose orders were you acting?’

‘No speak English.’

‘Who was the man with you?’

‘No speak English.’

‘What is your name?’

The man smiled very slightly. ‘No speak English,’ he repeated. He’d been told that, unlike his compatriots back home, the British didn’t go in for torturing suspects.

There was a knock on the door, and when Jackie opened it, one of the constables ushered in the translator.

After being cautioned concerning the secrecy of what she was about to hear, the translator was brought up to speed, and was soon conversing with the arrested man in Russian.

After five minutes, she turned to Ross and Jackie with a frown.

‘This is all a huge mistake,’ the translator said.

‘This man is not a criminal – he’s on holiday in London to see the Olympics.

He’s an electrical engineer by trade, and last night he was threatened at gunpoint by a man he did not know and forced to accompany him and tamper with some machinery.

He knows nothing about what happened last night. ’

‘Word perfect,’ said Ross, knowing when he was beaten.

‘He has asked me to contact the Russian Embassy on his behalf,’ the translator went on. ‘Might I use your phone?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well?’ Ross said to Jackie, as they closed the cell door behind them.

‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ Jackie replied.