Page 27 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

‘W HO ’ D GET THE GOLD MEDAL for causing the most trouble at these Games?’ asked Paul, as he put down the phone.

‘It would be a close-run thing between the Chinese and the Russians,’ said Jackie, as she selected a stale ham sandwich.

‘Well, I think you’ll find that the Russians have just taken the lead.’

‘What are they claiming this time?’ asked Jackie, after taking a bite.

‘That someone took a shot at their coach when they were driving towards the stadium, but as I’m likely to lose my temper with them,’ said Paul, ‘it might be wise for you to come along and hold my hand.’

‘When you say coach,’ said Jackie, abandoning her half-eaten sandwich, ‘do you mean a human or a vehicle?’

‘Both,’ said Paul, ‘but I can’t make up my mind if I should brief the Commander.’

‘I think he’s got enough on his plate at the moment,’ Jackie said.

‘Agreed,’ said Paul, as he quickly left the Gold Suite, with Jackie in his wake.

Paul had worked out in the first week that if you hung around waiting for the lift, it took at least another twenty-four seconds of precious time, and even longer on the way down.

Six times a day on average meant five minutes wasted every day, and over the two weeks of the Games, that would add up.

Paul didn’t have one and a half hours to waste.

They jogged up the steps and out of the building onto Olympic Way, where they couldn’t miss a coach that was parked a few hundred yards away in the middle of the road with no driver behind the wheel. An irate-looking man, arms folded, was perched on the front bumper.

‘I don’t hear the sound of an ambulance,’ said Jackie, cupping a hand to her ear.

‘Because, fortunately, no one was injured,’ said Paul, as they walked slowly towards the waiting man.

‘Or a siren to suggest a police car is on its way to apprehend the villain who carried out such an audacious crime in broad daylight,’ said Jackie. ‘Or any independent witnesses to back up their story.’

‘They must have got away scot-free,’ said Paul, as he approached the man, who resembled a heavyweight boxer waiting for the referee to ring the bell for the opening round so he could land the first punch. He stepped forward when they were just a few paces away.

‘Don’t say a word,’ said Paul. ‘Leave the talking to me.’

‘Understood,’ said Jackie.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said Paul, as he came to a halt in front of the man, who towered above him and looked as if he’d already gone three rounds. ‘What seems to be the problem?’

‘Who are you?’ demanded the man, placing his hands on his hips as he glared at Paul.

‘Commander Paul Adaja. Head of Olympic Security.’

‘Then all I can say, Commander, is you’re not doing a very convincing job.’

‘And may I ask who you are, sir?’ said Paul.

‘Captain Sokolov, coach to the Russian volleyball team.’

‘And how can I be of assistance, Captain Sokolov?’

‘My team,’ he said, pointing at the group of people who were sitting in the coach, ‘are competing in today’s opening rounds of the competition.

We were on our way to Earl’s Court when someone took a shot at us.

You can clearly see where the bullet went through a side window. It’s a miracle no one was killed.’

Paul inspected the damaged window, while Jackie climbed onto the coach.

‘So what are you going to do about it?’ demanded Sokolov, as Jackie got back off the coach and handed Paul the murder weapon.

‘Not a lot, Captain,’ said Paul, as he bent down to take a closer look at the small stones and pebbles on the ground.

‘Well, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Commander. I’m going to call a press conference and let the world know that someone fired a shot at us and the police did nothing about it.’

‘That’s your prerogative, sir,’ said Paul calmly, ‘but you might find the first question the press will ask is: where is the spent bullet that you say entered the coach, and where was the shot fired from?

‘The gunman must have taken the bullet away with him.’

‘So you’re telling me that after your team got off the coach, the gunman climbed on board and retrieved the bullet,’ said Paul.

‘That must have taken a lot of nerve. However, if that is the case, we’ll need to take witness statements from your team which I’m sorry to say will once again hold you up. ’

Jackie somehow kept a straight face while she wrote down every word.

Sokolov remained silent, his hands falling to his side as he waited for the knock-out blow.

‘And the second question the press might ask,’ continued Paul, ‘is: was anyone on the coach injured, and if they were, why didn’t you call for an ambulance?’

The captain seemed lost for words.

‘And their final question could possibly be,’ suggested Paul, as he held up a small stone so the dozen faces staring through the window could see it, ‘could this, found on the bus just now by Detective Chief Inspector Roycroft, be the cause of the unfortunate damage?’

Sokolov clenched his fist.

‘I think on balance, Captain,’ said Paul, ‘It might be wise to take your team on to Earl’s Court, that’s if you’re still hoping to be in time for the opening match.’

‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ said Sokolov, as he climbed back on the coach.

‘I thought I was a lowly sergeant,’ said Jackie, as the bus moved off, ‘not a Detective Chief Inspector.’

‘I don’t think Captain Sokolov would have been willing to deal with a mere sergeant,’ said Paul, ‘but be assured, Jackie, your promotion was only temporary.’

When Paul reported the incident to the Gold Commander, William mused, ‘Is this another part of a bigger plan that’s simply meant to distract us?’

···

There was a quiet tap on the door.

‘Come,’ said the Russian Ambassador, barely raising his head.

The door opened to allow Sergei Petrov to enter his private domain. The undersecretary walked across the room and came to a halt in front of him. His Excellency didn’t suggest he could be seated in the comfortable chair on the other side of his desk. He remained standing.

‘You saw our British accomplice earlier this week, I understand?’

Petrov nodded.

‘And is everything in place to ensure the two athletes are both disqualified?’ Mikailov asked, without mentioning either of them by name.

‘Yes, Your Excellency,’ Petrov replied, without further explanation.

The Ambassador gave one sharp nod. ‘And Sun Anqi?’

‘She assures me that everything is in place for the closing ceremony.’

‘She has the package from Helsinki?’

Petrov shook his head. ‘The handover will take place on Sunday – early in the morning to escape detection.’ He hesitated, before saying, ‘I’m not convinced Sun Anqi can deliver,’ he said, ‘and perhaps you ought to distance yourself, Ambassador.’

‘That’s no concern of yours,’ replied the Ambassador sharply. ‘The Chinese have their own plan. My only interest is to make sure nothing goes wrong with our plan. What other problems do we have?’

Petrov inclined his head. ‘Miles Faulkner is being tailed by the Metropolitan Police and, following the opening ceremony, it seems probable that I have been recognized, but they have yet to discover Sun Anqi’s association with us, as she has managed to stay undercover.’

‘Good,’ said Mikailov. ‘Just make sure it stays that way.’ He looked up. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes,’ replied Petrov. ‘An agent working for me in the Olympic Park has raised a problem I thought I should brief you on concerning one of our competitors named Natasha Korova.’

Saturday, 4 August – day 9 of the Games

A RTEMISIA WAS STANDING at the front of the queue long before the tour was due to begin.

She kept looking back as more and more passengers joined the line, but it was almost four o’clock by the time Alain arrived and took his place at the back.

He didn’t acknowledge her, which made her wonder if he was alone and she’d only get his side of the story.

Better than nothing, she decided. But would her editor describe it as half a story and once again drop it in the wastepaper basket?

Just as the doors of the bus opened, a tall willowy figure appeared and tried to pretend she wasn’t there. Not that easy when you’re six foot two and as thin as the proverbial rake.

Artemisia was the first on board and knew exactly where she intended to sit.

Most of the passengers who followed her onto the bus shot up the staircase and quickly grabbed window seats that would allow them a panoramic view of the unfolding scene below.

Artemisia didn’t join them, as she had no interest in the view.

She walked slowly to the back of the bus and commandeered the centre seat. She placed her bag and jacket on one side of her, as she waited for Alain and Natasha to climb aboard.

When Alain got on the bus, she raised a hand. He quickly joined her, handed back her jacket and slipped into the corner seat.

A few moments later, Natasha slipped into the place between them, slouched down but didn’t speak, as they were joined at the back by a father, mother and their little daughter, who took up the three remaining seats.

They began chatting away in a tongue she didn’t recognize, while looking out of the far window.

No sooner had the bus moved off than a guide, microphone in hand, welcomed them aboard. She began by telling them what they could expect to see during the next hour.

Artemisia was only interested in what she was to hear during the next hour. She took a small tape recorder out of her bag and switched it on. She didn’t want to be seen taking notes.

‘Let me begin by asking you,’ she said, not needing to refer to the long list of questions she knew off by heart, ‘when and where you met.’

‘I first noticed Alain,’ said Natasha, ‘when he was sitting in the stands at the World Student Games in Budapest, pretending not to stare at me. I missed my next jump, but it didn’t stop him applauding.’

Alain smiled, clearly recalling the occasion.