Page 28 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

‘If you look out on the right-hand side,’ said the tour guide, ‘you’ll see the velodrome, which holds six thousand spectators. This is where the cycling competitions are being held, and where Chris Hoy is hoping to add another gold medal to his collection, for Britain.’

‘For Scotland,’ declared a voice with an unmistakable broad accent, which brought laughter and applause in equal measure.

‘After I was knocked out of the competition – his fault,’ said Natasha, pointing at her fiancé, ‘Alain left his seat and came down to the edge of the track. I couldn’t speak French and he didn’t know a word of Russian, so it wasn’t a promising start.

We struggled on in pidgin English accompanied by sign language, and finally agreed to meet in the training stadium the following morning. ’

‘We both ended up at the wrong stadium,’ said Alain, as he took her hand, ‘but I eventually found her.’

‘I did everything in my power to avoid falling in love with Alain,’ said Natasha, a sadness creeping into her voice, ‘as I felt sure it wouldn’t end happily.’

‘But why?’ asked Artemisia, ‘when you’re both so obviously …’

‘We come from different countries,’ said Natasha, ‘speak different languages, and have been brought up in different cultures, so how could it possibly work?’

‘Love has got a lot to answer for,’ said Alain, ‘because I knew within days of meeting Natasha that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, whatever the consequences.’

‘But the only time we could see each other was at international meets,’ said Natasha, ‘and even then, we often ended up only snatching a few precious moments together. But when Alain visited Moscow with the French team last year, he took me to the Bolshoi ballet and proposed during the interval.’ She held up her left hand to show Artemisia her engagement ring.

‘We never got to see the Black Swan,’ said Alain, with an infectious grin.

‘On your left,’ the guide was saying, ‘is the basketball arena, which holds twelve thousand spectators and, surprise, surprise, the Americans won gold yet again.’

A few raucous jeers and cheers greeted this information.

‘We both began to train even harder,’ said Alain, ‘to make sure we continued to be selected for our national teams. But I’m afraid that can’t go on for much longer.

I’m twenty-eight and coming to the end of my career, and in Natasha’s case, it’s a totally different problem, as she’s having to deal with—’

‘State-sponsored drugs,’ said Natasha, completing Alain’s sentence.

Alain took Natasha’s hand once again, but it was still some time before she spoke again.

‘About a year ago, I was approached by a man called Grigory Rodchenkov, the director of the anti-doping laboratory, a misnomer only our government could believe would fool anyone. Rodchenkov told me that over half the national team are now on drugs, and if I hoped to be selected for the Olympic squad, I would have to sign up for his programme.’

‘And did you?’ asked Artemisia quietly.

‘No, I did not,’ said Natasha firmly. ‘My father is a doctor and my mother was a nurse, and they had both warned me from an early age about the long-term consequences should I decide to travel down that particular road.’

‘But you still made it onto the Russian team,’ Artemisia reminded her.

‘Only by a centimetre,’ said Natasha. ‘During the past couple of years, both of my main rivals, who I used to beat regularly, were suddenly producing personal bests, while I only just managed to squeeze third place in the Olympic trials. So this will be my last Games, and any hope of winning a medal has long gone.’ She hesitated, squeezing Alain’s hand tightly.

‘I’ve decided that the time has come to speak out, not least because I promised my father I would do so if the opportunity arose. ’

‘And frankly,’ said Alain, ‘we thought you might give us the chance to expose what the Russians are getting away with behind everyone’s back, and allow athletes like Natasha to fulfil their dream and end their careers on the podium being awarded a medal, not in the changing room, packing their bags. ’

‘You’ll have to help me,’ said Artemisia. ‘I’m a layman in these matters, so I can’t begin to understand how it works.’

Natasha remained silent while the tour guide described the ExCel centre, where the judo, wrestling, boxing and weightlifting had been taking place.

‘Not to mention the fencing,’ said Artemisia, touching Annie’s pass, which still hung around her neck.

Natasha smiled, but only briefly. ‘In Moscow, there is a state-funded programme that administers drugs to over a thousand athletes in every Olympic sport, from weightlifting to synchronized swimming. However, the largest number of athletes involved are in the track and field team.’

‘But I thought there were checks in place after each event?’ said Artemisia. ‘So why aren’t they caught?’

‘Because Grigory Rodchenkov has invented a steroid cocktail, known as a Duchess, that if taken six weeks before any major competition, can mask any drug-taking.’

‘And he’s the director of the anti -doping laboratory?’ said Artemisia, trying not to sound incredulous.

‘Yes, and he sits in the stand watching the Games every day, and is the first on his feet applauding every time a Russian wins a medal.’

‘So how does this Duchess cocktail work?’ asked Artemisia.

‘You dissolve steroids in alcohol,’ said Natasha. ‘Whisky for men, vermouth for women. You swill it around in your mouth and then spit it out. You don’t even have to swallow it. Then by the time you compete, you’re in the clear.’

‘That simple?’ said Artemisia.

‘That simple,’ repeated Natasha.

‘And in front of you,’ said the tour guide, ‘you can see the London Aquatics Centre. This is where Michael Phelps won six Olympic medals to add to his tally of sixteen, making him the most decorated Olympian in history.’

Artemisia thought long and hard before she asked her next question, ‘But if I were to expose Rodchenkov,’ she said, ‘wouldn’t your life be in danger?’

‘Only if I go back to Russia,’ said Natasha, barely audible.

Artemisia looked at them both. ‘So you’ll join Alain in France when the Games are over?’

‘Before the Games are over,’ whispered Alain.

‘It’s not going to be easy,’ said Natasha. ‘What you have to remember is that half the Russian team double up as spies, so if I were to make an unexpected move, it would have to be done while everyone else’s eyes were looking in the opposite direction.’

‘And when will that be?’ asked Artemisia.

‘During the opening heats of the one hundred metres on Tuesday,’ said Alain, ‘while I’ll be competing in the qualifying round of the high jump.’

‘And you, Natasha?’

‘I’ll be sitting in the competitors’ stand, watching Alain,’ she replied, ‘which won’t come as a surprise to anyone.’

‘There are eight heats in the first round of the hundred metres,’ explained Alain, ‘spread over a forty-minute period. Once I’m knocked out, I’ll leave the competition area and watch from the stands.’

‘But you might get through to the final,’ said Artemisia.

‘No chance,’ said Alain. ‘Those days have long gone and, frankly, no one will be surprised if I’m among the first to be eliminated.’

‘And then what?’

‘We will wait for the start of the fourth heat of the one hundred metres,’ said Natasha, ‘when Usain Bolt will be on the starting line. When the gun goes off, the crowd will stand, their eyes never leaving the track for the next ten seconds, which is when we’ll both slip out unnoticed – separately – and make our way straight to Stratford underground. ’

‘I did a dry run yesterday evening,’ said Alain. ‘It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the station, and my bet is that while Bolt is running, we’ll be the only people leaving the stand and the tube should be fairly empty.’

‘We’ll arrive at Victoria separately,’ said Natasha, taking over the baton, ‘which will take another thirty minutes, and then we’ll join the Gatwick Express. We’ll be at the airport thirty minutes later.’

‘By the time we board our flight to Lyon,’ said Alain, ‘the crowd should be engrossed in the final of the ten thousand metres, not least because a Brit is the favourite to win the gold.’

‘You seem to have everything planned down to the last minute,’ said Artemisia. ‘So how can I help?’

‘Tickets,’ said Alain.

‘Tickets?’ repeated Artemisia.

‘I can’t risk trying to book a flight for Lyon while I’m being watched so closely. Whereas you …’ Natasha paused. ‘I know it’s a big ask – my government are unforgiving – but it’s me they are concerned about, not you.’

‘Consider it done,’ said Artemisia, who was eager to play her part. ‘Will you be safe in France?’

Artemisia could see the fear in Natasha’s eyes. ‘I can only hope so,’ she said, so quietly and sadly that Artemisia wished she hadn’t asked.

She turned the conversation back to practical matters. ‘So where do we meet?’

‘On the Gatwick Express from Victoria,’ said Alain, now back in control. ‘Platform thirteen.’

‘Here we are back at the stadium,’ said the tour guide, as the bus came to a halt. ‘I do hope you all enjoyed the tour.’

A warm round of applause followed, which allowed Natasha to slip her passport into Artemisia’s bag, along with enough money for her ticket.

The door of the bus opened and the chattering passengers began to disembark.

Artemisia was among the first to leave the coach, and she didn’t look back.

···

When she shared her news with Robert over dinner that evening, the first thing he said was, ‘We have our own booking office at the Commons, so you can leave that particular problem to me. I’ll need Natasha’s passport.’

Artemisia dug the little red document and the money out of her bag and handed them over to Robert.

‘After dinner, I’m going to write a first draft of my article,’ said Artemisia, ‘while it’s still fresh in my mind. I can’t wait to show it to the editor.’

‘You’ll need photographs, so make sure you take a good camera.’

Artemisia made another note to herself.

‘This is beginning to look like it might just be your big exclusive,’ said Robert.

‘Let’s hope so, but I won’t believe it until I’ve seen their plane take off for Lyon.

I just hope everything works out for them.

’ She grimaced when she thought about the risk the two lovers were taking, and how tightly they’d held each other’s hands on the bus.

She couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d feel if her government tried to keep her and Robert apart.