Page 3 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

‘S EVENTY-SEVEN DAYS LEFT until the opening ceremony,’ said Assistant Commissioner Hawksby.

‘After seven years of preparation,’ Commander William Warwick reminded him, ‘we’re as ready as we can be.’

‘But it still won’t be ready enough,’ said the Hawk. ‘Prepare for the unexpected, because that’s what you’ll be up against.’

They were sitting in William’s office, the desk between them piled with reports, files and other paperwork, along with a few scattered family photos.

One picture showed William and his wife Beth on their wedding day, two and a half decades ago, while the latest frames displayed graduation photos of the twins.

The Hawk looked down again at the ‘for your eyes only’ report in front of him.

‘I’m glad your latest meeting with Professor Meredith at GCHQ went well – we may need him and his team’s expertise during the next few months.

Nobody is better at predicting the unpredictable than Meredith, as well as knowing how to counter it when it does arise. But is there anything else you need?’

William hesitated. ‘If it’s the unpredictable I’m to face, you know what – or who – I need.’

The Hawk sighed. ‘Commander Sinclair is still making difficulties about Ross being taken off traffic control, but if I have to overrule him, I will.’

‘Frankly, Ross is surplus to requirements in traffic control,’ said William.

‘And if I were able to rescue him, how would you take advantage of Sergeant Hogan’s particular skills?’

‘For a start, no one knows the East End mafia better than Ross,’ responded William.

‘And I just don’t have the time to deal with the likes of Bernie Longe and his gang of petty criminals, who will certainly be trying to get their hands on the millions that are swilling around in the Olympic trough.

And it’s not just the mafia. The Olympic Games are a potential target for everyone from fraudsters to terrorists and, if and when anything goes wrong, I need someone not only with Ross’s expertise, but also someone not known to be part of my security team. ’

‘Then perhaps Sergeant Hogan should go undercover and only report back to you. That way, Sinclair will also be left in the dark. In fact, it might be wise to keep the rest of the team out of the loop as well,’ said the Hawk, ‘me included.’

‘Until something goes wrong,’ said William, ‘when everyone will find out what Ross has been up to.’

The Hawk sighed. ‘If Ross is involved, something is bound to go wrong.’

William laughed as he checked his watch.

‘You have a more important appointment, Commander?’ suggested the Assistant Commissioner.

‘Far more important,’ said William.

The Hawk raised an eyebrow.

‘It’s my birthday,’ said William, ‘and Beth is taking me out to dinner, so I can’t afford to be late.’

‘Congratulations, my boy,’ said the Hawk, his tone suddenly changing. ‘Don’t let me keep you any longer.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said William, as the Hawk rose from his seat.

Once he had left the room, the Hawk walked quickly across to the lift and pressed the down button. When the doors slid open on the ground floor, he marched across the entrance hall, pushed his way through the swing doors, and jumped into the back of a waiting car.

The Hawk pulled the door closed, leant forward and barked at his driver, ‘Just be sure I get there before he does.’

···

William placed the thick file in the top drawer of his desk, locked it and left the office.

He walked along the corridor and stuck his head around the door of the ops room to let them know he was leaving early.

No sign of anyone – and then he remembered they’d all gone across to the Olympic Park to be among the first to have a guided tour.

He jogged down the steps to the ground floor, left the building, and made his way across to the senior officers’ car park.

William drove his Volvo out of the yard, turned left onto Victoria Street and headed for home.

He checked the dashboard clock. With a bit of luck, he should just about make it before Beth could complain.

On the journey back to Fulham, he mulled over the Hawk’s sanguine words, painfully aware that the Olympics would be far more of a challenge than anything he’d tackled during the past seven years as the Commander in Charge of Public Order and Operational Support.

Even a royal wedding felt like a village fête when compared with the Olympics.

William had accepted long ago that he didn’t have enough trained officers to cover the nine venues that littered the Olympic Park.

The support of seventy-thousand volunteers was welcome, but their enthusiasm would not make up for their lack of experience.

Last week, the Prime Minister had agreed to assign an additional 3,500 members of the military to Olympic security for the summer, which would be a huge help, but William was still concerned.

He tried to put such problems out of his mind as he backed into a residents-only parking space a few yards from his home.

He was looking forward to celebrating his fiftieth birthday with Beth at his favourite restaurant.

No persistently ringing phones, exhausted police officers with endless questions, not to mention the Hawk barking orders at everyone in sight.

Tonight, the only orders would come when he selected his meal and handed the menu back to the head waiter.

He locked the car, strolled up the path, put his key in the lock and opened the front door.

‘I’m home, darling,’ he announced, as he closed the door. There was no reply, so he went in search of his wife. He first checked the front room, then the kitchen, and finally her study, but there was no sign of Beth. His chance to tease her about being late for a change.

As he walked back into the corridor, he saw Artemisia coming down the stairs.

He could scarcely believe the twins were now twenty-five – partly because it seemed like only yesterday they were crawling around the house, and partly because Peter still lived at home.

He was saving every penny while training to be a barrister.

Artemisia, who was trying to break into journalism, had recently moved in with her boyfriend, Robert. He missed her.

‘What a nice surprise,’ said William.

‘Just wanted to wish you a happy birthday,’ she said, giving him a hug.

‘Have you seen Mum?’

Artemisia shook her head. ‘No, but Peter said she might be late tonight. Something has come up at the gallery.’

‘How unlike her to forget,’ said William.

‘Forget what?’ asked Arte.

‘We’re meant to be going out for dinner,’ said William, only to be interrupted by the dog barking. ‘At least Peel hasn’t forgotten it’s my birthday,’ he grumbled, as he headed for the garden.

He opened the back door – and found himself confronted not by the dog but by a large crowd of friendly faces. He barely had time to express his surprise before an untutored choir, conducted by the Hawk, began a raucous rendering of ‘Happy Birthday, dear William’.

A drink was thrust into William’s hand by Beth.

He looked around their pocket handkerchief garden, which was currently packed with fifty guests and a tail-wagging Peel, who had all come to celebrate William’s fiftieth birthday.

He spotted family and friends amongst the group, along with most of his team from the Yard.

The garden was noisy with chatter and laughter, and he had the feeling that the drink had been flowing freely long before he arrived.

‘Who organized this deception, dare I ask?’ William whispered to Beth.

‘Guilty as charged,’ she replied.

‘And your accomplices?’ demanded William, as he took his wife in his arms.

‘Artemisia and Peter, assisted by Ross, who specializes in deception,’ she added, as his oldest friend strolled across to join them.

‘You’re a devious man, Sergeant Hogan.’

‘What do you have in mind as a reprimand, guv?’ asked Ross.

‘I’m putting you back on the beat,’ said William.

Ross laughed. ‘Lambeth, where we both started?’

‘No,’ replied William. ‘Underground, where you belong.’ He lowered his voice, stepping back from Beth. ‘I’m serious, Ross. The Hawk’s going to pull rank and get you out from under Commander Sinclair’s watchful eye. Say goodbye to traffic, because we’ve got more important work for you to do.’

Ross made no attempt to hide his surprise and delight at the news. ‘The Olympics?’ he ventured.

William would have briefed him, if he hadn’t been interrupted by Artemisia, who came weaving through the crowd to join them.

‘Happy birthday again, Dad,’ she said, with a grin. ‘Glad we all had you fooled. But if you don’t mind, I need to steal my godfather for a minute.’ William nodded.

‘I need your advice,’ Artemisia explained to Ross, as soon as they were out of earshot.

‘And what is it you clearly don’t want your father to know about?’ enquired Ross.

‘I’ve been offered a job at the Daily Mail as a trainee reporter,’ said Artemisia.

Ross beamed. ‘Congratulations. I know how hard you’ve been trying to get a job in Fleet Street. But surely your parents must know about the offer?’

‘Of course they do,’ said Artemisia. ‘But what they don’t know is how I plan to hold on to the job.

You see, it’s only temporary, during the Games, but the editor has said he’ll consider offering me a full-time position if I can come up with an exclusive.

He hinted that I could take advantage of my father’s position. ’

‘Clearly a man who specializes in bribery and corruption,’ suggested Ross. ‘Although I’m sure a smart kid like you will have no trouble coming up with an exclusive without your father’s help.’

‘Not much of a kid any more,’ said Artemisia, wistfully. ‘I have a few ideas but … if I’m to land an exclusive, I could do with your particular brand of,’ she paused, ‘wickedness.’

Ross laughed. ‘Fire away, young lady.’

‘I need to find a way of getting into the athletes’ village, but I don’t have a pass.’