Page 38 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

‘Are you taking me home this evening, Commander?’ asked Beth, before she devoured her last morsel of veal, ‘or do you feel we haven’t known each other long enough?’

‘We certainly haven’t known each other long enough, my darling,’ said William, ‘but I’m still going to take you home, even though you’re not a cheap date.’

‘And don’t expect me to go along with this modern habit of splitting the bill on a first date,’ said Beth, ‘because I don’t have to remind you, I’m unemployed.’

‘Would you care to see the dessert trolley, madam?’ asked the ma?tre d’.

‘No, thank you,’ said Beth. ‘It was a wonderful meal and the wine was quite superb.’

‘And you, sir?’

‘Just the bill,’ said William, as he took out his wallet, fearing the worst.

‘It’s on the house, sir,’ said the ma?tre d’. ‘The restaurant has been packed night and day during the Olympics, and we’re all well aware you are in charge of security for the Games, so we felt in the circumstances it was the least we could do.’

‘Thank you,’ said Beth, as the ma?tre d’ bowed and left them.

‘I agree with you, my darling,’ said William, as he placed his wallet back in his pocket. ‘We should come here more often.’

···

They met at midnight on a yacht moored on the Thames, just off Putney. All the lights had been switched off, except those below deck in the captain’s quarters. The motley crew seated around the table consisted of two ambassadors, one undersecretary, one state terrorist and one traitor.

Although Faulkner owned the yacht, it was Ambassador Mikailov who opened proceedings.

‘My masters in Moscow are not best pleased,’ he stated, which didn’t come as a surprise to anyone present.

‘The torch relay fiasco, the opening ceremony failure and our inability to have either Bolt or Farah disqualified, despite successfully spiking both their urine samples, have made us all look amateurs at best, and incompetent at worst.’

‘Not helped by killing Sergeant Roycroft,’ said Faulkner, staring across the table at Sun Anqi. ‘If you’d satisfied yourself with stealing her mobile, they might have thought you were nothing more than a pickpocket, whereas now we’ve got Warwick and half the Met Police looking over our shoulders.’

‘I didn’t have a choice,’ Sun Anqi replied sharply. ‘If Roycroft had still been around to identify me, I would have had to call my whole operation off, and years of planning would have gone down the drain, to quote the British.’

‘Resulting in the Games being a triumph for London and a disaster for us,’ said the Ambassador, looking around the table. ‘Remembering that Petrov has been seen by at least one of Warwick’s team, I think it might be wise for him to lie low and certainly not attend the closing ceremony.’

‘All of you should avoid the closing ceremony,’ said Sun Anqi, closing down any further interruptions.

The focus of attention switched from one side of the table to the other.

Sun Anqi didn’t need to open a file, as she knew every detail of her script, like an accomplished actor playing a leading role.

She didn’t require the assistance of politicians, mandarins, or an Englishman, who she had no doubt could be bought by the highest bidder.

Sun Anqi addressed the team as if the amateurs had been given their chance, squandered it, and now the professionals would be taking over.

‘Gentlemen,’ she began, ‘let me assure you that I have been fine-tuning my plan for several months and have left nothing to chance.

However, I must warn you that the climax will not come until the eleventh hour, when Jacques Rogge will deliver his closing speech from the podium as President of the International Olympic Committee.

I have a copy of his speech, which has already been circulated to the press, although it has been embargoed until after the closing ceremony, by which time it will be irrelevant.

‘However, when Rogge taps the microphone – and he always taps the microphone before he begins a speech – I will already be by the front of the stage standing among the British team, waiting for his opening words: Your Royal Highness, my lords, ladies and gentlemen, London has hosted a truly memorable Games …

‘The moment Rogge delivers these words, every eye in the stadium will be on him. I will wait until he reaches, London will be remembered as one of the most successful Games of the modern era . That will be my cue to release five ampoules of the nerve agent, Sarin, from my trainers which will kill all those standing around me within moments.’

‘You included,’ said Wei Ming quietly.

‘That is the reason my plan is foolproof, Your Excellency,’ Sun Anqi reminded him. ‘However,’ she continued, ‘the death of several members of the British team will only be a small part of what I have planned for London’s swansong.’

Faulkner tried to remain detached.

‘Don’t spare us the details,’ said Wei Ming, enjoying every moment.

‘Once the liquid has vaporized, it will quickly spread, either killing or debilitating almost everyone in its path. Those close to me will die within moments, while anyone nearby will suffer seizures and paralysis, which may not surface for weeks, but I can assure you will get them in the end. And for those who panic and flee from the stadium imagining they’re safe, some will be carrying the gas on their clothes so we must hope they get onto a tube, an enclosed space, where they will unwittingly spread the gas.

I’m only sorry I won’t be around to witness it.

However, given the circumstances, I recommend that none of you attend the closing ceremony, because nerve agents don’t discriminate.

If all goes to plan – and it will,’ said Sun Anqi, ‘Prince Harry, who will be representing the Queen, and the British Prime Minister, along with several other heads of state, leading politicians and so-called dignitaries, will be attending their last public function. And there will only be one country to blame, and one person in particular,’ continued Sun Anqi, ‘namely Commander Warwick, which should at least make you a happy man,’ she added, staring directly at Faulkner.

‘But if that were to happen,’ came back Faulkner, ‘many of your own countrymen will die.’

‘A sacrifice we are willing to make,’ said the Chinese Ambassador, ‘as it will convince the rest of the world we couldn’t possibly have been involved.’

Faulkner couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He now knew just how right Booth Watson had been when he’d advised: Walk away while you still can.

‘But won’t you still have a problem getting into the stadium?’ asked Mikailov.

‘Not while there are three hundred other athletes to accompany me,’ said Sun Anqi. ‘You see, I will be wearing two tracksuits – one in the Chinese team colours, to get me into the stadium with the rest of the team, and another one underneath to make sure I can join the British team unnoticed.’

‘But what if you are searched on your way in?’ asked Petrov.

‘I will be wearing the official Chinese team kit, so there’s no reason for anyone to be suspicious.’

Faulkner leant slightly forward in his seat. ‘But what if someone recognizes you? We don’t think your cover has been blown, but, if Roycroft managed to send any images to Warwick …’

‘I have the photographs and, just in case you’ve forgotten, I removed the only witness who could have identified me.’

‘But the place will be swarming with security guards …’

‘I’m well aware of that, Mr Faulkner,’ said Sun Anqi, contemptuously. ‘But I have identified a weakness that you British suffer from – something they are taught in their public schools from an early age.’

‘And what might that be?’ asked Faulkner.

‘That women are the weaker sex,’ said Sun Anqi, ‘and that weakness is something I intend to take advantage of.’

Faulkner didn’t press her for details, not least because he had learnt over the past few weeks that Sun Anqi wouldn’t share them with her own countrymen, let alone an Englishman she didn’t trust.

‘I am confident that not only will I succeed,’ said Sun Anqi, ‘but also that the London Games will only be remembered for its closing ceremony.’

‘And not as a glorious triumph to be compared with Beijing,’ said Wei Ming.

‘Over my dead body,’ said Sun Anqi.

···

The first appointment Mr Booth Watson had the following morning was with an out-of-work actor who’d played Faulkner at the Savoy the night before – an uncanny resemblance.

After he’d been paid a thousand pounds in cash for his night’s work, he only had one question for his paymaster before he left, ‘Can I keep the coat?’

Booth Watson agreed to his request, but only after he’d signed a non-disclosure agreement.

The Chinese extra was the next to appear and receive his equity fee.

He told Booth Watson the meal had been excellent, and he’d enjoyed the company of the Chinese Ambassador’s wife, who had clearly known the part she was expected to play in her husband’s absence.

‘Should you wish a repeat performance,’ said the understudy, ‘I’d be only too happy to oblige. ’

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ said Booth Watson, who had no intention of ever seeing the man again.

The two Russian actors were paid in full, even though their services hadn’t been required, and they left Booth Watson’s chambers none the wiser.

After paying off the last of the thespians, Booth Watson took a taxi to the Savoy to have lunch with the real Miles Faulkner, where he reported on the successful outcome of his role in the deception.

But then he listened intently to his client while he revealed what was going to happen at the closing ceremony.

Booth Watson didn’t remind Miles that he had advised him on more than one occasion to walk away while he still could, because it was now too late.