Page 40 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

The band of the Royal Marines struck up ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ as the West Gate opened to allow the first team to enter the stadium.

Greece led the assembled athletes into the arena, their blue and white flag fluttering in the breeze.

They were greeted with a warm welcome from the waiting crowd as they stepped out onto the track.

When they passed the Royal Box, they lowered their flag, and Prince Harry, representing the Queen, took the royal salute.

As each new country entered the stadium, they were welcomed with cheers from different sections of the crowd, but the loudest roar erupted when the host nation finally appeared and eighty thousand people rose to their feet to acknowledge a team that had won sixty-five medals, twenty-nine of them gold.

The largest haul since 1948, when the Games were last held in London.

Ben Ainslie led his compatriots onto the track holding the Union Jack aloft for all to see.

···

As the Chinese team progressed slowly towards the entrance to the stadium, a dozen security guards scoured the rows of assembled athletes in search of a man or woman who matched the photographs they had been issued.

An almost impossible task, as they were all dressed identically in red and white tracksuits.

Without warning, one of the Chinese team collapsed onto the ground and several athletes surrounded her. The nearest police officer was quickly by her side.

‘I think she’s fainted,’ said a teammate, anxiously. ‘We were kept waiting for over an hour before they unlocked the gates.’

The young officer looked embarrassed. ‘Perhaps it might be wise for her to return to the Olympic Village?’ he suggested, aware that the procession was being held up.

‘We’ll take your advice, officer,’ said another woman, coming in bang on cue, as she helped her teammate back on her feet.

Paul and several of his security team were now taking a closer interest, carefully checking not just their faces but their necks. No scorpion to be seen. Paul turned his attention back to the rest of the Chinese team, who were continuing to move slowly towards the entrance to the stadium.

The three athletes concerned turned around and began to walk in the opposite direction, having played their part in the charade.

Sun Anqi, an Olympic scarf around her neck, progressed slowly forward with her team as they entered the stadium.

···

The phone was ringing. William grabbed it. ‘Warwick,’ he said.

‘Alan Mitchell, Commander,’ said a voice he didn’t recognize. ‘Air traffic control.’

‘What can I do for you?’ asked William, fearing the worst.

‘A small twin-engine aircraft has just appeared on my screen. The plane took off from a private airfield near Bournemouth, but despite being instructed to change course, it continued heading towards the stadium. Do you want me to contact RAF Northolt?’

RAF Northolt meant only one thing to William.

Two fighter jets would be scrambled immediately and would intercept the aircraft.

If they thought it might cause any real danger to the public, they would blow it out of the sky.

The events of 9/11 immediately sprang to William’s mind, reminding him that even a light aircraft could cause mayhem in such a confined space.

‘Yes, call Northolt,’ said William. ‘But tell them to use their common sense.’

‘I don’t have the authority to do that,’ said Mitchell. ‘Way above my pay grade.’

‘Right, leave it to me,’ said William. He put down one phone and picked up another. ‘Get Air Marshal Lowery on the phone, urgently.’

‘He’s sitting in a Grand Tier box on the far side of the ground, sir.’

‘Ask him if he could join me in the Gold Suite immediately. Tell him it’s an emergency.’

···

Miles Faulkner sat alone in his flat, watching the scene unfold on television, with the crowd cheering and applauding each team as they entered the stadium. There was nothing left for him to do except watch the drama unfold – at a distance.

His mind drifted back to his meeting on the yacht the previous night, and for a moment he hoped that Sun Anqi had been apprehended before she entered the stadium – but knowing that woman, he doubted it.

Miles had never believed he was capable of having second thoughts, but when the camera zoomed in on the British team, who were uninhibitedly celebrating the part they had played in a triumphant Games, several of them wearing medals around their necks, he felt something most unusual – guilt.

The camera zoomed back to reveal so many young participants coming to the end of their Olympic dream, but at the beginning of their lives.

He looked up at an empty space on the wall where the Van Gogh would hang that would unquestionably be the pride of his collection.

And then his thoughts turned to other people’s lives. Innocent bystanders who Sun Anqi had dismissed without feeling, for what she described as ‘the greater cause’.

Was possessing a Van Gogh a ‘greater cause’ or was he no better than Sun Anqi?

Once again, he turned his attention to the blank space on the wall.

···

Three phones were ringing at the same time. William grabbed the red one and listened carefully.

‘RAF Northolt, Flight Lieutenant Penrose reporting in, sir. We are in pursuit of the light aircraft. Feeding through visual now.’

William and Air Marshal Lowery stood alongside the bank of CCTV screens watching the aircraft heading towards them. It looked harmless enough, but what if it was full of explosives?

‘I don’t think it’s explosives he’s carrying, sir,’ said the Flight Lieutenant, ‘but a message that’s clear for all to see.’

They both looked up at the little plane to see a banner fluttering from its tail declaring, FATHERS 4 JUSTICE .

The Air Marshal burst out laughing, before he said firmly, ‘Buzz him, lads, and then escort him back to Bournemouth, and don’t let the pilot out of your sight until you see the plane taxi to a halt.’

‘Roger that, sir,’ said the Flight Lieutenant, as the two planes eased into place.

‘Thank you, Flight Lieutenant,’ said William, before putting down the phone.

‘As he didn’t enter restricted air space,’ said William, putting down the phone, ‘as far as I’m concerned, it never happened.’

‘Roger that,’ said the Air Marshal, with a grin, ‘and, if it’s okay with you, Commander, I’ll return to my seat before the balloon goes up.’

‘Yes, of course, sir, and thank you. I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.’ William hadn’t even finished speaking before another phone began to ring.

‘You too, Commander,’ said the Air Marshal as he left the Gold Suite.

William picked up the second phone, to hear Rebecca’s familiar voice. ‘Commander?’

‘Any sign of Sun Anqi or Petrov?’ was William’s first question.

‘Negative, sir. No one has reported seeing anyone answering their descriptions. But one of my officers has spotted something he thought you ought to know about immediately. If you look at your end screen’ – William followed her instructions – ‘you’ll see two empty boxes in the Grand Tier section near the Royal Box, which is strange to say the least, as the event’s been sold out for the past six months. ’

‘They could be held up in traffic,’ said William, ‘or even ill.’

‘The Grand Tier boxes hold twelve,’ said Rebecca. ‘That’s an awful lot of people to be held up or suddenly taken ill.’

‘I’ll check who’s meant to be in those boxes,’ said William. ‘Stay on the line.’ He picked up another phone, and while he waited for the stadium manager to answer, his eyes remained fixed on the two empty boxes.

He glanced up at another screen to see the Russian team passing the Royal Box and lowering their flag. Was it his imagination, or were there far fewer competitors taking part than in the opening ceremony? A quick check among the older officials and there was certainly no sign of Petrov.

‘How can I help you, Commander?’ asked the stadium manager.

‘There are two empty boxes in the Grand Tier section – can you find out who is meant to be occupying them?’

He heard the noise of tapping coming down the phone before the stadium manager came back on the line. ‘One of the boxes is reserved for the Chinese Ambassador and his party, and the other’ – more tapping – ‘is allocated to the Russian Ambassador and his guests.’

William felt his heart rate quicken. Now he understood why Petrov was nowhere to be seen, but it still didn’t explain the absence of both ambassadors. His eyes moved on to a smaller box, also empty – the same box Faulkner and Booth Watson had occupied during the opening ceremony.

And William accepted that wouldn’t be a coincidence.

···

‘Sir Julian,’ said the Prime Minister, leaning back, ‘in your capacity as an Olympic judge, have you been faced with any problems during the past couple of weeks that required you to make a delicate decision?’

‘None that I can think of, Prime Minister,’ said Sir Julian. ‘One of the Turkish weightlifters was caught shoplifting in Harrods, but I was able to convince the manager to drop the charges.’

Cameron smiled. He’d been Prime Minister long enough to know when he wasn’t being told the whole story. ‘How interesting,’ he said.

···

A third phone was ringing, but William was already on two other lines. He cut off the stadium manager and picked up the second phone.

‘Sergeant Davidson, sir. Bournemouth airport.’

‘How can I help, Sergeant?’

‘I’ve arrested the pilot of the light aircraft that was heading for the stadium, but I’m not quite sure what offence to charge him with.’

‘Shoot him, for all I care,’ said William, as another phone began to ring.

‘The man has a genuine grievance, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘He hasn’t been allowed to see his two teenage daughters for the past four years.’

‘Then lock him up for the night, but don’t feed him.’

‘I just wondered, sir, how I would feel if I hadn’t been allowed to see my two sons for the past four years.’