Page 42 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

W ILLIAM DIDN ’ T LEAVE THE STADIUM until the sweepers had made sure there was no sign of what had taken place at the closing ceremony only a few hours before.

He told the rest of the team before they left that he would allow the eight o’clock debriefing meeting to be moved to twelve noon.

After all, the stadium would be all but deserted for two weeks until the Paralympics began.

William didn’t open his front door until just after four a.m., and he fell asleep within moments of climbing into bed.

When a sleepy Commander joined his wife and son in the kitchen for breakfast a few hours later, they were all discussing the triumph of the previous night.

He wouldn’t be telling them how close it had been to a disaster.

Beth placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of the stranger sitting opposite her.

He picked up his knife and fork and was about to join in the conversation when the phone rang.

Despite the look on Beth’s face, he reluctantly answered it.

Beth gave in and picked up her copy of the Guardian.

‘Good morning, William,’ said his father. ‘I wanted to let you know that, as you requested, the CPS …’

By the time he’d completed the call, Peter had left for work and his curled-up fried egg didn’t look quite so appetizing.

Before he could start eating, however, Beth slid the newspaper under his nose and pointed out an article, which he would have missed as he rarely bothered with the Guardian . The article, written by a staff reporter, was on page seventeen below the fold.

The French national high jump champion and three times Olympian, Alain Mesnil, was found dead at his home in Lyon last night. The police have let it be known that there are no suspicious circumstances involved and they will not be interviewing anyone concerning the untimely death.

Mr Mesnil left a suicide note addressed to Ms Natasha Korova, Russia.

‘How tragic,’ said William. ‘Arte will be devastated. Under that cynical exterior is someone who will blame herself.’

‘Perhaps you could call her,’ said Beth, ‘as I have to go to the Fitz. It’s my last week at the gallery and, as the Hermitage exhibition closes today, I can’t afford to be late.’ She kissed him on the forehead and left before he could respond.

William immediately called Arte and tried helplessly to comfort her between the tears, and failed.

‘Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll be all right,’ she said, before she finally put down the phone.

He knew she wouldn’t be all right, and was pleased to hear Robert was with her.

After considerable reflection, William turned his attention to the rest of the morning papers.

D REAM GB – declared the headline in the Sun .

G OODBYE TO THE G LORIOUS G AMES – Guardian.

O UT WITH A B ANG – Mail on Sunday.

F ARMER IN THE S HETLAND I SLANDS DIDN ’ T REALIZE THE O LYMPICS WAS TAKING PLACE – The Scotsman .

He looked down at the dog snoozing by the back door and said, ‘Can you keep a secret, Peel, because I’m going to tell you what the headline might have been: Chinese Terrorist Killed at Closing Ceremony by Decorated Police Officer. Hundreds of Lives Saved.’

The dog wagged its tail.

The phone rang a second time, and he picked it up to hear Ross’s wife, Alice, asking if he knew why her husband hadn’t come home last night.

···

Miles joined Booth Watson at the Savoy for a late breakfast. A stack of the morning papers was piled on a chair by Booth Watson’s side. He had been pleased to find his client’s name didn’t get a mention from the first page to the last.

‘So you finally took my advice,’ he said, once his client had unfolded his napkin and tucked it under his chin.

‘Reluctantly,’ admitted Miles.

The ma?tre d’ poured him a steaming cup of black coffee. ‘Your usual, Mr Faulkner?’

‘The full English,’ confirmed Miles.

‘I’m glad to hear you finally saw sense,’ said Booth Watson, once the ma?tre d’ had departed, ‘because I’ve scoured all the morning papers, and there’s nothing to suggest that the closing ceremony was anything but a resounding success.’

The look on Faulkner’s face didn’t suggest he was in agreement.

Booth Watson’s mobile began to purr. He was about to reject the call when he saw the three letters that had appeared on his screen. ‘I have to take this,’ he said. ‘It concerns you.’

Miles watched as the suggestion of a smile appeared on his lawyer’s face. The smile became broader by the second, until it was positively beaming by the time he ended the call.

‘That was the CPS,’ said Booth Watson, ‘phoning to let me know they’ll be dropping all the charges against you.’

Miles didn’t look surprised. Much as he detested the man, he had to admit Commander Warwick kept his word.

‘That’s cause for celebration, don’t you think?’ said Booth Watson, raising his coffee cup.

‘Try not to forget, BW, what I’ve had to sacrifice in exchange for—’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Booth Watson.

‘Everyone involved in yesterday’s failed attack will now be running for cover.

Don’t forget that the Hermitage exhibition ends this evening, and I’ve already arranged for the painting to be collected from the Fitzmolean first thing in the morning.

When I called the director to confirm, there wasn’t any suggestion she’d been instructed otherwise. ’

A smile finally appeared on Faulkner’s face, only to disappear when he recalled Petrov’s threat of what would happen to him should he ever betray them.

However, now that Sun Anqi was no longer in the picture, and the rest of the team, to quote Booth Watson, would be running for cover, perhaps he’d got the best of both worlds.

‘And equally important,’ said Booth Watson, interrupting his thoughts, ‘it will no longer be necessary for you to pack your bags and leave for the States.’

‘Which also means,’ said Miles, ‘that I can take my place on the board of the Fitzmolean and start working on my next coup.’

Booth Watson could only admire how deftly Miles somehow managed to move on to his next venture, without appearing to draw breath. ‘And your Will?’ he asked.

‘Can remain in favour of the Fitzmolean until I’m safely ensconced in the chair, when …’

Booth Watson’s mobile began to vibrate once again. ‘It’s Bernie Longe,’ he said, when he saw the name appear on the screen.

‘He obviously hasn’t been able to raise the rest of the money required to purchase the stadium before the deadline runs out, so that’s two birds that can be killed with one stone.

’ Miles put down his coffee, looked across at Booth Watson and said, ‘Don’t answer the phone. Let him sweat for a little longer.’

Booth Watson switched off his mobile.

···

Twelve chimes struck out across Westminster as the team took their places around the large, circular table in the Assistant Commissioner’s office. There were two vacant places: Ross’s and Jackie’s. All eyes lingered on Jackie’s empty seat when the Hawk called the meeting to order.

‘Welcome back to the real world,’ he said.

‘Let me begin by telling you that earlier this morning I received a call from the Home Secretary to congratulate all those concerned with the security of the Games, which, in her words “went off without a hitch”. I sometimes wonder,’ he added, ‘if our masters in Whitehall have any idea what goes on behind closed doors without their knowledge?’

A wry smile appeared on William’s face, but he didn’t offer an opinion.

The Hawk listened intently as each of his officers presented their reports. None of them mentioned why Ross Hogan was not at the meeting.

‘I also wonder,’ said the Hawk, once William had finished his summing up, ‘if I’m every bit as much in the dark as the Home Secretary.’

William should have seen that coming.

‘I am, of course, aware,’ he continued, ‘that a lone pilot in a light aircraft was arrested for violating air space and, after spending the night in jail, was later released without charge. I’ve even been told about the drunk who slept throughout the entire ceremony, and only woke when the Grenadier Guards—’

‘The Royal Marines, sir,’ said Paul, immediately regretting the intervention.

‘When the Royal Marines played “Jerusalem”.’ The Hawk paused and looked slowly around the table.

‘What I can’t be sure about, but perhaps one of you could enlighten me, is why the lady who collapsed during the firework display and was driven off in an ambulance doesn’t appear on any hospital records and, what’s more, hasn’t been seen or heard of since? ’

‘She died before she reached the hospital,’ said William, without further explanation.

‘A sentence that covers a multitude of sins, Commander, but it doesn’t answer my question.’

‘What I can tell you, sir,’ said William, ‘is that no one has claimed the body.’

‘How convenient,’ said the Hawk.

William didn’t offer an opinion.

‘I also found it rather strange,’ continued the Hawk, ‘that last night there were two empty boxes near the Royal Box – one that should have been occupied by the Russian Ambassador and his guests, and the other by the Chinese Ambassador.’ The Hawk looked around the table, to be greeted with ‘not me guv’ looks.

‘It wasn’t until this morning, when I received a phone call from no less a figure than Sir Julian Warwick QC,’ continued the Hawk, ‘that one half of the mystery was resolved. He informed me that the CPS will be dropping all charges against Miles Faulkner for his ticket scam, even though he managed to pocket a small fortune, and was as guilty as sin.’

Silence prevailed.

‘There has to be a simple explanation,’ continued the Hawk, looking directly at William, who – like a practised criminal – had taken counsel’s advice and remained silent.

‘And finally, I’m bound to ask, why is Inspector Hogan not among us today?’

‘Inspector Hogan is in hospital,’ said William, ‘although he’s due to be discharged later this afternoon. I’ve told him to take the rest of the week off.’

‘By which time, I suspect, you are hoping I will have forgotten what my next question was going to be.’

‘It might also be wise,’ William said, glancing at Rebecca and Paul and then back at the Hawk, ‘to let Sinclair know he can now close his investigation into Jackie’s death, as the killer is no longer at large.’

‘A very clever non sequitur, Commander. May I suggest you all now return to your duties,’ he paused, ‘with the exception of Commander Warwick.’

While Paul and Rebecca left, William remained seated and thought about the events of the past few hours and how much he could tell the Hawk.

When he’d arrived back in his old office earlier that morning, his first call had been to the Chinese Embassy to inform them of the death of Sun Anqi.

The Deputy Ambassador claimed he’d never heard the name, and whoever this Sun Anqi might be, she certainly wasn’t a member of the Chinese Olympic squad who, incidentally, would be flying home later that morning.

When William had then asked to be put through to the Ambassador, he was informed that Mr Wei Ming had been called back to Beijing at short notice, and his replacement had not yet been announced.

William’s next call was to the unregistered hospital, and was told they had no record of a Ms Sun Anqi on their files.

William didn’t press the senior staff member for further information, aware none would be forthcoming.

Only a handful of people knew as much as William did, and for their own reasons would be taking the secret to their graves. One of them quite literally.

But in his opinion, there was no need for the Hawk to be among them.

‘What exactly happened last night?’ the Assistant Commissioner asked once they were alone.

William paused. ‘Do you know, I read Queen’s regulations before I came to work this morning, sir.’

‘Unputdownable,’ said the Hawk. ‘But what has that got to do with last night, Commander, dare I ask?’

‘My attention was caught by regulation 1062,’ said William.

‘Enlighten me.’

‘If the Assistant Commissioner learns of anything that might endanger public safety, it is his duty to inform the Commissioner immediately.’

‘Rightly so,’ said the Hawk.

‘The regulation goes on to say that the Commissioner must then inform the Home Secretary of said danger, who should in turn brief the Prime Minister.’

‘And?’

‘And,’ said William, ‘the Prime Minister would undoubtedly feel it necessary to alert his most trusted colleagues in the Cabinet, not least the Defence Secretary and the Foreign Secretary, which would surely result in it finding its way into the press within days.’

The Hawk stared at a man he both admired and trusted. A man willing to take responsibility for his actions and not simply pass the buck.

The Assistant Commissioner remained silent for some time before he said, ‘I accept your judgement, Commander.’

···

‘You and your men, Inspector, have all been cleared of any contamination and are free to leave,’ said the doctor, no longer in a protective suit, but in a long white coat, with a stethoscope around his neck.

For the past twelve hours, Ross had been at a hospital that wasn’t listed on the NHS, being probed, poked and scanned by various men and women in white suits.

He was now wearing a hospital gown, pyjamas, slippers and a pair of ill-fitting paper pants.

His clothes, including his watch and wedding ring, had apparently been placed in an incinerator, along with several other unrecorded objects.

‘Can I ask you a question, doctor?’ asked Ross innocently.

‘Please do, Inspector.’

‘What happened to the dead woman we brought in last night?’

‘She joined your clothes in the incinerator,’ said the doctor, without emotion. He paused, ‘You look disappointed, Inspector.’

‘Yes, I am,’ admitted Ross.

‘May I ask why?’ enquired the doctor.

‘I only wish she’d been alive at the time,’ said Ross.