Page 5 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

B OOTH W ATSON PLACED TWO FILES on the desk in front of him, checked his watch and waited. Miles was always a few minutes late for any appointment, almost as if he needed to make a point. Booth Watson didn’t care, as he charged by the hour.

At fourteen minutes past, his client marched into the room without knocking. He took the seat on the other side of the partners’ desk, as if it was his by right, and said, ‘You asked to see me, BW.’

No good morning , no how are you , just you asked to see me .

‘Yes,’ responded Booth Watson. ‘Two matters have arisen since we last met that I felt you ought to be informed about immediately. One concerns the police, while the other is a private matter. Which would you prefer to start with?’

‘The police,’ said Faulkner as he lit a cigar, despite there being no sign of an ashtray.

Booth Watson opened the second of his two files.

‘I’ve had a call from the Met, who asked me to set up an interview with you to discuss your involvement in, and I quote,’ he glanced back down at the file, ‘“the unauthorized sale of tickets for the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games,” from which they claim you’ve made a profit of over a million pounds. ’

‘I haven’t made anywhere near that amount,’ snapped Faulkner, unable to hide his irritation.

‘I don’t think it’s the sum that will matter in this case,’ suggested Booth Watson, ‘but the fact that—’

‘Whatever the sum,’ interrupted Miles, ‘they don’t have a shred of evidence to show I was involved in any way.’

‘Possibly not,’ responded Booth Watson. ‘But I think you’ll find one of your touts may have turned Queen’s evidence in exchange for a shorter sentence.’

Faulkner blew out a large circle of smoke. ‘Then find him and pay him off. Because I can tell you one thing, BW, I have no intention of going back to prison.’

‘And I feel confident, Miles,’ said Booth Watson, almost purring, ‘that as long as I represent you, you need have no fear of that.’

‘So, what’s the private matter?’ asked Miles, moving on.

Booth Watson sighed. ‘Mr Bernie Longe has been in touch.’

‘Him again?’ snapped Miles. ‘A two-bit East End hoodlum who isn’t worth the time of day, so you needn’t waste any more energy on him.’

‘He continues to insist that he had a prior claim to the purchase of the Newham Arms in Stratford, having had a contract in place with Mr Wilson, the former landlord, long before you ever approached him. He is aware of the two million you’ve already made and says he’d be willing to split the difference. ’

‘The only thing I’d split,’ said Miles, ‘is him in half. Don’t forget, he’s been threatening me for the past seven years – if he had a leg to stand on, you’d have already heard from his lawyer. We needn’t concern ourselves with the likes of him.’ Miles let out another large grey circle of smoke.

Booth Watson coughed. ‘He then went on to ask me if I would represent him in his attempt to bring the case to court.’ This time, Miles didn’t interrupt.

‘I explained to Mr Longe that would not be possible, as I am retained by you at all times. He offered to double my retainer, which, of course, I rejected out of hand, and that was the end of the conversation.’

‘You won’t be hearing from him again,’ said Miles. ‘He’s all mouth, and I can assure you, he has no real money.’

Booth Watson decided this wasn’t the time to remind his client that Mr Longe had twice in the past been charged with a gangland murder and had yet to see the inside of a prison cell. However, that wouldn’t stop him from raising the subject of his retainer in the not-too-distant future.

···

Sun Anqi and Sergei Petrov were both considered to be the leaders in their chosen field: torture, maiming and elimination were carried out with impunity according to their masters’ wishes.

Officially, they were both officers in their countries’ militias.

Unofficially, they were state terrorists holding the rank of captain, although generals feared a visit from them.

This was the reason why they’d both been chosen for the most important assignment of their careers: to ensure the 2012 Olympics ended in failure for the host nation, using whatever means they considered appropriate.

Both already had clear ideas of what the word appropriate meant.

Natural rivals, they had disliked each other from the moment they had first met.

Petrov’s background was with the KGB and the GRU.

Sun Anqi’s was as a political assassin. He was clever, careful and always had a backup plan.

She was ruthless, unpredictable and always quick to act.

He thought she was a loose cannon. She thought he was weak.

They had been charged by their respective ambassadors and heads of state to work together, and work together they would. But each wanted to stand on the podium alone. Not unlike any Olympic rivals, their chief purpose was to cross the line in first place.

Petrov was responsible for covering everything that would take place up to and including the opening ceremony.

Once the Games had been officially opened by Her Majesty the Queen, Petrov would remain in charge during the Games and Sun Anqi would not walk on to the stage until the closing ceremony when Boris Johnson handed the Olympic flag over to the Mayor of Rio de Janeiro.

A ceremony she intended would never take place.

The two operatives agreed to meet regularly while stationed in London, but never at the same time or in the same place. They would discuss their progress, but rarely told the other the whole story. Petrov liked to speak in codes and riddles. Sun Anqi didn’t like to speak at all.

They both reported back to their ambassadors in London and told them even less than they told each other.

Sun Anqi and Petrov only met at all because their ambassadors had insisted they should, in the spirit of collaboration between their two great nations.

Ambassador Mikailov reminded everyone that Sun Anqi was an invaluable ally, while Ambassador Wei Ming confirmed that Petrov must be kept close, if for no other reason than to please President Putin.

That morning, they met at London Bridge station on a bench near the departure boards. Sun Anqi eyed every passing commuter suspiciously until Petrov joined her.

‘Ten weeks to go,’ murmured Sun Anqi.

‘Ten weeks until your services will no longer be required,’ Petrov hissed. ‘In fact, you’ll be able to return home before the starter’s pistol is even fired – because it won’t be.’

She didn’t ask why – she never did – but he still told her.

‘If everything goes to plan,’ he said quietly, ‘the Queen won’t be attending the opening ceremony of the Thirtieth Olympiad, but will be escorted back to Buckingham Palace having failed to reach the stadium.’

‘Your trivial plans are of little concern to me,’ responded Sun Anqi. ‘You’re nothing more than a distraction, if I recall my leader’s words. My closing ceremony will be the main event.’

Sun Anqi knew that her plan mustn’t fail. It had, after all, received the blessing of her President. In fact, Hu Jintao had thanked her on behalf of a grateful nation, not least because, in order to carry out such an audacious coup, Sun Anqi would have to sacrifice her own life.

President Hu Jintao had assured her that if she succeeded, she would become part of Chinese folklore.

Reward enough to serve my leader – the only God she believed in.

Her own life was of little importance; she was driven by higher ideals. Petrov, on the other hand, was only interested in promotion and the illusionary bubble of fame, which was one of the many reasons she despised him.

‘But if my plan succeeds, we won’t be calling on your expertise,’ Petrov reminded her.

‘Commander Warwick and his team will be up against us,’ Sun Anqi said, keeping her voice low, her eyes fixed on the departure boards.

Anybody glancing at the two figures on the bench would not have even noticed they were having a conversation.

‘I have been watching him closely for the past four years and he is a worthy adversary. Never underestimate your enemy,’ she said pointedly.

Petrov couldn’t be certain which enemy she was referring to, but simply said, ‘I intend to keep the Commander and his team well occupied, so neither he nor his flatfoots will work out my end game.’ He paused, smiled, and got to his feet, glancing down only to add, ‘Until it’s too late.’

···

In another London venue, on the far side of the city, another covert meeting was taking place. Ross and William sat in the corner of a café, talking about Ross’s assignment during the next few weeks.

‘So, I’m officially on your team once again?’

‘Unofficially,’ William clarified, ‘but the Hawk did get Commander Sinclair’s agreement, not that he knows what you’ll be up to.’

‘And what did Sinclair have to say about that?’ was Ross’s next question.

‘He wasn’t exactly pleased,’ admitted William. ‘But, as we both know, the Hawk is not someone to pick a quarrel with.’

‘When do I start?’ asked Ross.

William checked his watch: 7.03. ‘You started three minutes ago,’ he replied.

‘And what are my responsibilities?’

‘To think of anything we might have missed that could compromise the Games and then make sure it never happens. Whether it’s a terrorist threat or a crook trying to make money on the side.

I’ve had my eye on Bernie Longe for some time.

He will have found dodgy land deals and fake ticket scams irresistible, so I want you to be two steps ahead of him.

If a problem arises that you can’t deal with, you report back to me immediately. ’

‘Understood.’

‘And at all times keep your head below the parapet,’ William added.

‘I don’t want the rest of the team to be aware of your presence, at least not yet.

In fact, I don’t want anyone to know we’re working together again.

As head of Public Order and Operational Support, I’m conspicuous – anyone planning any kind of disruption knows who I am. But they mustn’t even know you exist.’

‘They won’t,’ said Ross, who stood up and left as if the meeting had never taken place.