End Game, page 20
The phone on the editor’s desk began to ring. He handed over Artemisia’s copy and the four photographs he’d selected. ‘I’ve marked the one I think should be on the front page. The rest will make a centre page spread.’ He picked up the phone.
‘You wanted to speak to me,’ said a voice.
‘Where are you, Warwick?’ demanded the editor.
‘At Gatwick station, waiting to catch the next train back to Victoria.’
‘Has their plane taken off?’
‘A few minutes ago,’ said Artemisia.
‘You should have been on it,’ barked the editor, ‘so make sure you’re on the next one.’
Why? Artemisia wanted to ask, but before she could open her mouth to speak, she was told, ‘I need a follow-up piece with pictures of the happy couple standing outside the church where they’ll be married. Quotes from his mother and father about how delighted they are that she was able to join them, and lots more photos. Report back to me the moment you land in Lyon.’
I suppose that’s about the nearest I’m going to get to a compliment, thought Artemisia, as she began running back towards the airport. When she reached the terminal, she headed straight for the Air France desk to purchase a ticket for the next available flight, but she was still yards away when she spotted a forlorn figure leaning on the counter. She felt sick.
‘What happened?’ she cried, as she ran across to join Alain and placed an arm around his shoulder.
She tried to comfort him as he explained exactly what had happened.
‘It was only later I realized,’ said Alain, ‘that the woman in the wheelchair who went into the toilet was far bigger than the woman who came out.’
‘This is an announcement for all passengers travelling on Aeroflot Flight 247 to Moscow. Please make your way to the check-in desk, as the gate is about to close.’
Alain and Artemisia looked at each other. Neither of them needed to be told where Natasha was. They both took off with the same thought in mind and didn’t stop running until they reached security.
The duty officer politely pointed out that neither of them had a boarding pass. She produced her press pass, but he wasn’t moved. She pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears.
‘But someone is being abducted against her will,’ said Artemisia, her voice rising with every word.
‘Then you should inform the airport police,’ the official told her.
‘By then it will be too late,’ she shouted.
He shrugged his shoulders. Artemisia looked up and saw that Flight 247 had disappeared from the departure board.
• • •
Artemisia and Alain walked slowly towards the exit. She didn’t know what to say to reassure him, and could only hope that Natasha was safe and their only purpose had been to get her back to Russia.
‘I’ll have to return to the Olympic Village,’ said Alain, ‘and try to find out if there’s any way of contacting her. When I tried her mobile, a male voice answered.’
Artemisia watched as the dejected figure made his way slowly out of the airport and back into the real world. She tried to remain detached and not become involved – first rule for any journalist – but it just wasn’t possible. She dialled the editor’s number on her mobile, knowing he’d still be at his desk, only to be greeted with the words, ‘Why aren’t you on that plane?’
‘Natasha never caught her flight,’ said Artemisia. ‘In fact, she’s been abducted and is now on her way back to Moscow.’
‘Couldn’t be better,’ said the editor, taking Artemisia by surprise. ‘Knock me up a couple of hundred words on what took place while you were at the airport.’
‘But I’m not exactly sure what did take place,’ said Artemisia.
‘Use your imagination, Warwick, and make sure you don’t lose the boyfriend. I’ll need an exclusive interview with him for tomorrow’s edition, plus photos,’ he paused, ‘looking broken.’
The phone went dead. Artemisia thought about Alain, the undisguised misery on his face, and of Natasha, on her way to Moscow, alone and afraid. She only hoped her two hundred words might make a difference.
• • •
‘Get our Moscow correspondent on the line now,’ shouted the editor, as he slammed down the phone. ‘And I need a black coffee and the news editor.’
A contented man, happily dreaming, was woken by the phone ringing on his bedside table. He picked it up to hear a familiar voice, who never seemed to be aware if it was night or day. ‘Bob,’ barked the editor, ‘get yourself down to Sheremetyevo airport with a photographer sharpish. An Olympic high jumper named Natasha Korova will be on the flight from Gatwick airport, accompanied by a GRU officer, and there will probably be a couple more thugs waiting for her at the bottom of the steps.’
The news editor rushed in and waited by the desk until the editor had finished the call.
‘I also want a statement from the Minister of Sport on how it could be possible for an Olympic athlete to be abducted while visiting Britain and then dragged back to Moscow against her will.’
‘He’ll be in bed,’ said Bob, as he pulled back the sheet.
‘Then wake him,’ said the editor. He slammed down the phone and looked up at the news editor standing in front of him.
‘Stick with the escape story for the first two editions, but be prepared to clear the front page, because I’ve got an even bigger exclusive. I should have words for you in the next few minutes.’
‘Can I block a headline?’ asked the news editor.
‘“Abducted in Broad Daylight”,’ said the editor, who paused only for a moment before he said, ‘No, change that to “Olympic Kidnap”.’
• • •
Artemisia reached the platform moments before the Gatwick Express was due to leave for Victoria. She climbed aboard and found Alain sitting alone in a corner, head bowed, tears streaming down his cheeks. She placed an arm around his shoulder, but didn’t interrupt his thoughts.
It was when they got off the train at Victoria that Artemisia saw her: a small Asian woman was walking quickly towards the ticket barrier. She tried to recall where she had last seen her, and then she remembered. In a wheelchair.
She took a photograph of her as she disappeared underground.
CHAPTER 23
Tuesday, 7 August – day 12 of the Games
COMMANDER SINCLAIR’S preliminary report on Sergeant Roycroft’s tragic death landed on the Assistant Commissioner’s desk less than forty-eight hours later.
The Hawk took a moment trying to gather his thoughts. He’d not only lost an outstanding colleague, but a friend of many years’ standing.
Everyone knew the risks any officer took on a daily basis, but you never thought it would happen to someone you knew. But he also knew what Jackie would expect him to do and it wasn’t mourn.
The Assistant Commissioner picked up Sinclair’s report and turned to the first page.
He had to admit it was a thoroughly professional piece of work, even if it was laced with prejudice.
He went over Sinclair’s recommendations once again.
1. Commander Warwick should be suspended for not having the shoebox examined by customs officials when Faulkner returned from Helsinki.
2. Sergeant Hogan should be summarily dismissed, having failed to apprehend Petrov and secure the box while they were both in the park, and before the box was handed over to Faulkner. Had he done so, Sinclair concluded, Sergeant Roycroft might still be alive.
3. Inspector Adaja and Sergeant Pankhurst had, in his opinion, performed their duties in an exemplary manner, and once the Games were over should be allowed an extended leave of absence with no loss of pay.
Sinclair summed up with the words: given the unusual circumstances, Assistant Commissioner Hawksby should take over the responsibility of Gold Commander with immediate effect, with Inspector Adaja as his second in command, until after the closing ceremony, while being aware just how far the perpetrators of this crime might still be willing to go to achieve their final purpose, whatever that purpose might be.
He closed the file and asked his secretary to summon the team immediately, having decided exactly what course of action he would take.
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door, and ‘come’ was followed by Commander Warwick, Ross, Paul and Rebecca entering the room and taking their places around the Assistant Commissioner’s table.
‘You will have all read Commander Sinclair’s report,’ said the Hawk, ‘and no doubt formed your own opinions,’ he continued, looking directly at William.
‘Let’s consider the obvious to start with,’ said William. ‘Jackie’s death clearly wasn’t an accident, and it certainly wasn’t suicide.’
No one suggested otherwise.
‘We also know,’ he continued, looking down at a copy of Sinclair’s report, ‘that an Asian lady was seen standing behind Jackie only moments before she was pushed onto the track in front of the incoming train, giving her no hope of survival. In fact, the woman in question then disappeared, leaving everyone else on the platform in a state of shock.’
‘That’s all in Sinclair’s report,’ interrupted the Hawk, ‘along with the fact that at the time you had Petrov under surveillance, and once again failed to apprehend him and take possession of the box before he handed it over to Faulkner. And to make matters worse—’
‘You don’t have to remind me,’ said Paul.
‘When Paul finally did get his hands on the box,’ said the Hawk, ignoring the comment, ‘it was empty. A fact that Sinclair highlighted in capital letters, just in case I missed it, so I’m bound to ask if there’s any good news – preferably something Sinclair doesn’t know about?’
‘Yes,’ said William. ‘Something I picked up at breakfast this morning.’
All eyes were now on William.
‘Anyone who reads the Daily Mail will know that my daughter was at Gatwick airport yesterday when Natasha Korova was abducted and forcibly taken back to Moscow. However, what they don’t know is that while Arte was on the Gatwick Express on her way to the airport, she saw an Asian woman in a wheelchair with her carer. She wouldn’t have given it a second thought if she hadn’t seen the same woman when she returned to Victoria station later that afternoon, walking quickly towards the ticket barrier, no wheelchair, no carer.’
The rest of the team remained silent.
‘However, Arte did manage to get a photo of her before she disappeared underground.’
William handed around a photo of a woman; although she had her back to the photographer, you couldn’t miss the tattoo of a scorpion on her neck.
‘Like father, like daughter,’ commented the Hawk.
‘And it gets better,’ said William. ‘When I showed Artemisia a photograph of Sergei Petrov, she immediately identified him as the “carer” she’d seen on the train with the woman in the wheelchair.’
‘So now we know who accompanied Natasha Korova back to Moscow,’ said the Hawk.
‘But what we don’t know,’ said William, ‘is if he’s staying put, or whether he’s likely to return to the UK under another name.’
Ross was the first to offer an opinion. ‘He’ll have been on the first flight back.’
‘On balance,’ said the Hawk, ‘I think it might be wise not to burden Commander Sinclair with all this information until after the closing ceremony, in the hope it will give us enough time to redeem the situation.’
‘And if we don’t?’ asked Rebecca.
‘You’ll all end up in the Tower with Sinclair as Governor of the Keys.’
‘That’s incentive enough,’ said William.
‘With that in mind,’ said the Hawk, ‘it’s my intention to accept Sinclair’s recommendation that I should take on overall command of Public Order and Operational Support for the remainder of the Games. However, Commander Warwick will still be Gold Commander on the ground, with Chief Inspector Adaja his second in command. Sergeant Pankhurst will be made up to Inspector and continue with her present duties. Sergeant Hogan,’ he paused, before giving Ross a half-smile, ‘will be promoted to Inspector and will work undercover in the hope of apprehending the criminal responsible for Jackie’s death and bringing her to justice. His promotion will not be gazetted.’
The Assistant Commissioner paused and looked slowly around the table, before he said, ‘This is undoubtedly the best way we can serve our fallen colleague. We will now stand for a minute’s silence in memory of our dear friend and then do what Jackie would have expected of us: get on with the job.’
They all stood together in silence, heads bowed. Rebecca tried desperately to hold back the tears, and she might have succeeded if she hadn’t turned to see that the Assistant Commissioner was weeping.
BOOK THREE
CHAPTER 24
Tuesday, 7 August – day 11 of the Games
WHEN PETROV ARRIVED at Heathrow airport less than twenty-four hours after he’d left the country, he presented a different passport to customs. Mr Petrov was driven straight to the embassy, where the Ambassador and Faulkner were waiting for him.
‘Moscow are not pleased about the decision Sun Anqi took on Sunday without consulting us. They were under the impression we were working as a team.’
‘That woman is a loner, not a team player,’ said Mikailov, as he looked down at the morning papers that were spread out on his desk.
Petrov tried to read the headlines upside down.
‘They don’t make good reading,’ said the Ambassador. ‘First Roycroft, then the Natasha Korova story. The Daily Mail are speculating that Roycroft’s death is part of a bigger plot to undermine the Olympics, and they’re already hinting as to who the perpetrators might be. So far, we’re not in the frame, but the Chinese aren’t going to be pleased.’
‘Sun Anqi is claiming,’ said Petrov, ‘that if she hadn’t eliminated Roycroft, she would have had to abort her entire plan for the closing ceremony, as no one could take her place, and it would have meant years of preparation down the drain.’
‘You worked closely with her on the Natasha Korova kidnap,’ said Mikailov, ‘so did she tell you what she has planned?’
‘No,’ admitted Petrov. ‘Other than to warn me that it would be unwise for you or any members of your family to attend the closing ceremony.’
‘Then I will have to catch a diplomatic cold,’ said the Ambassador, ‘while you never returned from Moscow.’
‘Any news regarding the spiking while I’ve been away?’ Petrov asked.
‘An Italian Sample Collection Officer had been selected to test the winner of the ten thousand metres,’ said Faulkner, speaking for the first time. ‘However, when he found an envelope in his locker containing ten thousand pounds, he suddenly suffered from a stomach upset and on his doctor’s advice was confined to his bed for the rest of the day. Luckily, a Russian official was on hand to take his place at short notice,’ Faulkner assured them. ‘An hour later,’ he continued, ‘the Brazilian Sample Collection Officer failed to turn up, after meeting a Chinese masseuse who believed in happy endings. A Chinese observer kindly volunteered his services when they needed a last-minute replacement.’
• • •
The results of the day’s drug testing reached the chairman of the London Games Committee shortly before midnight. Lord Coe insisted that further tests should be carried out, and after hearing the results, he insisted on a third test, something the professor had never done before. When they revealed the same results, Lord Coe called Sir Julian, just after three o’clock in the morning, to seek learned counsel’s advice.
Sir Julian listened carefully to what the Games chairman had to say, while making copious notes on the pad by his bedside table. He then summoned Lord Coe to his chambers in Lincon’s Inn Fields and told him who else he considered should be present for the meeting.
Four people were woken during the next twenty minutes. All four of them accepted that it was an emergency and confirmed they would get to Lincoln’s Inn Fields as quickly as possible. One was driven in an official Games car, another hailed a taxi, the third drove himself, while the fourth pedalled furiously all the way from Fulham.
After Sir Julian had put the phone down, he took a cold shower and dressed as if he was attending a morning conference, which is exactly what he would be doing. It just happened to be four o’clock in the morning. He walked the short distance from his apartment in Lincoln’s Inn Fields to his chambers on the other side of the square.
After picking up five notepads and half a dozen felt-tip pens from his office, he unlocked the consultation room. It usually had to be booked in advance with the chamber’s clerk, but not in the middle of the night. He took his place at the top of the table and began going over his notes while underlining the salient points the chairman had made, only to be interrupted by the first person to arrive.
‘Good morning, Sir Julian,’ said an out of breath junior.
‘Good morning, Peter,’ he replied. ‘I will require you to make detailed notes of everything that is said at the meeting – a copy of which you will leave on my desk before you return home.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Peter, as there was a knock on the door.
Lord Coe looked as if he hadn’t slept for the past ten days, and now he was expected to deal with an emergency that could undermine seven years of dedicated work. Julian sympathized with the poor man. However, he accepted that, as the senior Olympic judge, he would be expected to offer impartial advice, and not be influenced by any personal feelings.
‘I must apologize for asking you to take this meeting at such short notice,’ said Coe after the two men had shaken hands, ‘but time isn’t exactly on my side if I’m to chair the daily press conference at ten o’clock, not to mention a medal ceremony that is scheduled to take place this afternoon.’
‘Agreed,’ said Sir Julian. ‘May I suggest you sit on my right, and I’ll put the professor on my left? Sir Keith can sit next to you, while Commander Warwick can sit beside the professor.’
