Page 4 of End Game
‘It’s all over,’ said one of the locals, coming in bang on cue as Miles downed his pint and put the empty glass back on the counter.
‘No prizes for guessing who will be in second place,’ said the local at the other end of the bar, as Miles slipped off his stool and began to walk slowly towards the door.
‘All is not lost,’ said Huw Edwards – the landlord smiled – ‘because London will surely be the favourite for the 2020 Olympics.’ The landlord frowned.
‘How much would you give me now?’ asked the landlord, just as Miles touched the door handle.
‘Seventy-five thousand,’ said Miles, not looking back.
‘One hundred thousand,’ said the landlord, as Miles opened the door and stepped outside, with Booth Watson following a pace behind.
‘Alright, alright,’ shouted the landlord. ‘It’s yours for seventy-five grand.’
‘Good decision,’ said one of the locals, as his fellow conspirator nodded sagely.
Booth Watson quickly returned to the bar and placed his Gladstone bag on the counter.
They all looked up to see Rogge entering the arena for the final time.
Booth Watson opened his bag and extracted a well-prepared contract with no loopholes. He turned to the last page, as Miles sat back down at the bar and wrote out a cheque for seventy-five thousand pounds.
The publican hesitated as he stared at the figures. He looked up at the television screen to see the French already on their feet, some linked arm in arm, singing ‘La Marseillaise’. Booth Watson removed the top from his pen.
Rogge rose slowly from his place on the centre of the stageto address the delegates. He began by praising both teams for their dedicated hard work and excellent presentations, then reminded everyone that, in the end, only one city could be selected to host the Thirtieth Olympiad. He took even longer opening the envelope before extracting the card. He tapped the microphone once again before he looked down at the name of the city that would host the 2012 Olympic Games.
All the French delegates in that room were already on their feet waiting in anticipation.
The landlord grabbed the proffered pen and quickly signed on the dotted line.
An eerie silence fell on the gathering both at home and abroad when the President of the International Olympic Committee declared, ‘The Games of the Thirtieth Olympiad in 2012 are awarded to,’ he paused, ‘the city of London.’
The ink had dried.
•••
‘Prepare for the toughest assignment of your career,’ the Hawk said to William, as he rose from his place at the back of the hall and joined in the applause. ‘And don’t even think about relaxing until you hear that man say,’ he added, pointing at Rogge, ‘I declare the Games of the Thirtieth Olympiad closed.’
‘That won’t be for another seven years,’ William reminded him.
The Hawk turned to him. ‘Seven years may sound like a long time to prepare for a single event,’ he said, ‘but you know as well as I do that it isn’t – not when that single event is like no other on earth.’
William nodded. In the past, he had been involved in the security for the Queen Mother’s funeral, several state visits, including that of the President of the United States, and countless FA Cup Finals. However, come the summer of 2012, he would be expected to police forty-two world championships in the space of just a few weeks. A few weeks that would define his career.
He watched the British team, led by Sebastian Coe, continue to leap up and down as the realization of triumph began to sink in.
The French sat alone at the other end of the room, desolate, voices silenced, champagne unopened, like a deserted bride waiting for an absent groom to appear.
•••
The landlord switched the television off, looking not unlike a member of the French team.
Booth Watson hurried after his client, who had already left the pub, along with the two locals. Miles slipped them both a hundred pounds in cash. After all, they’d played their walk-on parts without fluffing a line.
Booth Watson caught up with Miles just as he was climbing into a taxi, and quickly joined him in the back. Once he’d got his breath back, he asked, ‘What would you have done if Paris had been awarded the Games?’
‘As it’s a Wednesday,’ Miles reminded him, ‘the landlord couldn’t have hoped to see the cheque cleared before the weekend and, sadly, by then it would have bounced all the way back to his pub with the words “insufficient funds”, making the contract null and void, if I remember the wording correctly.’
‘Whereas now, you can call the bank when it opens for business tomorrow morning to make sure the cheque is cleared immediately,’ said Booth Watson. ‘And if he doesn’t cash the cheque, the contract is still valid – the wording makes that perfectly clear.’
