Page 76 of End Game
‘Doesn’t it strike you as something of a coincidence that both the delegates observing the athletes who tested positive just happened to be last-minute substitutions?’ said William, ‘and surprise, surprise one of them turned out to be Russian and the other Chinese. I rest my case.’
‘Not unless you have proof,’ said Sir Julian, ‘and I shouldn’t have to remind you, Commander, coincidence isn’t evidence, however much you might want it to be.’
William wanted to protest, but knew his father was right. He remained silent.
‘However much we would all like to believe the two athletes concerned are innocent,’ continued Sir Julian, ‘I cannot easily dismiss the findings of Professor Cowan, one of the most eminent and respected authorities in his field, and my first responsibility as an Olympic judge is to be influenced only by the facts in this case. The fact is that both athletes, however celebrated, tested positive for Turinabol, a banned substance under the Olympic rules.’
A gloomy silence descended on those seated around the table as they waited for the judge to deliver his verdict.
‘I therefore have no choice but to …’ Sir Julian concluded when a hand was tentatively raised. ‘You wanted to say something, Peter?’
‘I have a question, sir.’
All eyes switched to the young man seated at the far end of the table, who until then had only been making notes.
Sir Julian nodded once again.
‘Let us assume for a moment that both the athletes concerned are innocent,’ said Peter. ‘If they are, I think I may have found a way of proving it.’
The older men seated around the table were now hanging on the younger man’s every word.
‘Both athletes are due to compete again in the next couple of days,’ said Peter, looking down at an events timetable in front of him. ‘Bolt in the final of the hundred metres this afternoon, and Farah in the first round of the five thousand tomorrow. So, my question is’ – Peter looked directly at the professor – ‘if they are both guilty of taking Turinabol, would it show up again when they were next tested?’
‘Without a doubt,’ was the professor’s immediate response. ‘Turinabol would be detectable in the urine for at least another week, possibly a fortnight. However, the Olympic guidelines on the subject do not prevaricate.’ He turned the pages of a small, black leather Rule Book in front of him, stopping only when he found the entry he needed. ‘If any athlete is shown to have taken an illegal substance, they will automatically be suspended pending an enquiry,’ he read out.
‘Then it’s back to square one,’ said Coe.
‘Possibly not,’ suggested Sir Julian, ‘because as an Olympic judge, I have the authority to hold up a suspension while an enquiry is taking place. There is nothing to prevent me carrying out that enquiry and reporting back to this committee in, say, forty-eight hours, after both athletes involved have competed in the next round.’
‘But who will carry out the observation this time?’ asked William.
‘I will,’ said the professor without hesitation, ‘and if I find that either or both athletes test positive for Turinabol, or anyother illegal substance, they must be disqualified without further discussion.’
‘Agreed,’ said Coe, ‘but it won’t stop me falling on my knees and praying for the next forty-eight hours.’
‘In which case, you’ll need a bishop and not a judge to advise you,’ suggested Sir Julian.
Laughter broke out, where only moments before humour wouldn’t have seemed possible.
‘I must thank you, Sir Julian, for your wise counsel,’ said Coe, ‘for which this committee will be eternally grateful.’
‘Let us hope,’ said Sir Julian, ‘that eternally is the right word. However, it’s not me you should be thanking, but my junior.’
The rest of the committee turned to face Peter and began to applaud.
‘Enough!’ said Sir Julian, raising a hand. ‘Mustn’t allow it to go to my grandson’s head.’
‘I had no idea he was your grandson,’ said Coe, giving Peter a warm smile.
‘You don’t know the half,’ said Sir Julian, looking across at the Commander.
•••
Artemisia wept when she saw the same photograph on the front page of almost every paper the next morning. On day one, her story had run exclusively in theDaily Mail, but now every other paper had followed it up.
She stared at the image of a young woman stepping off an Aeroflot flight that had just landed in Moscow. She was met by two thugs who didn’t need the lettersGRUprinted on their backs to know which team they represented.
Her editor seemed chuffed that every other paper had been given no choice but to follow up his exclusive.
