Page 21 of End Game
‘Because, Mr Booth Watson, if we were caught in possession of this particular package, it wouldn’t take the Olympic Committee long to work out not only what we have planned, but who was responsible.’
‘So what’s in the package?’ demanded Miles, cutting to the chase.
‘That, I’m not willing to reveal,’ said Petrov.
‘And if my client refuses to go along with your plan?’ asked Booth Watson.
‘Vincent Van Gogh will be returning to St Petersburg,’ said Petrov, staring directly at Booth Watson.
Faulkner nodded.
‘Let’s move on to item number three. Spiking the urine of two of the world’s leading athletes,’ said Petrov, without showing any sign of emotion.
‘Two athletes who are clearly not Russian or Chinese,’ suggested Booth Watson.
‘A keen observation,’ said Sun Anqi, who never trusted lawyers. In her opinion, they were only too happy to act for either side, as long as their fees were paid.
Petrov took his time explaining the role he expected Mr Faulkner to play.
‘Who are the two athletes concerned?’ interrupted Booth Watson.
‘We’ll let you know their names nearer the time,’ said Petrov. ‘Your job is to make sure their urine can be spiked without anyone becoming suspicious. We assume you have both the facilities and the local contacts, while making sure no prying eyes look our way?’
Faulkner nodded.
‘Good, because when the news breaks that traces of performance-enhancing drugs have been found in the urine of the athletes concerned, their medals will be stripped from them.’
‘While no doubt your own athletes will sweep the board, despite being drugged up to their eyeballs,’ suggested Faulkner.
Petrov graced Faulkner with a smile.
‘It’s no secret,’ said Miles, ‘to anyone who reads the back pages of any national newspaper, that eighty per cent of Russian athletes who competed in Beijing were on drugs. And the only reason they weren’t caught was because your scientists had come up with a masking drug which, if taken by athletes six weeks before they compete, hides all traces of any previous drug-taking.’
‘It’s called modern warfare, and if we … you carry out your side of the plan, the London Games will only be remembered for one thing.’
‘Not unlike the Seoul Olympics,’ suggested Booth Watson, ‘when Ben Johnson was stripped of his gold medal following the one hundred metres final and Carl Lewis was declared the winner.’
‘With a subtle difference on this occasion,’ suggested Petrov, ‘as the athletes concerned are far better known than Ben Johnson, and one of them is British.’
•••
Booth Watson was now even more anxious – not merely about the risk his client was taking, but also about his own future. It was true that in the past Miles had often involved him in ventures that could end up with him being disbarred, but never before had he been involved in something that could endanger his life.
When they left the pub, Miles hailed a taxi, and Booth Watson decided the time had come to tell his client, once and for all, to walk away while he still could. If, once again, Miles ignored his advice, he would have to explain to his client why he could no longer represent him – and nothing, he would repeat, nothing, would change his mind.
As they waited for a taxi to pull up, Booth Watson had to admit, if only to himself, that he was heartened by the fact he could always switch his allegiance to Bernie Longe and double his retainer.
‘Where to, guv?’ asked the cabbie, as they climbed in and Miles pulled the taxi door closed.
‘Thirty-Seven Cadogan Place,’ said Miles.
‘And then on to Middle Temple,’ said Booth Watson, as he leant forward and closed the window that divided the driver from his fare. ‘There’s something we need to discuss, Miles, and it can’t wait a moment longer,’ he said, unable to look directly at his client.
Miles glanced across to see Booth Watson holding tightly onto the seat, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.‘You’ve been my most important client for more years than I care to remember,’ Booth Watson began, ‘and I hope you feel I’ve served you well.’
‘None better, and I would suggest that you have become far more than a trusted advocate – a dear and close friend,’ said Miles, who’d already worked out why Booth Watson was perspiring.
This silenced Booth Watson for a moment, which Miles took advantage of.
