Page 30 of End Game
WHEN THE TORCH-BEARER ENTEREDGreater London for the first time, Ross was more than ready to take over from his country colleagues. He was relieved that the torch relay had so far gone without a major incident, despite large crowds lining the routes right across the country. Still, he wouldn’t relax until the torch had finally reached the stadium.
Ross had kept up his running schedule of four miles a day, as well as spending an hour at his local gym pumping weights. This would be his Olympic final.
During the last few sections of the relay, the members of the dedicated Torch Relay team had remained at a discreet distance surrounding each torch-bearer, looking for the slightest suggestion of trouble or anything suspicious. If such a situation arose, Ross knew he would have to make an instant decision, as there would be no time to consult anyone.
A thousand carefully selected torch-bearers would wind their way through three hundred miles of the sprawling metropolis until they handed the ‘Mother Flame’ over to seven young athletes chosen by seven former gold medallists. The next generation would then light the two hundred and four petals, representing two hundred and four competing nations, that would continue to burn until the Games ended and the torch was passed on to the Mayor of Rio de Janeiro.
It might look like a lot of pomp and circumstance on the surface, but Ross understood the real significance of such ceremonies. The torch was the symbol of the Olympics, andthe Olympics were an occasion when the world came together in peace and friendly competition, not in war and conflict. This simple flickering flame represented a great deal to so many people in troubled times.
Ross waited impatiently until he could hear cheering, just a distant rumble to begin with, then a roar that grew louder and louder long before the torch-bearer came into sight. A local traffic warden was greeted with as many jeers as cheers as he lit the torch of a waiting NHS nurse, who was welcomed with thunderous applause as the flame was passed over and she set off on the next lap.
The atmosphere was intense, and Ross was reminded once again of the weight William and his team had carried on their shoulders for the past seven years. This excited, eager crowd of onlookers were the people who would feel let down if anything were to go wrong.
Ross, accompanied by the Torch Relay team, eyes darting in every direction, remained a few yards behind, just in case anyone decided to join the relay uninvited. Few of the crowd would have noticed the minders, as their eyes were fixed on the torch and its latest bearer. Ross continually scanned the crowd on both sides of the road, looking for the one person he didn’t doubt had plans to disrupt the progress of the torch.
Six police motorcyclists and an ambulance hovered a further hundred yards behind Ross and his team of runners, along with an armed car containing the ‘Mother Flame’, protected by four armed officers, bringing up the rear.
When the nurse came to the end of her leg, she lit the flame of a torch carried by an elderly gentleman who had taken part in the 1948 Olympics. The crowd cheered the octogenarian every step of the way, Ross jogging a few yards behind. The old man managed about a quarter of a milebefore he passed the flame over to a local postman, suitably dressed for the occasion, an empty postbag over one shoulder and the torch in his hand. Ross could tell that the torch-bearers were enjoying every moment of the experience, and expected that each torch would remain a family heirloom to be passed down from generation to generation.
Ross had to lengthen his stride, as the next recipient was captain of his local Hare and Hounds cross-country club, every bit as fit as Ross – and ten years younger. He might have got away if he hadn’t had to hold the torch aloft for all to see, which slowed him down.
Ross increased his pace when he saw the next runner coming into sight, a local fireman suitably dressed for the occasion, holding a large red bucket in one hand and his unlit torch in the other. Ross recognized him immediately.
When Ross saw that the bucket was full of water, he quickly cut down the distance between himself and the fireman.
The waiting runner placed his bucket on the ground, causing a few drops of water to spill out onto the road. As the captain of the cross-country club approached the fireman, he held up his torch so that the flame could be passed from one carrier to the next without delay.
Once it was lit, the fireman held his torch aloft, for all to see – and that was when Ross knew for certain what was about to happen.
As the fireman began to lower his torch slowly towards the bucket of water, Ross charged across the road and aimed a sharp kick at the bucket, sending it flying, water spilling out onto the pavement, just moments before the eternal flame would have been extinguished. He grabbed the fireman and thrust an arm behind his back.
The crowd around them gasped, and the excitement ofmoments before fell to an eerie silence, broken only by the fireman’s cries of, ‘Let go of me!’
Ross ignored him, handing the still-lit torch over to the captain of the cross-country club, who was jogging on the spot, looking as bemused as the crowd around them. ‘Go and don’t stop running until you reach the next torch-bearer. Go!’ he repeated loudly.
The man obeyed the order just as two of the young police runners joined Ross. Together, they bundled the fireman into the back of a police van before he had any chance of escaping into the crowd.
Ross could only imagine the headlines that would have hit the world’s newspapers in the morning had the fireman succeeded in putting out the eternal flame. But Ross had a feeling this was only a taster before the main event …
•••
‘I know my rights,’ said the fireman.
‘I feel sure you do,’ said Ross, as the car came to a halt outside Greenwich police station. The two young officers hauled Timpson out of the back seat and escorted him into the nick.
‘I have the right to call my lawyer,’ the prisoner reminded them, sounding as if he’d been well briefed.
‘All in good time,’ said Ross, as he showed the desk sergeant his warrant card.
‘I’m not saying nothin’ until I’ve spoken to my lawyer,’ said Timpson, a little more loudly.
The desk sergeant nodded and pointed to a telephone booth on the far wall.
Timpson walked quickly across to the phone, picked upthe receiver and dialled the number he’d been given. As it began to ring, he looked around to check no one could overhear him. The policeman who’d nearly broken his arm was talking to the desk sergeant.
‘What have you arrested him for?’ asked the desk sergeant, as he started tapping on his computer.
‘I haven’t got anything that would stand up in court,’ admitted Ross. ‘Only wish I could hear the conversation that’s taking place behind me.’ He didn’t look back.
