Page 62 of End Game
Petrov nodded.
‘And is everything in place to ensure the two athletes are both disqualified?’ Mikailov asked, without mentioning either of them by name.
‘Yes, Your Excellency,’ Petrov replied, without further explanation.
The Ambassador gave one sharp nod. ‘And Sun Anqi?’
‘She assures me that everything is in place for the closing ceremony.’
‘She has the package from Helsinki?’
Petrov shook his head. ‘The handover will take place on Sunday – early in the morning to escape detection.’ He hesitated, before saying, ‘I’m not convinced Sun Anqi can deliver,’ he said, ‘and perhaps you ought to distance yourself, Ambassador.’
‘That’s no concern of yours,’ replied the Ambassador sharply. ‘The Chinese have their own plan. My only interest is to make sure nothing goes wrong with our plan. What other problems do we have?’
Petrov inclined his head. ‘Miles Faulkner is being tailed by the Metropolitan Police and, following the opening ceremony, it seems probable that I have been recognized, but they have yet to discover Sun Anqi’s association with us, as she has managed to stay undercover.’
‘Good,’ said Mikailov. ‘Just make sure it stays that way.’ He looked up. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ replied Petrov. ‘An agent working for me in the Olympic Park has raised a problem I thought I should brief you on concerning one of our competitors named Natasha Korova.’
Saturday, 4 August – day 9 of the Games
ARTEMISIA WAS STANDINGat the front of the queue long before the tour was due to begin. She kept looking back as more and more passengers joined the line, but it was almost four o’clock by the time Alain arrived and took his place at the back. He didn’t acknowledge her, which made her wonder if he was alone and she’d only get his side of the story. Better than nothing, she decided. But would her editor describe it as half a story and once again drop it in the wastepaper basket?
Just as the doors of the bus opened, a tall willowy figure appeared and tried to pretend she wasn’t there. Not that easy when you’re six foot two and as thin as the proverbial rake.
Artemisia was the first on board and knew exactly where she intended to sit. Most of the passengers who followed her onto the bus shot up the staircase and quickly grabbed window seats that would allow them a panoramic view of the unfolding scene below. Artemisia didn’t join them, as she had no interest in the view.
She walked slowly to the back of the bus and commandeered the centre seat. She placed her bag and jacket on one side of her, as she waited for Alain and Natasha to climb aboard.
When Alain got on the bus, she raised a hand. He quickly joined her, handed back her jacket and slipped into the corner seat.
A few moments later, Natasha slipped into the place between them, slouched down but didn’t speak, as they were joined at the back by a father, mother and their little daughter, who took up the three remaining seats. They began chatting away in a tongue she didn’t recognize, while looking out of the far window.
No sooner had the bus moved off than a guide, microphone in hand, welcomed them aboard. She began by telling them what they could expect to see during the next hour.
Artemisia was only interested in what she was to hear during the next hour. She took a small tape recorder out of her bag and switched it on. She didn’t want to be seen taking notes.
‘Let me begin by asking you,’ she said, not needing to refer to the long list of questions she knew off by heart, ‘when and where you met.’
‘I first noticed Alain,’ said Natasha, ‘when he was sitting in the stands at the World Student Games in Budapest, pretending not to stare at me. I missed my next jump, but it didn’t stop him applauding.’
Alain smiled, clearly recalling the occasion.
‘If you look out on the right-hand side,’ said the tour guide, ‘you’ll see the velodrome, which holds six thousand spectators. This is where the cycling competitions are being held, and where Chris Hoy is hoping to add another gold medal to his collection, for Britain.’
‘For Scotland,’ declared a voice with an unmistakable broad accent, which brought laughter and applause in equal measure.
‘After I was knocked out of the competition – his fault,’ said Natasha, pointing at her fiancé, ‘Alain left his seat and came down to the edge of the track. I couldn’t speak French and he didn’t know a word of Russian, so it wasn’t a promising start. We struggled on in pidgin English accompanied by sign language, and finally agreed to meet in the training stadium the following morning.’
‘We both ended up at the wrong stadium,’ said Alain, as he took her hand, ‘but I eventually found her.’
‘I did everything in my power to avoid falling in love with Alain,’ said Natasha, a sadness creeping into her voice, ‘as I felt sure it wouldn’t end happily.’
‘But why?’ asked Artemisia, ‘when you’re both so obviously …’
‘We come from different countries,’ said Natasha, ‘speak different languages, and have been brought up in different cultures, so how could it possibly work?’
