Page 69 of End Game
NATASHA SELECTED A SEATat the back of the athletes’ stand that gave her a clear view of the high jump pit. Alain was warming up, and although he knew she was there, he didn’t once look in her direction.
Artemisia was sitting at home following the track and field events on television. For a moment, when the camera panned across to the athletes’ stand, she caught a fleeting glimpse of Natasha seated in the back row. She could only imagine how nervous she must be. Not unlike being in an Olympic final.
Alain cleared the opening height of one metre sixty-two quite easily, and the bar was raised two more times before he failed to clear it. With a supreme effort, he cleared the height on his third attempt, which raised a cheer from his fellow countrymen in the crowd. Natasha knew he would be eliminated when the bar was raised again.
Artemisia had almost finished her article; all she needednow was the denouement that would have to wait until she’d seen their plane take off for Lyon, plus whatever photographs she managed to take while they were at the airport. She dropped Natasha’s passport into her bag, along with a single boarding pass, business class, in the name of Ms Natasha Korova.
She watched as Alain failed on his third attempt at the next height, but as it was only a couple of centimetres below his personal best, the crowd gave him a warm reception.
He sat down on the grass verge and took his time removing his spikes before pulling on his tracksuit, while the sprinters lined up for the first heat of the one hundred metres. Each of the competitors had their names announced to the crowd, and the British entry got the loudest cheer, even though it was thought unlikely he’d progress to the next round.
The gun went off and, as Alain had predicted, the crowd rose as one, which gave him the chance to look up and nod at Natasha.
When the runners for the second heat walked out onto the track, Alain stood up, strolled across the back straight, hopped over the barrier and joined his fellow athletes in the lower stand. He didn’t once look back at Natasha. He pretended to still be engrossed in what was happening in the high jump, which was down to the last four competitors.
Natasha carried out the same routine during the third heat. She stood, she cheered, she sat back down, although her mind was elsewhere. She forgot to applaud when a Russian had come third and made it to the semi-finals. Someone noticed.
The starter called the runners for the fourth heat to their marks, and the crowd fell silent. When the gun sounded and eight athletes shot out of their blocks, the crowd once again rose in unison and followed the sprinters’ progress, their eyesnever leaving one athlete in particular as he headed towards the finishing line, leaving the rest of the field in his wake.
During the race, Alain slipped out of his seat and climbed the steps that led out of the block, confident that Natasha would only be a few strides behind.
When the cheers reached a fortissimo, they must have been the only two people in the stadium who hadn’t witnessed Usain Bolt crossing the line. But they weren’t.
Someone else was sitting at the back of the athletes’ stand, who wasn’t an athlete; he was surprised that Alain hadn’t joined Natasha after he’d been eliminated from the high jump, as he was well aware of their relationship. He was even more surprised when Alain left the stadium during the fourth heat, because there would be a Frenchman lining up in the fifth heat, who had a good chance of making it through to the semi-final. Perhaps he was going to the toilet and would be back in time to watch his fellow countryman.
Natasha left a few moments after the gun had gone off and the crowd was once again on its feet. The man at the back of the stand didn’t watch the race.
He remained seated, quickly dialled a number on his mobile and reported what he had witnessed to Sergei Petrov at the Russian Embassy. Petrov reluctantly phoned her.
•••
Once Artemisia had seen Bolt crossing the finishing line to the acclamation of eighty thousand spectators, along with millions around the world, she switched off the television, grabbed her bag and quickly left the flat. Once she was out on the street, she hailed a taxi and told the cabbie, ‘Victoria station,’ before climbing into the back.
She once again checked that Natasha’s passport and boarding pass were safely in her bag. They were. She went over her article one more time, making the occasional emendation. Whenever she looked up, the lights always seemed to be red, but perhaps you only noticed when in a hurry.
•••
Alain boarded the tube for Victoria – eleven stops, one change at Oxford Circus, twenty-eight minutes. Running on time. Natasha, who didn’t join Alain, spent those twenty-eight minutes anxiously looking around, fearing she might recognize someone – or, worse, that someone might recognize her.
•••
Artemisia was dropped outside Victoria station sixteen minutes later, and after one look at the departure board headed for Platform Thirteen. She sat down on a bench a few yards from the ticket barrier and waited.
She became more anxious by the minute. Was she too late or too early? And then Alain appeared and gave her no more than a cursory glance before he climbed aboard the Gatwick Express. Natasha followed a few moments later, but got into a separate carriage at the far end of the train.
When the station clock ticked over, indicating two minutes to departure, Artemisia got up, showed her ticket to the collector at the barrier, climbed aboard and took a seat in the corner of a packed carriage, halfway between them.
The train departed on time, and a message moved across a thin screen at the far end of the carriage, informingpassengers that the journey to Gatwick airport would take thirty minutes.
She waited for another ten minutes before she got up, leaving Alain behind her. Three carriages further along, she spotted Natasha sitting alone in first class. All part of the plan.
As she passed Natasha, she bent down and left her passport and boarding pass on the seat beside her, before carrying on. She found a vacant place in the next carriage, where a Chinese woman in a wheelchair was having a rug placed over her legs by an attentive carer.
When the train arrived at Gatwick airport, Alain was among the first to step out onto the platform, while Artemisia hung back and joined the crowd heading for Departures.
She didn’t look to check if Natasha was following. She just assumed she was.
Alain didn’t slow down, but headed straight for security. After showing his boarding pass, Alain looked back, not searching for Natasha but for Artemisia. He smiled and mouthed the words, ‘thank you’, before disappearing from sight.
