Page 80 of End Game
‘No, certainly not,’ exclaimed the professor, ‘it was one of the Russians. There was nothing to suggest that Farah had taken an illegal substance of any kind.’
Sir Julian breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank God for that.’
‘But he does have a problem,’ said the professor.
‘But you just said …’
‘After winning the ten thousand metres on Tuesday and qualifying in the five thousand semi-final yesterday, which, following all that bumping and barging, must have been a pretty exhausting experience,’ said the professor, ‘I can only wonder how much energy the poor man will have left for the final tomorrow.’
‘I suspect,’ said Sir Julian, ‘that a home crowd, adrenaline,and the thought of being the first Englishman in Olympic history to achieve the double may enter the equation. But if you’ll forgive me, Professor, I ought to phone Lord Coe and Sir Keith to let them know the good news.’
‘Of course,’ said the professor. ‘And before you go, Sir Julian, would you please pass on my regards to your grandson? After all, he’s the one who saved the day.’
Saturday, 11 August – day 16 of the Games
‘SIRJULIAN,’SAID THE JUDGE,adjusting his red robes as he looked down from the bench, ‘I think this might be an opportune moment to break for the day.’
‘As you wish, m’lud,’ said Sir Julian.
The judge turned to the jury and said, ‘I’m breaking a little early this afternoon. It’s been a long trial, and I think you should all have a rest before I begin my summing up on Monday.’
The nods and looks of approval on the faces of the jury rather suggested they agreed with His Lordship’s judgement.
Mr Justice Camoy adjusted his robes, rose and bowed to the court. Once he’d departed, the room emptied in record time.
Sir Julian headed straight for the barristers’ room, with Peter in tow. No one was surprised to find the television was already on and surrounded by their colleagues.
Brendan Foster was offering his opinion as the finalists entered the stadium to prolonged applause. ‘I spoke to Mo Farah earlier today and he told me, much as he’d like to perform the double, after winning the ten thousand metres earlier in the week and coming through the first round of the five thousand on Wednesday morning, he was emotionally drained and physically exhausted. He confessed that hedoubted if he was in with a serious chance of winning a medal, and asked for his supporters to be understanding.’
•••
William slipped out of the Gold Suite, telling Rebecca he’d be back in fifteen minutes. She didn’t have to ask why. He joined Ross, who he found leaning over the railing at the top of the lower stand, waiting for the announcer to call out the names of each competitor and the countries they represented. If World War Three had been declared, no one would have moved.
The crowd fell silent as the fifteen finalists took their place on the starting line. As each name was called out, they were greeted with respectful applause, until the announcer said, ‘Number three, representing Great Britain, Mo Farah,’ when the whole stadium rose as one and erupted with a roar that would have impressed a lion.
‘On your marks,’ declared the starter, which created its own eerie silence. ‘Set,’ a second later, and when the gun went off, 160,000 eyes remained fixed on one athlete. He slipped into the back of the field and completed the first lap in seventy seconds, and William feared Brendan Foster might be right, he was spent. It wasn’t until the third of the twelve laps that Farah eased up into the middle of the leading group, running slightly wide to avoid making contact with any other runner. He held this position for another three laps before moving into third place behind Dejen Gebremeskel and the leader Yenew Alamirew, both from Ethiopia. Both of them world-record holders.
By the time the runners strode past the three thousand metre mark, no one in the stadium was sitting.
•••
Mr Justice Camoy was banging on his desk, having abandoned his glass of whisky. His secretary rushed in, assuming he needed something urgently.
Seven men and five women had remained in the jury room, only wanting to deliver one verdict.
Sir Julian was applauding, while some of his younger colleagues were already on their feet, cheering, joining in the chant, ‘Go Mo Go,’ as Farah took the lead for the first time with seven hundred metres to go.
‘Has he gone too early?’ Brendan Foster asked the twenty-seven million people following the race on television. The streets of Britain were empty.
The roar that emanated from the crowd was such that no one in the stadium could hear the bell sounding for the final lap. Farah set off on a sprint with the fresh legs of a four-hundred metre runner, while the rest of the world chased after him.
He held them off until he entered the home straight, and with a hundred metres to go, he seemed to change gear. The roar of the crowd reached a crescendo, and could surely have been heard at Hyde Park Corner when Farah crossed the line, after running the last lap in 52.9 seconds.
He had secured his second Olympic gold medal in a week and could claim immortality.
No one left the stadium as the victor jogged slowly around the outside of the track, acknowledging the cheers of the spectators as they continued to chant in unison, ‘Go Mo Go!’
The crowd didn’t fall silent for the next thirty minutes, as no one was willing to leave before the medal ceremony took place.
