Page 84 of End Game
•••
Ross watched as Faulkner, with Booth Watson in tow, pushed their way through the swing doors of the Savoy and emerged onto the pavement just after ten twenty. Faulkner climbed into the back of his Rolls, while the ever-reliable Collins held open the back door.
As the car drove off, Booth Watson began walking down the Strand in the direction of his flat in Middle Temple.
Ross followed the Rolls, and when Collins dropped his boss outside his home in Cadogan Square, he watched him enter the house before Collins drove off.
Ross didn’t depart until the light in Faulkner’s bedroom had gone out. By the time he crept into bed, Alice was fast asleep.
•••
‘Are you taking me home this evening, Commander?’ asked Beth, before she devoured her last morsel of veal, ‘or do you feel we haven’t known each other long enough?’
‘We certainly haven’t known each other long enough, my darling,’ said William, ‘but I’m still going to take you home, even though you’re not a cheap date.’
‘And don’t expect me to go along with this modern habit of splitting the bill on a first date,’ said Beth, ‘because I don’t have to remind you, I’m unemployed.’
‘Would you care to see the dessert trolley, madam?’ asked the maître d’.
‘No, thank you,’ said Beth. ‘It was a wonderful meal and the wine was quite superb.’
‘And you, sir?’
‘Just the bill,’ said William, as he took out his wallet, fearing the worst.
‘It’s on the house, sir,’ said the maître d’. ‘The restaurant has been packed night and day during the Olympics, and we’re all well aware you are in charge of security for the Games, so we felt in the circumstances it was the least we could do.’
‘Thank you,’ said Beth, as the maître d’ bowed and left them.
‘I agree with you, my darling,’ said William, as he placed his wallet back in his pocket. ‘We should come here more often.’
•••
They met at midnight on a yacht moored on the Thames, just off Putney. All the lights had been switched off, except those below deck in the captain’s quarters. The motley crew seated around the table consisted of two ambassadors, one undersecretary, one state terrorist and one traitor.
Although Faulkner owned the yacht, it was Ambassador Mikailov who opened proceedings. ‘My masters in Moscow are not best pleased,’ he stated, which didn’t come as a surprise to anyone present. ‘The torch relay fiasco, the opening ceremony failure and our inability to have either Bolt or Farah disqualified, despite successfully spiking both their urine samples, have made us all look amateurs at best, and incompetent at worst.’
‘Not helped by killing Sergeant Roycroft,’ said Faulkner, staring across the table at Sun Anqi. ‘If you’d satisfied yourself with stealing her mobile, they might have thought you were nothing more than a pickpocket, whereas now we’ve got Warwick and half the Met Police looking over our shoulders.’
‘I didn’t have a choice,’ Sun Anqi replied sharply. ‘If Roycroft had still been around to identify me, I would have had to call my whole operation off, and years of planning would have gone down the drain, to quote the British.’
‘Resulting in the Games being a triumph for London and a disaster for us,’ said the Ambassador, looking around the table. ‘Remembering that Petrov has been seen by at least one of Warwick’s team, I think it might be wise for him to lie low and certainly not attend the closing ceremony.’
‘All of you should avoid the closing ceremony,’ said Sun Anqi, closing down any further interruptions.
The focus of attention switched from one side of the table to the other.
Sun Anqi didn’t need to open a file, as she knew every detail of her script, like an accomplished actor playing aleading role. She didn’t require the assistance of politicians, mandarins, or an Englishman, who she had no doubt could be bought by the highest bidder. Sun Anqi addressed the team as if the amateurs had been given their chance, squandered it, and now the professionals would be taking over.
‘Gentlemen,’ she began, ‘let me assure you that I have been fine-tuning my plan for several months and have left nothing to chance. However, I must warn you that the climax will not come until the eleventh hour, when Jacques Rogge will deliver his closing speech from the podium as President of the International Olympic Committee. I have a copy of his speech, which has already been circulated to the press, although it has been embargoed until after the closing ceremony, by which time it will be irrelevant.
‘However, when Rogge taps the microphone – and he always taps the microphone before he begins a speech – I will already be by the front of the stage standing among the British team, waiting for his opening words:Your Royal Highness, my lords, ladies and gentlemen, London has hosted a truly memorable Games…
‘The moment Rogge delivers these words, every eye in the stadium will be on him. I will wait until he reaches,London will be remembered as one of the most successful Games of the modern era. That will be my cue to release five ampoules of the nerve agent, Sarin, from my trainers which will kill all those standing around me within moments.’
‘You included,’ said Wei Ming quietly.
‘That is the reason my plan is foolproof, Your Excellency,’ Sun Anqi reminded him. ‘However,’ she continued, ‘the death of several members of the British team will only be a small part of what I have planned for London’s swansong.’
