Page 88 of End Game
•••
As the Chinese team progressed slowly towards the entrance to the stadium, a dozen security guards scoured the rows of assembled athletes in search of a man or woman who matched the photographs they had been issued. An almost impossible task, as they were all dressed identically in red and white tracksuits.
Without warning, one of the Chinese team collapsed onto the ground and several athletes surrounded her. The nearest police officer was quickly by her side.
‘I think she’s fainted,’ said a teammate, anxiously. ‘We were kept waiting for over an hour before they unlocked the gates.’
The young officer looked embarrassed. ‘Perhaps it might be wise for her to return to the Olympic Village?’ he suggested, aware that the procession was being held up.
‘We’ll take your advice, officer,’ said another woman, coming in bang on cue, as she helped her teammate back on her feet.
Paul and several of his security team were now taking a closer interest, carefully checking not just their faces but their necks. No scorpion to be seen. Paul turned his attention back to the rest of the Chinese team, who were continuing to move slowly towards the entrance to the stadium.
The three athletes concerned turned around and began to walk in the opposite direction, having played their part in the charade.
Sun Anqi, an Olympic scarf around her neck, progressed slowly forward with her team as they entered the stadium.
•••
The phone was ringing. William grabbed it. ‘Warwick,’ he said.
‘Alan Mitchell, Commander,’ said a voice he didn’t recognize. ‘Air traffic control.’
‘What can I do for you?’ asked William, fearing the worst.
‘A small twin-engine aircraft has just appeared on my screen. The plane took off from a private airfield near Bournemouth, but despite being instructed to change course, it continued heading towards the stadium. Do you want me to contact RAF Northolt?’
RAF Northolt meant only one thing to William. Two fighter jets would be scrambled immediately and would intercept the aircraft. If they thought it might cause any real danger to the public, they would blow it out of the sky. The events of 9/11 immediately sprang to William’s mind, reminding him that even a light aircraft could cause mayhem in such a confined space.
‘Yes, call Northolt,’ said William. ‘But tell them to use their common sense.’
‘I don’t have the authority to do that,’ said Mitchell. ‘Way above my pay grade.’
‘Right, leave it to me,’ said William. He put down one phone and picked up another. ‘Get Air Marshal Lowery on the phone, urgently.’
‘He’s sitting in a Grand Tier box on the far side of the ground, sir.’
‘Ask him if he could join me in the Gold Suite immediately. Tell him it’s an emergency.’
•••
Miles Faulkner sat alone in his flat, watching the scene unfold on television, with the crowd cheering and applauding each team as they entered the stadium. There was nothingleft for him to do except watch the drama unfold – at a distance.
His mind drifted back to his meeting on the yacht the previous night, and for a moment he hoped that Sun Anqi had been apprehended before she entered the stadium – but knowing that woman, he doubted it.
Miles had never believed he was capable of having second thoughts, but when the camera zoomed in on the British team, who were uninhibitedly celebrating the part they had played in a triumphant Games, several of them wearing medals around their necks, he felt something most unusual – guilt.
The camera zoomed back to reveal so many young participants coming to the end of their Olympic dream, but at the beginning of their lives.
He looked up at an empty space on the wall where the Van Gogh would hang that would unquestionably be the pride of his collection.
And then his thoughts turned to other people’s lives. Innocent bystanders who Sun Anqi had dismissed without feeling, for what she described as ‘the greater cause’.
Was possessing a Van Gogh a ‘greater cause’ or was he no better than Sun Anqi?
Once again, he turned his attention to the blank space on the wall.
•••
