Page 97 of End Game
‘It’s Maureen’s birthday,’ admitted Rebecca, ‘and I’m meant to be taking her for dinner to make up for—’
‘What time?’ asked Ross.
‘I could only book a table for seven o’clock,’ said Rebecca, ‘before going on to a late-night show.’
‘Then you’d better get going.’
‘But I don’t come off duty until Paul takes over for the night shift …’
‘The boss goes on holiday tomorrow,’ said Ross, ‘and by now, the Hawk will have left for the night, so I think just this once …’
‘You wouldn’t have said that a week ago – but thank you,’ said Rebecca. She grabbed her bag and beat a hasty retreat before Ross could change his mind.
Ross glanced up at the bank of CCTV screens, to be greeted with row upon row of empty seats. Then one of the screens flickered and went blank. He smiled. William, being a belt and braces man, had since the opening ceremony problem installed a back-up system in the Gold Suite that only the inner team was aware of.
Ross flicked a switch below his desk, and the blank screen lit up again.
He took another look at the screens, each displaying an empty stadium, and then decided to make himself a cup of tea.
•••
The nightwatchman was standing by the front gate, waiting for them to arrive. Longe and his two bodyguards turned up on time, with another man in tow he didn’t recognize. He assumed he must be another bodyguard, although he couldn’t understand why he was dragging two heavy suitcases behind him.
A thick wad of notes changed hands as Longe entered the stadium. He looked up anxiously at a camera and said, ‘Is it safe?’
‘Yes,’ replied the groundsman. ‘The three CCTV cameras looking out onto the track arekaput, and won’t,’ he said confidently, ‘be working again before the electrician arrives in the morning to fix them.’
‘You’ve done well,’ said Longe, ‘and if we all get out without being sussed, you’ll be paid double.’
The nightwatchman closed the gate, locked it, and led them down the steps into a long dark corridor. ‘I’ve worked out a secure route from the gate and back,’ he said, ‘so you won’t be seen coming or going.’
‘How many coppers on duty?’ asked Longe, as he followed the nightwatchman along the corridor.
‘Just the one, Bernie. The other one left early, and the night shift isn’t due on until eight.’
‘We’ll be long gone by then,’ said Longe.
They emerged from the tunnel and walked out onto the track, where Longe sat down in the front row of the stand. The two thugs took a seat either side of him, while the man with the suitcases tucked himself behind a pillar out of sight.
Longe surveyed the empty stadium before him, then instructed the nightwatchman, ‘Make sure you’re waiting for our two guests, who should be arriving any moment, then bring them straight to me.’
The nightwatchman quickly retraced his steps to the front gate, to find two strangers waiting for him.
•••
Ross had his back to the CCTV cameras as he waited for his tea to brew. He took his time – a rare luxury after the last few weeks of endless, dawn-to-dusk activity. He raided the biscuit tin of its last inhabitants before pouring himself a cup of tea and taking a sip.
Mug in hand, he turned around, spilling some tea on the floor.
He stared at the CCTV screens, put the mug down and made a phone call.
•••
The nightwatchman unlocked the gate to welcome Mr Longe’s guests. He gave them a cursory nod, but only after another, smaller wad of notes had changed hands. He took them onthe same route into the stadium and out onto the track, where Mr Longe was waiting for them.
‘Welcome, Mr Faulkner,’ said Longe, as they entered the arena. He stood up, his two heavies just a yard behind, their eyes never leaving Faulkner.
Longe offered an outstretched hand, but Miles ignored it.
