by Nick Hale
Tan arrived at Jake’s side.
‘Veronika’s got trouble,’ Jake said.
As they watched, Veronika unleashed a vicious slap across the man’s face. All three stopped laughing. Jake expected them to retaliate, but nothing happened. The man smiled and spoke again. He pulled open his jacket, which Jake thought was an odd gesture until he caught a glimmer of gun-metal inside.
3
As quickly as he’d flashed the weapon, he covered it again. How had they got past security? Olympic Advantage had armed guards at the gates.
Veronika didn’t seem impressed, and cocked her chin.
Jake strode over with Tan in tow. ‘Follow my lead,’ Jake muttered, then called out: ‘Hi, Veronika, you coming to get that pizza?’
Veronika’s face creased in confusion. The three men stared at Jake with a complete lack of interest.
‘What pizza?’ she said. ‘We’re not allowed pizza.’
Jake paused. Is she naturally difficult, or just dumb?
‘Y’know,’ said Jake. ‘That high-protein, slow-burn carb one the nutritionist was going on about.’ He tapped his watch. ‘It’s ready, like, now.’
‘Too good to miss!’ Tan added, playing his part to perfection.
Veronika’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. ‘Oh, yes! Right.’ She brushed past the man at her side, and he said something in a language Jake didn’t recognise.
‘Don’t count on it,’ Veronika replied.
The guys climbed back into the 4x4 and drove away at a crawl.
‘Who was that?’ Jake asked.
‘Mind your own business,’ Veronika said, stalking off.
‘Hey!’ Jake called. ‘How about a thanks for the save?’
She spun round, walking backwards and flashing a smile. ‘I don’t need saving.’
A few hours later, Jake stood in a tiny bathroom cubicle, wondering if humiliation was part of the Olympic Advantage experience. A guy was waiting for him on the other side of the door.
Trouble was, knowing this made it even harder to go.
‘You all right in there?’ said the guy, his accent American. ‘There’s a line, y’know.’
‘All right, all right,’ Jake said. ‘Just give me a minute . . .’
He heard the next in line tapping his foot, and closed his eyes. Think of water. Gushing rivers. Waves. Floods.
At last, Jake managed to go, half-filling the plastic cup. Then he flushed and turned to the basin where he washed his hands.
Outside the toilet, he passed another athlete – a long-distance runner called Matt – who was waiting with a cup in his hand.
Dr Chow was sitting at the desk in her office, scribbling something in a file.
‘Erm . . . where do you want this?’ Jake asked, feeling a bit weird presenting another person with a pot of his urine.
Dr Chow looked up for the briefest of moments and pointed to a tray on one of the counters. ‘Over there with the others,’ she said. ‘Then hop up on the examination table.’
Jake did as she said. ‘Is this really necessary? I mean, every day?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said the doctor, still scribbling. ‘If we’re to establish the progress levels, then we need to know exactly what you guys are putting into your bodies. No unapproved beverages, no supplements, no drugs. Not even paracetamol, got it?’
Jake nodded, even though the doctor wasn’t looking at him. ‘I read the brochure.’
‘Make a fist,’ she said, brandishing a syringe. He did as she asked, and she slid the needle into the bulging vein in the crook of his arm. It didn’t hurt a bit. He smiled to himself when he thought of how afraid his dad was of needles. He used to hate away matches in exotic locations.
‘Something funny?’ the doctor asked, as she drew blood into the syringe.
‘Just thinking about my dad,’ he said.
Dr Chow gave him a cotton ball to stem the blood, and dropped the syringe into a transparent bag. ‘Your father was a famous soccer player, wasn’t he?’ she asked.
‘He was,’ Jake said. ‘But he was a defender.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘I’m a striker,’ Jake said. ‘Completely different.’
Dr Chow nodded, but didn’t look interested any more. ‘Can you take your top off, please?’
Jake pulled his T-shirt over his head, feeling the cool air on his skin.
‘Hmm,’ the doctor said, placing a stethoscope to his chest. ‘Very good. Your resting heartbeat’s about sixty a minute.’
A mobile phone rang across the room, and Dr Chow walked over to pick it up.
Jake had been at the medical centre for nearly an hour now, answering questions and having tests run. Fat ratios, grip tests, lung capacity, flexibility, vision. It all seemed a bit over the top, but Dr Chow had assured him it was all necessary. Jake just wanted to get out and kick a football around in the Florida sun.
Over in the corner of the room, a fridge hummed. Through the glass panel, he saw it was filled with bottles of Olympic Edge. In Bruce Krantz’s introductory speech, he’d been clear that part of the testing was to ascertain if the drink had any physiological benefits. That was the price of sponsorship, Jake supposed.
Dr Chow giggled, and Jake tried not to listen to her conversation ‘. . . I can’t . . . Not now, sweetie . . .’ She smiled as her eyes caught Jake’s. ‘. . . I can’t wait . . .’
The doctor blew a kiss down the phone and hung up. Jake tried not to show his irritation at being held in this clinic while she acted like a sappy schoolgirl.
‘Sorry about the interruption,’ she said, suddenly businesslike again. She scribbled a few notes on a pad, and told Jake he could put his top back on. ‘You’re in exceptional shape.’
Jake thought straight away of Otto Kahn. He’d seemed fine – until he’d dropped dead.
‘Dr Chow,’ he said, hopping off the bed, ‘what do you think happened to Otto?’
Dr Chow looked up from her pad with an expression of concern. ‘It could be any number of things,’ she said. ‘Maybe the climate . . . Maybe he had a hidden heart difficulty. It sometimes happens in those who show unusual growth. But it might just have been an accident. The autopsy should tell us more.’
She opened the fridge, and offered Jake a bottle of Olympic Edge. It was the green version – ‘Evolution’. He shook his head. ‘I don’t like the taste.’
‘Take it anyway,’ she said. ‘It’s much better than water for hydration.’
Jake took it, but dropped it in the first bin he passed as he exited the medical centre. I’ll stick with water, he thought.
Jake was heading to the dormitories when he heard a noise he’d recognise anywhere. Leather on leather. Football.
He followed the sounds and came out at the artificial hockey pitch. A dozen or so guys were knocking a ball among themselves on the AstroTurf. One guy stood in the hockey goal, playing keeper.
There were several footballers at the camp, but Jake hadn’t had time to meet any yet. It would be good to check out the competition. He pushed open the gate and jogged towards the group.
One of the highlights of the camp was a game at the end of the fortnight. The footballers would play a full ninety-minute friendly against the US soccer team. There were twenty potentials at the camp – a good size for a squad but, of course, there were just eleven starting places. Competition would be fierce – especially since the audience would be filled with scouts from some of the world’s biggest clubs.
‘Over here!’ he called, holding up his arm. The guy with the ball looked up, and directed a pass along the ground to Jake.
Another player intercepted the ball with his foot when it was halfway. He flicked it into his arms. Jake recognised him from the Australian under-19 squad who’d got to the semis in the World Cup the year before: Oz Ellman.
‘Sorry, but we were just leaving,’ Oz said. ‘Weren’t we, fellas?’
The others grunted in the affirmative. Jake shrugged. ‘No worries. But gi
ve me a call next time. I’m dying for a game. I’m in room fifteen B.’
As he turned to go, he heard Oz say: ‘I’m sure Baby Bastin is used to getting his own way.’
Jake stopped – his temper flared. He turned to face them. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that.’
Oz’s face set into a sneer. ‘Listen, pom, don’t start throwing your weight around, expecting a free ride. We all got here on merit. Not because our daddies pulled strings.’
‘My dad had nothing to do with it,’ Jake said.
This brought a round of guffaws from a couple of the other players. Most were silent, though, all eyes on Jake.
‘Yeah,’ Oz said. ‘You getting picked for the commercial was just a coincidence, I guess?’
Jake didn’t have an answer for that. Maybe his name did have something to do with it. He hadn’t even wanted to be in the commercial, but there was no point saying that now.
‘I could name about fifty guys who should be here instead of you,’ Oz added, throwing the ball hard at Jake’s chest.
Jake caught the ball. It stung his chest, but he didn’t flinch. Part of him wanted to rush at Oz, fists flying, but he’d seen enough pointless fighting.
‘Leave it, Oz,’ said someone from the back, his voice French maybe.
Jake felt a tingle of relief – not everyone here was a git.
But Oz wasn’t leaving it. He was eyeballing Jake, looking for any kind of rise. Jake wasn’t going to give it to him. Instead, he dropped the football and kicked it back, over the Australian’s head and into the hockey goal. As he walked away, Jake grinned to himself. He’d show Oz Ellman that he was more than just a name.
4
After a high-carb dinner in the canteen, Jake and Tan took advantage of the recreation time to get out of the complex. The whole atmosphere was tainted by Otto’s death. The afternoon’s festivities had been cancelled and everyone seemed to be at a loose end. Krantz reminded them of the strict curfew – if they weren’t back by ten, there’d be serious trouble. They signed out at the front gates and took the exit road out into town on foot. Tan was sipping a bottle of purple Olympic Edge called ‘Cloudburst’ as they hit the main street of Redford.
‘Why you no like this stuff?’ he said. ‘I think it really work.’ He held out the bottle. ‘Try some.’
Jake sniffed the top of the bottle, and laughed. ‘And I think it’s all in your head. This stuff smells like toilet cleaner.’
Palm trees lined the street, ruffled by a warm breeze even though the sun was setting. Jake had seen most of the town’s main drag on the way in. It wasn’t a big place, maybe three or four miles across, shunting up against the southern outskirts of Miami to the north. It had a central business district with small supermarkets and clothes shops, a hardware store and a dozen or so bars and cafés. The tallest buildings in the town were a couple of five-storey office blocks.
Jake felt Tan tap his elbow. ‘Look over there,’ he said, nodding towards a bar called the Thirsty Alligator. The front door was guarded by a single bouncer, and some kind of Latin jazz music spilled out on to the pavement. Through the glass frontage, Jake saw what had got Tan’s attention.
Dr Chow sat at a high table, a tall bottle in front of her, leaning close in conversation with a guy wearing a red baseball cap and sunglasses.
‘Must be her boyfriend,’ Jake said. ‘I had to listen to them flirting on the phone earlier.’
‘You think he works at Olympic Advantage also?’ Tan asked.
Jake shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen him around.’
Dr Chow stared down at the table, absently playing with her glass. If they were in a relationship, it looked as if they were having an uncomfortable discussion.
‘Come on,’ said Tan, ‘it bad if they see us watching.’
Jake was about to go when Dr Chow jabbed her index finger at her companion’s chest. Her face was strained. The man waved a finger back as if telling her she’d said something incorrect.
‘Wait a second,’ Jake said.
Next Dr Chow tried to lean back, only for the guy to lunge across and grip her elbow. Her face creased, registering pain.
‘We need to go in,’ Jake said.
‘Rescuing the lady not work well before, remember?’ Tan said.
Jake’s eyes were on the arguing couple. Dr Chow was trying to pull away, but the guy in the cap wasn’t letting go.
‘Keep the bouncer busy,’ Jake said.
‘How?’ Tan asked.
Jake nodded to the bottle in Tan’s hand. ‘A little spillage should do the trick.’
They waited for a gap in the traffic and crossed the street. Jake let Tan go on ahead. As his friend got to the front of the Thirsty Alligator, he pretended to trip, up-ending the bottle all over the bouncer’s shoes.
‘What the . . .!’ the bouncer said, spreading his arms wide and stepping away from the door.
Jake walked towards the entrance, hearing Tan say: ‘I’m really sorry. So clumsy.’ He was positioning himself so the bouncer turned his back to Jake. Jake slipped into the bar. The music was pretty loud inside, but he headed straight over to Dr Chow’s table, weaving past a waitress. She’d finally jerked her arm free, and Jake caught the words, ‘Leave me alone!’
‘Is there a problem?’ Jake asked as he reached her side.
The guy with the beer looked him up and down in less than a second, then pulled his cap lower. ‘Beat it, kid.’
‘Are you OK?’ Jake asked Dr Chow.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, clearly startled. ‘You shouldn’t be in here, Jake.’
‘Yeah, mind your own business,’ said the guy. He was still trying to hide his face.
‘I was just passing,’ Jake said. ‘I saw –’
‘You saw jack,’ the guy said. ‘Now get lost.’ He nudged him with his elbow as if trying to help him move along. Jake brushed it aside, and the guy’s hand clattered into his bottle, sending beer gushing on to his lap.
‘Why you little –’
‘You,’ said a deep voice behind him, ‘show me some ID.’
A second bouncer loomed over Jake. He had the build of someone who wasn’t used to arguing.
‘Does he look old enough to have ID?’ said Dr Chow’s companion sarcastically, wiping at his jeans with a napkin.
The bouncer stuck a thumb towards the door. ‘Out you go, before I call the cops.’
Jake hesitated for another couple of seconds, weighing his options. Should he take Dr Chow with him?
‘You deaf, kid?’ said the bouncer. A few people at a nearby table had turned to watch too.
Jake sighed and backed away from the couple. The guy in the cap was pointedly staring the other way. He’d never got a good look at the man’s face.
The bouncer escorted him all the way to the door. Outside, Tan was still protesting his innocence, trying to wipe the bouncer’s wet shoes. The bouncer, annoyed, gave Tan a light shove in the chest.
Jake’s roommate stumbled back, and seemed to trip over his own feet, landing hard on the pavement. Jake thought at first Tan was just acting clumsy, but then he saw the grimace contorting his face. Jake knew real pain when he saw it. Tan stood gingerly, supporting himself against a tree trunk, favouring his right knee. He began to limp along the pavement. Jake waited until the bouncers were chatting then headed after him at a jog.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ Jake asked.
Tan gave Jake a worried stare. He stopped again, and tried to flex his leg. ‘You can keep secret?’
‘Sure,’ Jake replied.
Tan shook his head. ‘Last year, I tear ligaments. Bad long-jump landing. I have surgery . . . But it no heal right.’
Jake frowned. ‘Should you be training, then? I mean, the next couple of weeks are going to be pretty intense.’
Tan gave a thin smile. ‘I guess not,’ he said. ‘But Olympic Advantage too good to miss, you know?’
Jake knew. It was stupid, but he understood. It would have taken a pretty serious injury to keep him o
ff the plane to Miami. Tan was walking a bit smoother now, putting more weight on his leg.
‘You could really hurt yourself,’ Jake said.
‘I take painkillers if it gets bad,’ said Tan. ‘And I have another operation next month. Olympic Advantage mean everything to me. Please no tell anyone.’
Tan stared hard at Jake and Jake thought of the knee injury that had ended his dad’s playing career. Steve Bastin was lucky MI6 had seen his potential and recruited him. A lot of other players had ended up on the scrapheap far too early because of one mistimed tackle.
‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Jake said. ‘But be careful. Don’t push yourself too hard. Don’t ruin your whole future trying to prove something.’
Tan slapped Jake on the back. ‘Thanks, dude. Did you find out what problem is with jerk in bar?’
‘I guess it was just a lovers’ tiff,’ said Jake. ‘They threw me out as fast as I got in.’
Tan laughed. ‘Maybe you stick to football. Stop playing hero.’
Jake raised an eyebrow. ‘I think you might be right.’
The canteen was buzzing the next day at breakfast. People seemed to have forgotten all about Otto Kahn, but Jake remembered seeing him shovel down his massive breakfast just twenty-four hours before. Even Tan was back to his bouncy self.
The athletes were encouraged to log everything they ate and drank in nutrition books, so the monitors could calculate their calorie intake. Jake avoided the rainbow colours of the chilled Olympic Edge and settled for freshly squeezed orange juice.
After breakfast, he went back to the laundry to pick up his clean kit. Laundry trucks came every other day to collect the mountains of dirty gear, and deposited fresh loads at the same time. While Jake waited for his food to settle, he had a look through the local paper. There was an interview with Bruce Krantz about the previous day’s tragedy, and he was already predicting the coroner would deliver a verdict of accidental death.
