by Nick Hale
The automatic doors of the admin building swished open, and a small figure in a pale suit walked out. The smokers crushed their cigarettes and hurried to catch up. One opened the door of a high-spec SUV. As the man climbed into the back seat, Jake froze.
It can’t be!
He hadn’t seen the face since St Petersburg.
It was Igor Popov.
9
Jake’s feet were rooted to the ground. What the hell was Igor Popov doing at Olympic Advantage? He managed to move his legs, starting to run towards the administration building as the SUV rolled out of the parking lot. The windows were tinted black – he couldn’t see inside. But he was sure. He’d recognise Popov’s face anywhere after everything they’d been through. From the first moment he’d stepped into his dad’s house in London, offering what seemed like a dream job coaching in St Petersburg, Jake had just known he was a criminal. And the way he’d dealt with his enemies since, brutally but never getting his hands dirty, had only confirmed that he was not to be messed with.
Jake burst through the doors into the admin building and straight up to the desk.
‘Who was that man?’ he asked.
The receptionist was busy buffing her nails and looked up at him with a smile. ‘What man, honey?’
‘The one who just left,’ Jake said.
The receptionist stopped inspecting her cuticles, and cocked her head at Jake. ‘Say, you’re the son of that soccer coach, aren’t ya?’
Jake gritted his teeth. ‘That’s right. Steve Bastin’s my dad.’
‘He sure is cute,’ the receptionist said. ‘I don’t mind saying I don’t know much about soccer, but I might start watching it.’
Jake fought the urge to grab her manicure set and hurl it at the wall. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘can you tell me who that was?’
‘Well, I shouldn’t really . . .’ The receptionist pursed her lips. ‘But perhaps you could do something for me first.’
‘What?’ Jake asked.
‘The other girls would be really jealous if I managed to get a date with Steve Bastin,’ she said, ‘but I don’t have his phone number . . .’ She left it hanging.
Jake studied the woman. If his dad was keeping things from him again, Jake wasn’t going to do him any favours. He leant over the counter and grabbed a pad and pen. He scribbled down his dad’s mobile number.
‘It’s the least I can do,’ Jake muttered. ‘Just tell me, what was that man doing here?’
‘You mean the German guy in the cream suit?’
‘Russian,’ Jake corrected. ‘I think he’s Russian. His name’s Igor Popov, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. Parpov,’ she drawled. ‘Why’d ya ask if you already seem to know?’
‘But what is he doing here?’ Jake asked, trying and failing to keep the growing annoyance out of his voice.
She folded the piece of paper with Jake’s dad’s phone number on it, and looked around conspiratorially. ‘They treat him like a king around here. Must be one of the moneymen. He comes and goes as he pleases.’
‘So he’s been here before?’ Jake asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ the receptionist said. ‘Several times.’
Jake’s watch bleeped. Ten minutes before he was due to meet Veronika at the track-and-field exhibition. He didn’t think he was going to get much more out of the receptionist. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Do me a favour, though. Don’t tell my dad where you got that number.’
Jake waited until half past two, but Veronika didn’t show. Athletes and journalists were heading towards the stadium for the afternoon exhibition. Jake wondered if he’d got the wrong time, and tried to ring Veronika, only to get no answer. Jake hung up, silently cursing.
He saw her tennis friend, the Spanish girl called Maria, walking past with a crowd of girls, all giggling.
‘Hey, Maria,’ Jake called. ‘Have you seen Veronika?’
She shook her head, looking down her nose at Jake. ‘Not since the morning practice,’ she said. ‘She left early. Said she had stuff to do.’
‘Thanks,’ Jake said.
She must be caught up with Krantz, he thought. But then Krantz walked past as well, speaking with a reporter who was holding up a Dictaphone.
Jake felt his nerves tense. Popov showed up, and Veronika disappeared, just like that. She’d said the guys in the 4x4 worked for some rich stalker. Did she have any idea how dangerous the Russian was?
As he entered the stadium, he told himself he was being paranoid. If he hadn’t seen Igor Popov, then he wouldn’t be worried. Veronika would show up soon.
But the lingering dread remained. Where Popov was involved, it paid to expect the worst.
Tan twisted his body in the air, releasing the pole, and cleared the bar by thirty centimetres. As he hit the mat, the crowd cheered, and no one harder than Jake.
‘Go, Tan!’ he shouted.
Jake had taken a seat away from the others to watch his friend and the other track-and-field stars going through their paces. He’d half hoped that Veronika might be in here already, but he couldn’t see her. Oz and his guys were sticking together on the opposite side of the stands.
Phillips had sat down with Krantz and a bunch of suits in the best seats. They were all drinking champagne, like it was a party or something. Jake was beginning to see that Olympic Advantage was as much about money and schmoozing as sport. And now that he’d learned Popov was involved, well, that only made it worse. Part of him wanted to call his dad and tell him he’d had enough, that he’d made a mistake ever coming to Florida. But a bigger part of him wanted to expose Olympic Advantage, and especially Phillips, for what they were.
Below, a coach with a megaphone announced to the crowd that the pole-vault bar was being set to six metres, just fourteen centimetres short of the world record. Jake couldn’t believe it. Tan had told him most decathletes didn’t reach their best until they were in their late twenties, and that vaulting was his least favourite event.
First came the women’s 400m, though. The gun went off and four competitors burst out of the blocks.
Jake felt like that – running as fast as he could – but that he had no finish line in sight. Where is Veronika? Was Krantz on the level? What if she’d overstepped the mark in questioning him; set off alarm bells? If I’ve got her mixed up in something . . . But he couldn’t finish the thought.
The girls were halfway round the track, and pushing each other close. A four-sided clock by the start line was ticking off the digital seconds. On the final bend, the girls were bunched, and two at the rear came together. One tripped and spilled sideways on to the grass, drawing an ‘oooh’ from the crowd. Jake was glad to see she got up unhurt. The rest of the pack streaked on towards the finish, with the front two girls shoulder to shoulder. As they reached the line, one lunged, taking first place by a matter of centimetres.
Amid cheers for the winner, Jake noticed one of the orderlies pointing at the stopped clock. It read 47.49 seconds. Practically a world record.
Perhaps there was something to be said for Olympic Edge, after all . . .
While the winner of the race did a victory lap, arms outstretched, Tan was rocking back and forth on the start line, in time with the crowd’s clapping. Jake found himself leaning forwards in his seat.
Tan set off, his legs a blur as he reached sprinting speed, the pole lifted slightly from the horizontal. Whatever he was taking for his knee was clearly working. He hit the launch spot, and planted the pole. It took the strain, bending into a U-shape, then propelled Tan upwards. Again, he soared over the bar with perfect technique. The crowd went nuts, though Jake noticed that Phillips wasn’t clapping, just grinning.
He’s probably got dollar signs in front of his eyes, Jake thought.
The exhibition was to close with the high-jump event, and Jake could see Tan arguing with the orderlies below as they adjusted the pole-vaulting equipment. It was no surprise that he wanted another go.
Jake came down off the stands and walked
up to his friend.
‘Hey, Tan, that was awesome,’ he said. ‘You’re on top form!’
‘Yeah,’ Tan said, pumped up and ready to go again, ‘I ask for the bar higher, but they say no. I never feel better.’ He turned back to the orderlies. ‘Come on, guys, what you say? One more jump . . .’
‘What about your knee?’ Jake whispered. ‘You were really pounding along the runway.’
Tan spun round, and pushed Jake in the shoulder, a bit too hard for it to be playful.
‘Shut up,’ he hissed.
‘Hey, sorry,’ Jake said, slightly taken aback. ‘I’m just saying maybe you should take it easy. Save something for later.’
Tan’s face slowly creased into a smile. ‘No worries, Jake. We celebrate, yes? You want to? How is football going? How things going with Veronika?’
Jake could hardly keep up with Tan’s questions, but he guessed he was just high because things were going so well. ‘It’s all good.’ He slapped Tan on the back. ‘I’ll catch you later, yeah?’
He left Tan arguing with the orderlies about his extra five centimetres.
Jake missed most of the rest of the exhibition because he was too busy keeping an eye out for Veronika. She never showed. He had to admit that he was officially worried. He left the stadium and decided to check out all the places he thought Veronika might be – her room, tennis courts, the canteen. He’d asked around. No one had seen or heard from her.
He was heading to the main entrance to ask the guards if they’d seen her when a red Lotus zoomed up behind him and stopped with a squeal of its brakes, only just missing him.
The window buzzed down, and he saw Phillips sitting in the driver’s seat.
‘Get in,’ the marketing director said.
Jake hesitated. If Phillips was a killer, going for a ride with him might not be the smartest decision. But on the other hand Veronika was missing and he needed information.
‘Get in before anyone sees you,’ Phillips barked. ‘We have to talk.’
Jake agreed. What the hell . . . He opened the door and climbed into the car.
10
As soon as the door closed, Jake started to feel edgy. Phillips pulled out of the complex and into the traffic, then drove south out of the town along the main street.
‘Where are we going?’ Jake asked.
Phillips didn’t take his eyes off the road. ‘Somewhere we can talk.’
When they took a turning, Jake recognised the road as the same one he’d driven along with Veronika the day before. As they passed the sign for Saddleback Swamp, Jake noticed that police tape still blocked the track.
‘Sure was a pity about Pedro,’ Phillips said.
Jake couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.
‘Yeah,’ he replied.
They stopped at a truckers’ diner about three miles from the complex. ‘This’ll do,’ Phillips said.
Jake was glad to see a couple of the tables occupied by truck drivers, one just with coffee, the other eating his way through a mountain of pancakes covered in maple syrup. Phillips wouldn’t try anything here.
They walked along to a table at the far end, and sat facing one another in a booth. The waitress came to take their order. Phillips went for coffee; Jake ordered an orange juice.
‘Have you thought about my offer?’ Phillips asked.
Jake shrugged. ‘I wasn’t aware you’d made one.’
Phillips smiled as the waitress brought their drinks.
‘I’ll be straight with you, Jake,’ he said, spooning three sugars into his cup and stirring slowly. ‘You’re a good-looking kid. Exactly the kind of face we want supporting the LGE brand.’
‘Thanks,’ Jake said, wondering where this was heading.
‘I could get you a one-hundred-thousand-dollar grant by next week,’ Phillips said. ‘How does that sound to you?’
It sounded great, Jake thought, as he sipped his juice. ‘What’s the catch?’
Phillips took a slurp of his coffee, and dabbed his lips with a napkin. ‘I’d want a fee, of course,’ he said. ‘Y’know, for oiling the wheels.’
‘A fee?’
‘Say ten gees.’
‘Ten thousand dollars, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
So there it was. A simple backhander. Jake leant back in his chair and made a show of thinking about it.
‘A hundred would be just the start,’ Phillips continued. ‘Perform well, and you’d be getting ten, twenty times that much on an annual basis. We’re talking millions.’
‘And you’d get a per cent?’ Jake asked. ‘For doing nothing?’
Phillips finished his coffee, his jaw tensing. ‘Do I look like a crook to you?’ Jake guessed the question was rhetorical. ‘I’d come on board in an official capacity. Like an agent. You’d need someone to handle all that kind of stuff for you. Protect you from people who’d take advantage.’
Jake almost laughed out loud. Dodgy deals went on all the time in football. Backhanders, tapping up, agents playing one club off against another. He didn’t doubt that Phillips could deliver on his promises, and the thought of all that money . . . He suddenly remembered what Otto had said to him just before he died – about not upsetting the moneymen.
‘Did you make this same offer to Otto Kahn?’ he asked.
Phillips took a deep breath through his nose, and steepled his fingers in front of his face. ‘You ask a lot of questions.’
Jake didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s just say I want to know who I’m doing business with.’
Phillips leant in closer. ‘Too many questions can be dangerous.’
Jake held his stare until the waitress arrived at their table.
‘Can I get you anything else?’
Phillips shook his head, still eyeballing Jake. ‘Just the check, please.’
After he’d paid they walked outside into the heat. The wind had picked up, kicking little dust clouds around the parking lot.
‘What do you say?’ Phillips asked.
‘Let me think about it,’ Jake replied.
Phillips opened his door. ‘Well, don’t think too long. Some of the other kids have already agreed, and the door won’t stay open forever. There are only a limited number of grants available.’
Jake climbed into the car. If it wasn’t so far, he would have walked back to the camp. He’d spent about as much time with Phillips as he could handle.
As soon as they were in the car, Phillips tuned the radio to some awful country music station. Jake was glad he didn’t have to make conversation. When they were a couple of hundred metres from the complex entrance, Phillips braked.
‘You’d better get out here,’ he said. ‘We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, would we?’
Jake tried to smile. ‘No, I guess not.’
As he closed the door behind him, Phillips leant over to the open window.
‘Whatever you decide,’ he said, ‘this conversation never happened. Understood?’
Jake nodded. ‘Understood.’
When Jake got back to the camp, he went straight to the dorm block. He was surprised to see Veronika standing outside the door to the building.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she asked. ‘I was worried to death.’
‘Where’ve I been?’ said Jake. ‘We were supposed to meet at the exhibition, remember?’
Veronika frowned. ‘I thought you said after the exhibition.’
Had he said that? He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t be sure. ‘I hunted everywhere for you,’ he said.
‘Obviously not,’ she said. ‘I was in Maria’s room.’
‘She said she hadn’t seen you since this morning.’
Veronika blushed. ‘I meant Stacey, not Maria.’
‘I rang your phone,’ Jake said, not willing to let it go.
‘Well, there must have been no signal.’ She tossed her blonde hair and flashed Jake one of her killer smiles.
Jake was sure the hai
r-toss-smile combo was her way of ending a discussion. She wasn’t a good liar, but Jake guessed if she wanted to keep something private that was her business.
‘Anyway,’ she said, looping her arm through Jake’s and leading him away from the dormitory, ‘you’ll never guess what I found out.’
‘If it’s half as good as what I got from Phillips, I’ll be amazed,’ he said.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘You go first.’
As they wandered aimlessly around the complex, Jake told her everything, from following Phillips to the kiss with Dr Chow. By the time he got to Phillips’s illicit offer in the diner, her mouth was gaping.
Veronika paused and turned to face Jake. ‘You’re sure he wasn’t just offering to be your agent?’
‘No way,’ Jake said. ‘He said he wanted a ten grand cut for putting me on the list. That’s what we call a bung in my country.’
‘I never did like that guy.’ Veronika started walking again.
Jake jogged to catch up. ‘Now your turn.’
‘My meeting with Krantz wasn’t quite so dodgy, but I did find out some interesting details.’
‘Go on,’ said Jake.
‘Well, Krantz himself didn’t have any time for me at all. I waited in his office for fifteen minutes, and then he came in and said he had back-to-back meetings for the rest of the day – but I managed to get some time with his secretary beforehand. She said Krantz has a lot riding on Olympic Advantage. Ninety per cent of the funding for the camp comes from sponsorship, right?’
‘Like LGE,’ Jake put in.
‘And Ares Sports,’ Veronika said. ‘They’re one of the biggest companies of sports merchandising in the world. Mostly in Asia at the moment, but spreading fast. Don’t you think it’s weird they don’t have a bigger presence here?’
‘I guess so,’ Jake said. ‘I thought they were like a silent partner.’
‘Turns out that Ares have it written into the contract that Olympic Advantage must produce three medal-winning athletes within one year,’ said Veronika.
