by Nick Hale
‘You mean athletes who are happy to promote Ares Sports,’ said Jake, smiling. ‘And if they don’t?’
‘Then Krantz is in a world of trouble.’ Veronika cast a furtive glance around, then lowered her voice. ‘While I was in his office, I checked a couple of drawers. It looks like Krantz has lots of debts. I think Olympic Advantage might be his last chance. If Ares pulls funding, he’s got nothing.’
‘Are you sure the secretary won’t tell Krantz you were sniffing around?’ Jake asked, realising they were back at his dormitory, right where they had begun.
Veronika grinned. ‘I promised to have a knockaround with her ten-year-old daughter. Anyway, it seems like Krantz is a desperate man.’
‘It doesn’t explain why he might want to kill anyone, though,’ said Jake.
‘Not yet,’ Veronika admitted. ‘But there’s a lot of money up for grabs around here. It’s like sharks to blood.’
Jake immediately thought of Igor Popov, and his reptile eyes.
‘Vron,’ he said. ‘Your stalker – you need to be careful.’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
Jake took a deep breath. ‘I’ve met him before – it’s Igor Popov, isn’t it?’
Veronika’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Jake said. ‘But he’s dangerous.’
‘He’s just a fan.’ She took a few steps away from Jake. ‘Harmless.’
‘You should tell Krantz.’
‘Please, Jake. Stay out of it.’ Veronika’s phone rang and she checked the screen with a frown. ‘I gotta go. Catch you later.’
Jake watched her jog away, speaking into the phone. While she was inside the complex, he doubted Popov could do much harm. So the Russian was a fan of tennis as well as football! But Jake knew he was a fan of money and power most of all.
Veronika turned and waved when she was a hundred metres away, still with the phone to her ear. Jake couldn’t shake his suspicion that Veronika had something to hide.
He headed to his room, trying to fit the pieces together. Was it money that had got Otto and Coach Garcia killed, or had Phillips taken offence to Garcia hassling Dr Chow?
As he approached his door, he heard what sounded like someone shouting inside then a crash. He quickened his steps.
In the room, Tan was standing over his bed, angrily shoving clothes into his suitcase.
‘What’s going on?’ Jake asked.
Tan jumped over the bed, eyes ablaze, and shoved Jake hard in the chest. ‘You could not keep mouth shut! That’s what!’
‘Hey, calm down,’ said Jake, raising his hands. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Liar!’ Tan shouted. ‘I have visitor an hour before. Dr Chow.
She tell me she has no choice. End of programme for me.’
‘Wh-why?’
‘Why you think?’ spat Tan, going to the drawer beside his bed and pulling out a packet of pills. He threw them at Jake, and they hit the wall beside his head. ‘Someone tell her about my knee.’
Jake had never seen Tan so angry. He’d seemed like the most easy-going guy at camp. Had that just been an act?
‘I didn’t say anything to anyone,’ Jake protested.
Tan lunged at him again, this time getting his hand on Jake’s throat and pushing him up against the door. ‘You not tell truth!’ he shouted.
Jake was a good six inches taller than Tan, and he guessed about twelve kilos heavier, but Tan was damn strong. Jake started to gasp. ‘Get off me!’ he croaked, but Tan only pressed harder.
Jake had no choice. He delivered a low rabbit-punch to Tan’s gut. The decathlete doubled over with an oomph.
‘What the hell?’ Jake sputtered, creating distance between himself and Tan.
Tan stalked back to the bed. He drew the zip round his case, not looking at Jake. Then he yanked it off the bed and made for the door.
Jake stepped aside. ‘Tan, wait . . .’
Tan turned on him, and shoved him viciously back into the wall.
‘I not forget this, Jake Bastin,’ he said.
Jake heard his footsteps disappear down the corridor, and the front door slam.
11
The next morning Jake was still shell-shocked by Tan’s departure. He grabbed an energy bar and a few bananas from the canteen for breakfast, but decided not to hang around. Maybe he was being paranoid, but everyone – not just Oz and his goons – seemed to be staring at him and whispering.
I’m sick of all this, Jake thought. All I want to do is play football. At least I’m good at that. Jake was beginning to think that Olympic Advantage was all about money. And Tan’s departure had only darkened the dark clouds hanging over the camp.
Jake decided to head over to the football pitch. Maybe a kick-about before practice would raise his spirits. As he passed the dorm block, he saw that his bedroom curtains were closed. Weird, he thought. I’m sure I left them open.
Had Tan come back? Jake checked his watch, and saw he was going to be late, but something told him he’d better check it out. He jogged back to the dorm.
As Jake slipped in his key card and opened the door, he found the room cast in semi-darkness. Almost at the same time a sweet smell hit him. He flicked on the light.
‘What the . . .?’
Tossed over his bed were a dozen bottles of Olympic Edge, all empty. The contents were soaking through the bedsheets and pooling in technicolour puddles on the floor. Someone had thrown all his clothes out of the wardrobe. They too were covered in the drink. Tan. Had he been angry enough to do something like this?
Jake walked further into the room, taking in the mess. He saw that someone had scrawled No more questions on the mirror in marker pen. Jake frowned. That didn’t make sense – Tan didn’t know anything about his investigations, did he?
Jake felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and a split second later the wardrobe doors burst open. Out shot someone wearing a black hoodie and jeans, with a scarf pulled up over half his face. Jake tried to grab his arm, but the intruder shook free, and landed a glancing punch on Jake’s jaw that snapped his head back and filled his vision with white. Jake fell backwards over a chair, and crumpled by the window.
He climbed to his feet as the guy bolted out of the door. Jake lunged forwards but stumbled into the door frame; the punch had knocked him dizzy. He came out into the corridor and saw the attacker whip round the corner. Too tall to be Tan. A couple of other athletes were lounging at the end of the hall.
‘Stop him!’ Jake shouted, but they just looked up, barely moving at all. Jake set off in pursuit. By the time he got to the entrance to the dorm block, his attacker had thirty metres on him and was sprinting along the track towards the admin building and the complex’s exit. Jake had shaken off the effects of the punch, and pounded after him.
You’re not getting away from me, you bastard!
A clutch of cyclists was heading the other way, four abreast. The guy in the hoodie went straight through the middle, and they veered aside, crashing into one another and crying out calls of abuse. Three seconds later, Jake leapt over a fallen rider, shouting his apologies.
The front gates came into sight, and Jake grinned. The guards were standing there, checking a driver’s ID. No chance anyone was getting out that way. The intruder must have seen it too, because he suddenly veered off, climbing a bank and ducking into some trees. Jake’s legs were feeling it now. He leapt up on to the grass verge then into the woodland. Branches whipped his face as he tripped over roots and tree stumps.
‘Stop!’ he shouted, but the guy didn’t let up. Did he even know where he was going?
They emerged on the other side by the rowing lake, and his attacker took the lakeside path towards the boathouses. Jake thought he’d made up ten metres. Two pairs of rowers were carrying their boats down to the water, hoisting them above their heads. The first couple planted their craft on the water, but those behind saw Jake coming and seemed to
both pull separate ways. The attacker ducked beneath the boat, shoving one of the rowers out of the way. The rower fell backwards into the water with a scream, and the end of the boat smashed on to the stone jetty.
Jake steered a course round the outside, pursued by angry shouts. He saw a mesh fence ahead – the edge of the Olympic Advantage grounds. Beyond that was a patch of waste ground and then the car park for the town’s supermarket. The hoodie threw himself at the fence and started to clamber up. Jake launched off the ground, and grabbed his leg. As the guy turned, Jake saw his eyes. Blue, and wide with fear. The intruder drew back his free leg and kicked out, catching Jake’s knuckles. Jake fell back on to the ground with a thump, then watched his attacker scramble over the fence and into the car park beyond.
By the time Jake got to his feet, the hoodie was already disappearing from sight among the cars. Jake had no chance of catching him now. He was panting for breath, and his jaw ached from the punch back in his room.
What the hell was all that about? he wondered. One thing was certain – if someone would go to this trouble to warn him off, then the events at the camp were no coincidence. And he wasn’t giving up any time soon.
‘You win some, you lose some,’ he muttered to himself.
And now he was definitely late for practice.
Jake ran as quickly as he could to the football pitch. All the other players were passing balls between them, with Jake’s dad at the centre overseeing things. When he saw Jake, he blew his whistle for everyone to stop. Oz’s face broke into a malicious smirk.
‘Where’ve you been, Jake?’ he asked.
Jake wanted to get his dad on his own, to tell him what had happened. But he could just imagine what Oz and his pals would say to that. Special treatment from the coach! He’d have to take the flack.
‘I’m sorry, Coach,’ he said. ‘I –’
‘I don’t want to hear excuses,’ his dad interrupted. ‘Everyone else made it on time.’
Oz had crossed his arms across his chest and nodded in smug satisfaction.
‘Like I said, I’m sorry.’
‘Not good enough,’ his dad said, looking pained. ‘I can’t let this sort of attitude pass.’
Jake shrugged. ‘Fine.’
So, Jake spent the entire football practice running laps, then stuck in goal. By the end, he was mad. His dad hadn’t even given him a chance to explain himself. In fact, he came down harder than he would have on anyone else to prove a point. Afterwards, he made Jake collect all the other players’ dirty kit and haul it in a sack to the laundry, even though they had the carts to do that. Well, Jake promised himself as he dumped the sack, when he finally cracked what was going on here, his dad would be sorry he hadn’t listened.
By the time he came out of the showers with a towel wrapped round his waist, everyone else had cleared out. He went to his locker, and a voice spoke behind him.
‘What I don’t get, Baby, is why you even need the money.’
Jake turned to see Oz leaning against the tiled wall, staring into space.
‘Get lost,’ said Jake. This was the last thing he needed right now.
Oz glared at him. ‘I mean, your dad’s loaded. It must be nice to have your life handed to you on a silver platter. Bet he bought you that pretty watch, didn’t he?’
Jake could feel his blood starting to boil. The mention of the watch – Popov’s watch – only made him angrier still. He turned back to the locker, and pulled on his shirt.
‘I know Phillips approached you too,’ he said.
He felt a shove in his back, and fell forwards against the locker. He’s just trying to get a rise, he told himself, turning to face his tormentor.
‘I suggest you tell Phillips you’re not interested,’ said Oz, shoving him again.
Jake snapped. He grabbed Oz by the collar, and yanked him round so his back was against the lockers. He pulled back his fist and slammed it into the locker door just to the right of Oz’s cheekbone. The sound echoed in the empty room.
‘Careful who you threaten,’ Jake said.
He heard noises out in the corridor, and Oz’s eyes flicked that way. Jake let go as a group of baseball players entered, carrying mitts and bats. Oz straightened his collar and smiled confidently.
‘Watch your back, daddy’s boy,’ said Oz, pushing past him and out of the door.
12
Over lunch Jake tried not to think too hard about his argument with Oz, and afterwards he had other things on his mind. Namely Veronika. In a swimsuit.
As part of the ‘working together’ ethos at the heart of Olympic Advantage, one day in each week was set aside for the athletes to cross-train in another discipline. It was a chance to try something new, and improve overall fitness. Jake had been about to choose baseball, but when he’d seen Veronika on the list for diving he’d changed his mind. He kidded himself that it was a chance to talk further about their investigations.
Now, balanced on the end of a diving board five metres up, he wished he’d chosen baseball after all. It looked a long way down. The water shimmered, and he could see the Olympic Edge logo detailed in tiles on the bottom of the pool.
‘When you’re ready, Jake,’ said the diving coach, an attractive Canadian woman in a tight tracksuit.
I’ll never be ready, thought Jake.
Veronika was standing at the end of the pool, wearing her swimming cap and doing stretches while talking to a Brazilian diver, a short, sinewy brunette called BeBe. Beside her, folding his arms with a grin like a Cheshire Cat, was his dad. When Jake had seen him outside the pool building before the session was due to start, his dad had apologised for treating him harshly earlier. Jake said he understood, even though it still rankled.
‘Anyway, what are you doing here?’ he’d asked.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world,’ his dad said.
Five metres above the pool, Jake took a deep breath, bounced once, and leapt off the board. Gravity snatched him down, and he turned one somersault in the air before hitting the water in what could only be described as a mess. Water filled his nose and bubbles exploded around his head. Jake came up spluttering. Veronika and BeBe were both clapping and cheering.
‘Go, Jake!’ Veronika called.
His dad was shaking his head in bemusement. ‘Very graceful,’ he said. ‘Almost swan-like.’
Jake felt himself go red with embarrassment, but laughed anyway. He front-crawled to the end of the pool, and pulled himself out.
‘Not bad,’ BeBe said, ‘but you must keep your arms close to your side. That way you will not splash so much.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Jake said, still shaking the water from his ears.
‘Seriously, I think you got water on the ceiling,’ his dad added.
‘Ha, ha,’ Jake said. ‘Your turn, Vron.’
Veronika walked to the other end of the pool, while a male diver took the steps up to the ten-metre board. With perfect poise, he executed a double twist and hit the water like a knife cutting through butter.
‘I’ve got a little way to go yet,’ Jake muttered.
His dad had wandered off and was talking with the diving coach.
Veronika walked along the board in small, tentative steps. Even in an all-in-one, she looked good: lithe and poised, with toned shoulders and legs that seemed to go on forever. Just the sort of athlete LGE would pay a fortune for.
‘Just take it easy,’ the coach called. ‘Nothing too elaborate.’
Veronika nodded, lifted her arms above her head, and jumped. She rolled backwards, hands straight by her sides, and opened out into a pretty straight dive. She came up beaming.
‘You’re a natural,’ BeBe called.
Veronika stepped out of the pool, and took off her swimming cap, letting her hair drape over her shoulders.
‘We’ve got a pool at home,’ she said apologetically.
BeBe leant down, unzipped her bag and took out a water bottle filled with what looked like apple juice. She took a swig, then of
fered it to Veronika.
‘Try it. It is a special mix I put together. Ginseng, lemon and some few herbs.’
Veronika took a sip, and nodded. ‘It’s really good. Better than Olympic Edge.’
‘I hate that stuff,’ BeBe said. ‘If it is natural, then my grandmother was a mermaid.’ She held the bottle out to Jake. Before he could take it, another hand reached in and snatched it away. Dr Chow had appeared from nowhere, and glowered at them all.
‘I’ll take that,’ she said. ‘You all know the rules about unauthorised supplements at the camp.’ She opened the bottle and sniffed the contents. ‘A word please, BeBe.’
The diver rolled her eyes and followed Dr Chow towards the door to the changing rooms.
‘Dr Frankenstein strikes again,’ Veronika said. ‘Hey, you’re up, Jake.’
Jake climbed up to the board, determined to do better this time. From on high he could see the whole pool area. Veronika was cleaning her goggles. By the changing room, Dr Chow was pointing to the bottle in her hand, and by her wild gestures Jake guessed the word she was having with BeBe wasn’t a quiet one. She opened a door to an office and beckoned BeBe inside. Jake’s gaze passed over the spectator stand, then fixed on one face in particular.
Igor Popov was sitting in the back row.
Jake’s dad hadn’t noticed the Russian. He leant in closer to the diving coach, who was playing with her hair. Jake forgot about his poise, and jumped off the board, hitting the water feet first. He swam as quickly as possible to the far end, scrambled out and ran to his dad.
The coach saw him coming. ‘Hey, no running in here!’
Jake ignored her. ‘Dad,’ he hissed, gripping his father’s arm. ‘Look!’
‘What is it?’ he asked, annoyed.
Jake pointed up at the stands. Popov was gone.
‘What’s the matter with you, Jake?’ his dad asked. He glanced at the diving coach apologetically.
‘Popov was there,’ said Jake under his breath.
‘Popov?’ his dad said, frowning, and cast a furtive glance from side to side. ‘Don’t be silly, Jake. Igor Popov’s in Russia.’
