The Edge

by Nick Hale

  ‘This isn’t a crime scene,’ said Veronika. ‘Phillips committed suicide.’

  ‘Maybe the police won’t see it like that,’ said Jake.

  As Jake and Veronika took the long way back to her car, past more office workers hurrying to get a glimpse of a dead body, he wondered if he even believed the suicide story. Phillips was rotten to the core, so was he really the sort of guy who’d feel so guilty about ‘financial irregularities’?

  Dinner at the camp was delayed as all the athletes were again summoned to the gym hall for an impromptu announcement. Merski and his colleague stood behind the podium as Krantz told everyone the case was officially closed.

  ‘The sad death of our colleague Edgar Phillips has brought the answers we were all searching for. I’m pleased to say the camp can now continue as normal, and we can all get back to what we do best: honest, competitive sport.’

  Jake saw Krantz fighting to keep the smile spreading across his face.

  ‘The worst thing we could do,’ continued Krantz, ‘is let the tragic deaths of Otto Kahn, BeBe Erquidez and Pedro Garcia cloud our own efforts to excel. For their sake as much as our own, let’s carry on.’

  A round of applause echoed through the hall, but Jake didn’t feel like clapping. Of course Krantz was happy. With Phillips conveniently claiming responsibility, the heat was off the real culprit. And he, the director, could fulfil his obligations and dig himself out of a financial black hole.

  Phillips’s suicide didn’t add up. It seemed too convenient. And no one seemed to know exactly why Phillips had killed each of his supposed victims.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Veronika leaving through a side door of the hall with her mobile phone to her ear. Merski had taken the podium and was telling the other athletes that there’d be lots of media interest in what had happened at the camp, but that they should be wary of talking to journalists.

  Jake left the hall after Veronika. Outside, he couldn’t locate her at first. Jake was about to turn back when he spotted her. She was standing beside the same 4x4 that had been hanging around since the start of the camp. Jake could see the window was wound down and Veronika was gesturing wildly and shouting at the person inside, but Jake couldn’t hear her words. A hand shot out and tried to grab her, but she backed off and started to walk away. Next, two guys emerged from the back doors of the vehicle and hurried after her.

  That’s enough! thought Jake. He ran down the verge into the car park as the first of the guys tried to steer Veronika back to the 4x4.

  ‘Hey! Get off her!’ Jake shouted as he approached.

  She saw him. ‘No, Jake,’ she said. ‘Not now.’

  The two thugs each grabbed one of Veronika’s arms. They looked at Jake then back to the car, as if waiting for instructions. They were both built like juggernauts, but Jake hardly felt any fear. Veronika tried to twist free of the thug’s iron grip. Jake wasted no time. Once he reached Veronika, he swung his foot into the first guy’s groin and the man folded like a house of cards on to his knees with a moan. Veronika stumbled back, free from her attackers. Jake faced the second, fists raised.

  ‘Jake, you don’t understand,’ said Veronika, stepping between him and the remaining guy.

  Jake ignored her. ‘Let the girl alone,’ he told the one guy still standing.

  ‘It’s OK, Jake.’ She took a step closer to him. ‘Please just stay out of this.’ Jake could see that she was scared.

  ‘You should listen to the girl,’ said a Russian voice behind him.

  Jake spun round as the car door opened. Igor Popov climbed out.

  He wore the same pale suit as the last time Jake had caught sight of him. His skin was almost white, as if he’d been keeping out of the sun. Jake hadn’t seen the Russian up close since the day in St Petersburg when he’d casually mentioned the deaths of Christian Truman and his son. Jake knew Popov was responsible for the Trumans’ deaths, even though no one could ever prove it.

  ‘I knew you were caught up in all this,’ Jake said.

  ‘This is none of your business,’ said Popov. ‘I want you to leave us alone, Mr Bastin.’

  ‘Wait!’ said Veronika. ‘You two know each other?’

  Popov’s eyes glittered. ‘You might say that.’

  ‘Just get the hell out of here before I call security,’ said Jake. ‘Leave Veronika alone. What are you? Some pathetic old stalker?’

  The thug who Jake had kicked eyeballed him with malicious intent.

  Popov smiled, and his gaze shifted to Veronika. ‘Stalker? I’ve been called worse. Do you want to tell him, sweetheart, or shall I?’

  Jake found the way he said ‘sweetheart’ sickening. ‘Tell me what?’

  Veronika sighed. ‘I didn’t want you to get involved in all this.’ She lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushing red. ‘Jake, meet my dad.’

  17

  Jake felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Then slapped about the face for good measure. He glanced from Veronika to Popov, then back again. He searched both faces for a resemblance, but it just wasn’t there. Veronika sounded as Californian as they came.

  ‘No way,’ he mumbled.

  Popov nodded, and the thug next to Veronika retreated back to his side like a good guard dog.

  ‘It’s true,’ Veronika said, giving Popov a hard stare. ‘I lied about only seeing my dad a couple of times a year. Until five days ago, we’d never even met. I’ve lived with my mom in LA my whole life. She wanted nothing to do with him.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Jake said.

  ‘When I heard my daughter was going to be attending the camp, I thought it would be a good opportunity to make contact,’ Popov explained, shuffling his foot slightly.

  Jake had never seen him so meek.

  ‘And I’ve told my dad that he can shove his newfound interest up his ass,’ Veronika said through gritted teeth.

  ‘You only need time,’ Popov said. ‘I’m your father. I care about you. I can open all sorts of doors for you, my dear . . .’

  ‘I’ve done OK on my own, thanks,’ she snarled back.

  Popov opened the door to the 4x4 and beckoned inside. ‘Perhaps we should go for a drive.’

  ‘Screw you.’ Veronika stomped away across the car park towards her car. Jake stared at Popov for a few more seconds, then went after her.

  ‘Veronika, wait!’ he called. She didn’t break her stride as she climbed into her car, and started the engine. Jake reached for the handle on the passenger side, but heard the click of the central locking.

  With a screech of rubber, the Porsche sped off. Popov waved to Jake and climbed casually into the 4x4. Soon Jake was all alone in the car park. Goodbye and good riddance to all the Popovs, Jake thought. How could I have been so wrong about her?

  Back in his room, Jake kicked a ball at the wall over and over. So much for Veronika Richardson. She had Popov’s blood running through her veins. He’d trusted her absolutely, told her everything, but she’d been keeping the biggest secret of all. What else had she been hiding from him? Maybe she was more mixed up in this than he thought.

  He started doing kick-ups, trying to get his thoughts in order. Did his dad know who Veronika really was? Could MI6 really not know that Igor Popov had a daughter living in the States? Especially as she was on the verge of making it big . . . He’d thought he was getting closer to answers about what was happening at Olympic Advantage, but he couldn’t trust anyone.

  The door to his room opened. Veronika came in, holding a bottle of white Olympic Edge.

  ‘You could have knocked,’ Jake said. ‘I thought I told you not to drink that stuff.’

  ‘I’ll do what I like,’ she said, taking a gulp. ‘And you’re hardly one to talk about intruding on other people’s privacy. What did you think you were doing?’

  Jake retrieved the ball from her feet. ‘I want you to leave,’ he said. ‘Now.’

  ‘We need to talk,’ she said.

  Jake turned towards the window. ‘Why? So you can l
ie to me some more?’

  ‘I haven’t lied to you,’ Veronika said.

  ‘You forgot to mention your dad is a Russian gangster.’

  ‘Hey! Don’t talk about him like that! You know nothing about him.’

  ‘Ha!’ Jake laughed bitterly. ‘I know I can’t trust him. Just like I can’t trust you.’

  ‘Is that right?’ she said. ‘Just because I didn’t feel ready to share my family troubles? Don’t be such an immature little boy!’

  Jake rounded on her. ‘You don’t know Popov like I do,’ he said. ‘He’s scum!’

  His words seemed to hit her like a blow, and she rocked back on her heels. ‘He might not be perfect,’ she said quietly, ‘but he’s not the monster you make him out to be.’

  ‘I don’t care!’ spat Jake. ‘Your dad’s a killer. A low-life crook. Don’t you see –’

  Veronika’s hand caught his cheek in a vicious slap that sounded like a whip-crack. Half a second later the burn spread across the side of his face. There were tears in Veronika’s eyes.

  ‘You’re a liar. You’re no better than your father,’ Jake said.

  Veronika started to tremble, and saliva was gathering in the corners of her mouth. The bottle of Olympic Edge fell out of her hand, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

  ‘Vron?’

  Jake saw her knees buckle, and he leapt to catch her. He eased her down on to the floor. Her whole body started to shake violently, and her fingernails dug into his arm like talons. Jake tried to hold her steady with one arm, and with the other reached into her mouth to stop her swallowing her own tongue.

  ‘Vron,’ he repeated. ‘Can you hear me?’

  A strange rattling noise was coming from her throat, but gradually the convulsions died. Jake rolled her into the recovery position, then checked the pulse in her throat. Her heart was thumping at close to one-eighty, but her breathing was shallow. It had to be the drink.

  Jake scooped her into his arms and went to the door. As soon as he was in the corridor, he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Someone call an ambulance.’ Heads poked out of various doors along the corridor. ‘Don’t just stand there!’ he yelled. ‘Call 911!’

  ‘She’s in a stable condition, but still unconscious,’ the emergency doctor said, closing the door to Room E12 behind him. Jake peered through the viewing panel and saw Veronika lying on a bed with her eyes closed. She had tubes in both arms and a mask over her face.

  I can’t lose her now, Jake thought, but no one was listening to him, not the paramedics on the ambulance ride over, not the emergency room staff. ‘I’m telling you,’ said Jake. ‘It’s whatever’s in the drink. Olympic Edge.’

  ‘And I’ve already told you,’ said the doctor, ‘a sports drink couldn’t have this effect, even if you drank a whole lake’s worth.’

  ‘At least run some tests,’ Jake said. ‘There are hundreds of bottles of this stuff at the camp.’

  ‘Enough!’ said the doctor, signalling to a passing security guard. ‘We’ll run the standard toxicology tests to see what this girl has put into herself, but I won’t be lectured by a kid with an overactive imagination.’ He turned to the security guard. ‘Take this young man out of here. He’s not family and he’s getting in the way. If he makes any trouble, call the police.’

  Jake was gripped by a vice-like hand. ‘What’s it gonna be, kid? Easy or hard?’

  Jake let himself be led away, and waves of hopelessness crashed over him with each step away from Veronika. Why wouldn’t the doctor listen?

  He was pushed out into the ambulance bay at the front of the hospital. It was getting dark, and the complex was a good forty-minute walk back through the city to the camp. Jake wished he’d remembered to bring his mobile phone. It had been such a rush to get Veronika to hospital, he hadn’t even picked up his wallet, so there was no way he could make a call to his dad. Jake set off at a run, letting his frustration drive his legs. He would have loved to see Krantz’s face right then. So much for the case being wrapped up. The guy didn’t deserve to stay afloat after just brushing everything under the carpet like that.

  Jake took a route down a deserted road lined with a lock-up facility of low-rise storage units. He presumed it must lead back to Main Street. He needed to speak with his dad again, get Rick to carry out more tests. He must have missed something.

  Jake suddenly heard footsteps right behind him. He half-turned as something hit him hard near the base of his spine. A stinging surge spread across his body.

  Everything went white.

  Jake woke up with the smell of leather in his nostrils. His vision swam into focus, and he realised he was in the back of a car, lying awkwardly across a seat. He managed to sit up, but his whole skeleton seemed to ache. Sitting opposite him was Igor Popov and the guy Jake had dropped with a kick to the balls.

  ‘You bastard!’

  Weakly he tried to lunge, but the thug leant forwards and pushed him back into his seat. He waved something that looked like a police truncheon. As he pressed a button, the end fizzled with silver electricity.

  ‘I didn’t ask Kurt to use his little toy,’ said Popov, folding his hands between his knees, ‘but I think he rather enjoys it. I think you should relax, Mr Bastin.’

  Jake’s head was pounding. ‘Your daughter’s in hospital,’ he said. ‘What do you want with me?’

  Popov flinched. ‘Well, Jake, I find myself in an unusual position. You see, I need your help.’

  ‘You’ll be waiting a long time.’ Jake sat up straight.

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ said the Russian, ‘which is why I had to resort to such –’ he waved his hand towards the stun-rod – ‘clumsy measures. Jake, I fear that someone is using the Olympic Advantage athletes as guinea pigs, testing illegal performance-enhancing drugs concealed within the supposedly organic energy drink.’

  Jake’s eyes widened. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Trouble is no one else believes it.’

  ‘I don’t yet know who is behind all this,’ said Popov, ‘or even why they are doing it, but the last thing I want is for any more athletes to get sick. Or worse.’

  Jake considered the Russian for a long moment, but he wasn’t buying Popov’s pure motives. ‘Because Ares Sports might suffer too.’

  Popov glared at him. ‘So that my daughter doesn’t die,’ he said. ‘We need to find out what they’re putting in the drink, and then we need to find an antidote.’

  Jake held Popov’s stare. We? Could he really trust this man, after everything that had happened in Russia and Italy? True, Veronika had changed the stakes considerably, but he wouldn’t put it past Popov to treat a daughter he’d hardly met as collateral damage in a bigger plot.

  ‘This Phillips,’ Popov said the name as if it tasted rotten, ‘cannot have been working alone.’

  ‘I don’t think Phillips was involved at all,’ said Jake. ‘He was corrupt, but not a murderer.’

  ‘So, do we have a deal?’

  Jake stretched his back – the lower half felt badly bruised.

  ‘I need an answer, Mr Bastin . . .’ said Popov.

  Did he really have a choice? Maybe Popov’s people could find something that Rick had missed.

  ‘Only if, when this is all over, we let the authorities deal with whoever is responsible. I’ve seen your brand of justice before.’

  Popov grinned like a wolf, and held out a hand. ‘Understood,’ he said. ‘I just want to see my daughter well again.’

  Jake stared at the hand. What would his dad think about this?

  Popov must have been reading his mind. ‘Oh, and I don’t think there’s any need to worry Bastin Senior with any of this, is there?’

  Jake took Popov’s hand in his. ‘Of course not,’ said Jake, lying through his teeth.

  It was dark by the time Popov pulled up in front of the gates of the complex. The thug handed Jake a mobile phone. ‘That’s to call me,’ said Popov, ‘in case you find anything important.’

  Jake pocketed the phone, and
started to get out of the car, but something stopped him. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

  Popov glanced at the watch on Jake’s wrist. ‘I like to keep my friends close but my enemies closer.’ Popov grinned his devilish grin again. ‘My little gift to you was not without its benefits. It’s got a tracking device so I’ll always know where to find you.’

  Jake went to remove his watch. He didn’t like the idea of the Russian keeping tabs on him.

  ‘Keep it for a little while longer. Now that we are working together, it might come in handy. You never know when you might need me.’

  Jake reluctantly nodded and walked back into the camp without looking back. He’d agreed to share information with a master criminal. Just who was Jake Bastin working for now? He thought of Veronika in her hospital bed, barely alive.

  You’re working for her.

  Back in his room, Jake washed his hands several times, but still thought he could feel Popov’s touch, smooth as snakeskin. He’d sworn to himself in Milan that he’d never trust him again.

  But sometimes you had to deal with the devil to get things done.

  18

  After breakfast, Krantz called all the athletes together in the main stadium over the tannoy. There was to be a combined training session in aid of bringing the camp closer together. It was like he’d forgotten a certain tennis star was lying in hospital less than three miles across town.

  As Jake ran out in his training kit at ten o’clock, he saw his dad talking to a small group of athletes in the stadium grounds. In total there were close to two hundred at Olympic Advantage and they were now all scattered around. At least he wouldn’t have to be up close to Oz this morning.

  At least half the athletes were holding or swigging bottles of Olympic Edge. Jake didn’t get it: a lot of these young men and women had been drinking it for over a week. There was no pattern. Otto had been huge, BeBe small. Completely different lifestyles and sports. The Brazilian said she didn’t even drink the stuff. But there was definitely something wrong with Olympic Edge; even Rick didn’t seem to understand what was in it.