by Nick Hale
‘In there?’ snarled Devon. ‘We’ll freeze to death.’
Jake’s dad’s face hardened. ‘It’s kept at four degrees above freezing. It’ll cool you down while the authorities make their way here.’
Truman glared at Jake with pure hatred. ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he said. ‘And don’t think I’m going to any jail – my lawyers could make Hitler look innocent of all charges. I’ll be seeing you two again. Bank on that.’
Jake’s dad swung the door closed and they used a mop handle to prevent the lever mechanism being opened from inside.
‘Will they really be OK?’ asked Jake.
‘Hypothermia won’t even set in for an hour. Our guys will be here before that.’ He pulled out his phone and dialled a single number, waited, then entered a four-digit code.
‘Hi, this is Bastin. I need a clean-up at the stadium restaurant and kitchen . . . that’s right. Truman and Devon Taylor are on ice. Take them into custody. I’ll debrief at HQ.’ He closed the phone.
‘Aren’t we going to wait for the police?’ Jake asked.
‘Negative. We were never even here.’ His dad winced and touched his shoulder.
‘What about that?’ said Jake. ‘You’ve been shot. We need to get you to a hospital.’
‘I know a place in St Petersburg,’ his dad said. ‘We’ll go there.’
With a jacket covering his injury, they took a taxi to a clinic in the middle of the city. Jake was surprised that his dad greeted the man at the front desk in English, and was shown through to a back room. A female doctor came through. She eyed Jake with suspicion, but smiled at his dad.
‘Just a patch, please, Sarah. This is my son, Jake, by the way.’
‘Hello, Steve,’ she said. ‘Good to see you again. And nice to meet you too, Jake. I’m Dr Young.’
Jake nodded hello.
Another of my dad’s contacts? Just like Lester. They’re everywhere.
The doctor peeled back the Tigers shirt that Jake’s dad had placed over the wound, and sucked in a deep breath. ‘What’s this then? A thirty-two?’
‘God, you’re good,’ his dad said, grinning. ‘On the paperwork, let’s just say I fell down the stairs.’
‘You got it.’
Dr Young and his dad spoke like old friends as she cleaned the wound, added stitches and then placed a dressing over the top. Apparently the bullet had passed clean through. They left, less than an hour later, with his dad’s arm in a sling and strict instructions to change the bandages daily.
Jake was shattered by the time they arrived back at the house, the day’s events suddenly overtaking him. His dad looked ready to drop, too.
‘We’ll talk in the morning, yes?’ his dad said.
‘Sure,’ replied Jake.
‘And, Jake,’ said his dad.
‘Hm?’
‘You made me really proud today.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
22
His dad was already in the kitchen when Jake woke up the next day.
‘Want some eggs?’ his dad asked. He’d loosened his sling and was holding a pan with his injured arm.
Just like old times.
‘I’ll do that,’ said Jake, taking it from him.
His dad sat down at the table, scanning a newspaper. The lead article showed a picture of the chaos at the stadium, with the headline: Accident or Terrorists?
As Jake grilled bread, and cracked eggs into a dish, his dad spoke. ‘You know you can’t tell anyone about this, don’t you? Not even Mum.’
Jake whisked the eggs with a fork. ‘What? Or you’d have to kill me?’
His dad didn’t smile. ‘I need you to be serious. My identity: it’s a state secret. If it ever got out, we’d all be in danger. Mum included.’
Jake put the pan on the hob. ‘I understand. Just tell me one thing. Was this . . . this job . . . was it the reason you two got divorced?’
Jake’s dad sighed. ‘Your mum never knew. So, in a way, I guess it might have been. Secrets are not good for any relationship.’
I know all about that.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Must be Karenya,’ Jake said.
He opened the door, and standing there was Popov. Jake stepped back involuntarily.
Popov’s face broke into a grin. ‘Well, Jake, aren’t you going to invite an old friend in?’
Jake recovered. ‘Sure, sorry, come in.’ For some reason, Jake was reminded of that rule in vampire stories: never invite one into your home.
Popov stepped inside. To Jake’s surprise he didn’t have a bodyguard with him.
Jake’s dad was standing up now. ‘Good morning, Igor. This is unexpected.’
‘I thought I’d come by and see how you both were after yesterday’s unfortunate events. You have hurt your arm, I see?’
‘It’s nothing,’ Jake’s dad said. ‘Just a sprained elbow.’
‘Well, you should let my private doctor take a look,’ Popov said.
‘It’s quite all right,’ Jake’s dad replied.
Jake looked from his dad to the Russian. There was some kind of electricity in the air, like just before a lightning storm. So what if Popov hadn’t been involved in this plan to kill the scientists? Was that just because Truman had thought of it first?
Jake scanned the room for a weapon. Nothing.
A smell of burning reached his nose.
‘The eggs!’ his dad exclaimed.
He went quickly to the pan and took it off the hob. As he did, Jake saw him scoop a knife off the side. His dad turned back to face Popov, concealing the knife behind his back.
This doesn’t look good.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast,’ said Popov. ‘I came to deliver some sad news.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Jake’s dad.
Jake began to panic. Had the AEB been killed after all?
‘Yes,’ said Popov, inspecting his cufflinks. ‘I’m afraid that both Christian Truman and Devon Taylor were killed yesterday at the football ground.’ Jake looked at his dad in alarm as Popov continued. ‘It seems that after he was taken off the field, Devon joined his fellow countryman in the VIP box. We had thought everyone had escaped, but two corpses were discovered in the wreckage late last night.’
‘It can’t be,’ said Jake.
Popov raised an eyebrow. ‘I assure you,’ he said coldly, ‘it is definitely them.’
A glance from his dad told Jake to drop it.
‘A terrible loss,’ said Popov, ‘but the cloud has a silver edge, as you say in the West.’
‘Igor,’ said Jake’s dad, ‘Devon was one of the most promising players of his generation. He was an inspiration to countless children around the world. He . . .’
‘He made a mistake,’ interrupted Popov, glaring at Jake. The ice in his reptile-eyes made Jake’s skin prickle. What did he mean, a mistake? Did Popov know that Truman was planning to frame him? ‘If it hadn’t been for his rash actions, he would still be alive.’
Jake swallowed, but managed to nod. ‘You’re right. It was a bad tackle.’
Popov smiled, with little warmth.
‘You mentioned a silver lining,’ said Jake’s dad.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Popov, brightening suddenly. ‘In light of Mr Truman’s sudden departure, and his lack of immediate kin, one of my own subsidiaries has taken over as the major shareholder in Truman Energy. It means that we can still pursue the alternative energy research that will surely be Russia’s – indeed the world’s – future.’
‘That’s great news, Igor,’ said Jake’s dad. ‘And the AEB? Will that continue?’
‘I’m afraid that all three of the scientists have decided to take their expertise back to their native countries for the time being,’ said Popov. ‘You can imagine that recent events have somewhat shaken their confidence. We will find others to replace them, I’m sure.’
‘I’m sure,’ repeated Jake’s dad. ‘Is there anything else we can do for you?’
Popov to
ok a few steps forward until he was only a foot away from Jake’s dad. Jake saw his dad’s fingers tighten around the knife’s hilt, and tried not to stare at it too openly. If Popov was aware of any danger, he didn’t show it.
Popov sighed. ‘I’m sorry to say that our little experiment with the Tigers must come to an end. It will take some time to restore the stadium, and even longer to repair the damage to my reputation. The culprits must be identified and prosecuted. No one crosses Igor Popov. No one. You understand?’
The threat hung in the air.
‘Of course,’ Jake’s dad said. ‘People must be reassured that such an event could never happen again.’
‘Exactly!’ exclaimed Popov, looking suddenly pleased with himself. He walked quickly towards the open door. ‘I will of course honour the financial aspects of your contract. I am, after all, a respectable man.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jake’s dad. ‘It’s been a pleasure working with you.’
‘I’m sure our paths will cross again.’ Popov flashed a smile. ‘And farewell to you too, Jake Bastin. I hope we meet again.’
He stared at Jake, unblinking, then closed the door behind him silently. As Popov’s car skidded away across the gravel drive, Jake turned angrily to his dad.
‘So that’s what you meant by “clean up”! Cold-blooded murder?’
‘Jake,’ his dad said, ‘it wasn’t us. I swear. MI6 should have taken them in for interrogation. Our government doesn’t kill prisoners.’
‘Well, it seems like there are two corpses who’d beg to differ.’
‘Wait, Jake, just give me a minute.’
While Jake emptied the burnt eggs into the bin and made a cup of coffee, his dad dialled his contact and asked what was going on. He listened for several seconds, nodding and rubbing his temple. Every so often he punctuated the conversation with a concise question or comment. ‘You’re sure? . . . Well, what do they know? . . . No, the contract’s terminated . . .’
After a few minutes, he hung up.
‘Well?’ said Jake.
‘I’m afraid it’s true,’ his dad said. ‘Our crew got to the kitchens but Truman and Taylor were already gone. The fire crew found them both, side by side, in the stands beneath the VIP box. Looks like Popov’s guys got there first.’
Jake imagined Popov’s men taking Truman and his son to the VIP box – the scene of their treachery – and throwing them off. Russian justice.
‘Popov’s an animal,’ said Jake.
‘I know. But it’s best not to think about it,’ his dad said.
‘What do you mean? We need to go after him. He’s a murderer . . .’
‘He’s just another criminal,’ said his dad. ‘There are people like Popov all over the world. We can only take down one at a time. The Trumans have been stopped. The AEB are safe.’
‘So Popov gets away with it,’ said Jake, exasperated.
‘Not forever. He’ll slip up sometime.’
Jake slammed a hand on to the counter top. ‘Damn it!’ he cursed.
Somehow the Russian had ended up in a better position than he started in. More money, more opportunities, and somehow blameless.
‘Jake, don’t let this get personal,’ his dad said.
‘How can you say that?’ asked Jake. ‘After what happened to Chernoff? He was your friend, wasn’t he?’
‘He was,’ his dad said grimly. ‘He said he had something to tell me that night in the restaurant. He never got the chance. I assumed it was Popov . . .’
‘But now you think he was going to warn you about Truman?’ Jake asked.
‘I guess we’ll never know.’
Jake could almost see his dad’s emotions shifting inside him. Slow and steady, as always.
The taxi was booked for later that afternoon and Jake had one last swim in the pool to clear his thoughts. His body was a mess of cuts and bruises. A week in Russia left him looking like he’d been in a war zone.
He was completing a final length when his dad entered.
‘Jake,’ he said, his tone ominous in the echoing poolroom, ‘can I have a word?’
Jake pulled up to the side and rested with both elbows on the marble floor. He wiped the hair back out of his eyes.
‘Sure. What is it?’
His dad sat down heavily on a wicker chair.
‘How would you feel about not going straight back to London?’
‘What do you mean?’ Jake asked.
‘Well, a little thing’s come up. Another job, in Italy.’
‘A job?’
His dad grinned. ‘Sky are short of a pundit for the international tournament. There’s a plane heading to Milan tonight.’
‘Just a studio sofa, then?’ said Jake, smiling back.
His dad shrugged. ‘That’s all I’m saying.’
‘You know,’ Jake said, ‘you used to be a better liar.’
His dad stood up and walked to the edge of the pool.
‘I spoke to Central Command last night,’ he said. ‘They are not all happy with it, but I assured them you had a good head on you, and could be trusted. They’ll want to meet you properly at some point, but they saw no harm in letting you tag along. If anything, it helps my cover. Dad with son in tow, y’know?’
Jake thought about what his dad was saying. He was standing on the threshold of a new life. One of secrets. Of danger. There could be no going back once the threshold was crossed.
‘A team?’ Jake said.
‘As long as I’m the coach,’ his dad replied. ‘What d’ya say?’ Jake pushed off from the side with his feet and drifted towards the centre of the pool, where he stopped.
You can be the coach, he thought, but I’ll be the star striker!
‘I’m in,’ Jake said.
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