Dead Ball

by Tom Palmer

  However, there was something else on Danny’s mind too: he was bursting for the toilet. But Holt was still away.

  Danny decided to risk it, even though Holt wouldn’t want him to. He needed to go. So long as he didn’t leave the press area, he’d be OK. That was the deal with Holt, wasn’t it?

  As it happened, though, the gents appeared to be locked, so Danny had to go right down to the ground floor, under the stadium, to find a toilet. Out of the press area, but still in a part of the stadium closed to the public. Past some offices and a small gym with exercise bikes and treadmills.

  As he was about to enter the toilets, a man came out.

  The man nodded, held the door open for Danny, then disappeared down a corridor. As he did, two men emerged from the pitch area. The two men in black. One of them pointed to the toilets. The other nodded. They’d seen Danny go in.

  The two men had been given orders. Deal with the boy. Direct orders from Tupolev – which meant you got the job done.

  But the men were unaware that Matt McGee was watching them and had seen Danny go into the gents too.

  The men in black went towards the toilet door, looking up and down the corridor. Checking. Now they could finish the piece of work they’d meant to deal with on the banks of the Moskva. They pushed the door open gently. No need to warn their target they’d arrived.

  But that was when they saw Matt McGee running towards them; he rushed past and along the corridor, possibly out of the stadium.

  The two men looked at each other, puzzled for a second, then they sprinted after McGee. He was their priority. If they let him slip away their boss would kill them. Quite literally.

  They’d get the boy later.

  In the gents, Danny heard the door and expected to see someone come in after him, but no one did. He heard the sound of running too, but assumed it was the players coming back from warming up.

  The two men in black watched McGee double back down the corridor, head down the tunnel and run a lap of the pitch, in front of some England fans, there in good time, as Danny came out of the toilets and went back upstairs.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Toilet.’

  Holt sighed. ‘You should have waited for me.’

  ‘You’d gone. I was desperate.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Under the stand. It was fine.’

  Holt nodded. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I’ve got us a lift on the England coach later. Back to the airport and fast track on to the plane. I talked to a mate at the FA.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘So all we have to do is stay in the press room – before and during the match. OK?’

  ‘Yep.’

  Holt smiled. He looked more relaxed.

  ‘How’s the article going?’ Danny asked.

  ‘Good,’ Holt said. ‘Do you want to read it?’

  ‘Sure,’ Danny said.

  ‘It’d be a help. There’s lots of your stuff in it. And it might jog your memory.’ Holt rubbed his hands together. ‘If we get out of here this is going on the front page on Friday.’

  Danny sat down to read.

  ENGLAND WORLD CUP MATCH FIXED – EXCLUSIVE

  ANTON HOLT IN MOSCOW

  Now the smoke of battle has cleared after England’s World Cup defeat last night, the Evening Post can report something that will shake the world game to its core: Russia versus England was fixed.

  The Evening Post’s football reporter, Anton Holt, has been working on a piece of investigative journalism for several weeks.

  The plain truth is: Russia bought the game.

  This is the story of how they did that.

  The plot to ensure that Russia are ahead of England in Group F of World Cup qualifying has involved a trail of deceit that takes a lot to believe. But – using eye-witness accounts and some remarkable mobile-phone video footage – the evidence speaks for itself.

  Bring together a Russian oligarch, a disgraced English football chairman, three international goalkeepers and the illegal take-over of a top English Premiership club and you have the recipe for the football scandal to top all football scandals.

  THE RUSSIAN OLIGARCH

  Dmitri Tupolev is a well-known figure in Russian football circles. He is a major political figure with a seat in the Russian parliament, the Duma. He is the world’s fourteenth richest man, worth around £300 billion. He owns the top Russian and Ukrainian football clubs.

  But Dmitri Tupolev wanted more.

  He wanted a Premiership club, a team from the best football league in the world. England.

  And when he met a former English football chairman and owner – one who was keen to get back into football – his entrée into the Premiership seemed a matter of time.

  Except for one thing. His part of the deal.

  Dmitri Tupolev was willing to hand over £400 million to buy the English club in question. But first he wanted something in return.

  A favour.

  What sort of favour?

  Dmitri Tupolev wanted his English partner to make sure Russia finished above England in Group F of the World Cup qualifiers.

  He would need an Englishman so unprincipled and dastardly he was willing to commit what is as close as you can get to treason in footballing terms.

  Who?

  Sir Richard Gawthorpe.

  Remember him?

  THE ENGLISH CHAIRMAN

  Sir Richard Gawthorpe disappeared in June this year when his plot to make money from kidnapping his own player at City backfired.

  After his plan to make money from England striker Sam Roberts went sour, Gawthorpe vanished, leaving behind his £300 million fortune and his famous red Mercedes.

  No one knew where he was, or if he would ever resurface. Or even if he was still among the living. But this reporter can confirm he saw him in Moscow. In the Cosmonaut Hotel on 17 October.

  In addition, another member of the paper’s staff took footage of Gawthorpe on the banks of Moscow’s famous river, the Moskva.

  He was here. No question. We have the proof.

  THE SWEETENER

  It is clear that Sir Richard and Dmitri Tupolev are working together to buy City and make them into the most powerful club team in Europe.

  But first, the sweetener.

  This newspaper is suggesting that before he would hand over the money, Dmitri Tupolev asked Sir Richard Gawthorpe to get to England and City goalkeeper Matt McGee. To make him throw the World Cup qualifier between Russia and England.

  McGee was approached at a reception for the England party on the outskirts of Moscow earlier this week.

  Secret film recorded this exchange:

  Tupolev : A penalty in the first half. A misjudged cross in the second. Yes?

  McGee [No reply.]

  Tupolev : Yes?

  McGee : I heard what you said.

  [Note: GAP FOR DESCRIPTION OF McGEE’S ‘ERRORS’ IN GAME]

  Further footage shows a scene on the banks of the Moskva: Matt McGee attacking Robert Skatie. McGee can be seen pushing Skatie down a flight of steps.

  And who is seen at the top of the steps, looking on?

  Sir Richard Gawthorpe.

  MATT MCGEE

  Matt McGee is a likeable man. But he is flawed.

  He is a gambler: with reported debts of over one million.

  He mixes with known criminals.

  He has a conviction for handling counterfeit money.

  McGee’s flaws are what made him vulnerable. He was an easy target for Tupolev and Gawthorpe. The final piece in the deal that Sir Richard Gawthorpe struck with Dmitri Tupolev to cheat football fans across England.

  TOMORROW

  Gawthorpegate: the details, the pictures and access to the films online.

  Danny looked up at Holt, who was staring at him.

  ‘Well?’ Holt asked.

  ‘Please don’t,’ Danny said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s too much guesswork.’

  �
��Danny,’ Holt stood up. ‘It’s based on your films. What you saw.’

  ‘But I still don’t think McGee could do it.’

  ‘Why on earth not? It’s clear.’

  ‘Because I have a gut feeling. And because the match hasn’t happened yet.’

  ‘I’ll fill those bits in after the game. But I’ll get this off to the paper now – or they won’t hold the front page for it.’

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘Why? Don’t you want this on the news pages? Aren’t you disgusted?’

  ‘Not yet, please.’ Danny was feeling more and more uncomfortable with Holt. The article had gone to his head. He wanted to be the famous journalist who broke the most dramatic story in 150 years of association football.

  Holt was still shaking his head when Danny said, ‘And if McGee plays well and England win, what then?’

  ‘He won’t. You have seen the films you made?’

  ‘Yes, but McGee didn’t actually say yes, did he? He might not do it. How would your boss react if he held the front page and printed ten times as many papers as usual, then England won?’

  Holt frowned. He looked like a little kid who’d had his exciting plans frustrated.

  ‘Wait,’ Danny begged. ‘Please.’

  Holt slammed his laptop shut. He looked out of the window. He reminded Danny of his sister: when she hadn’t got her own way.

  Neither said anything for three minutes. Danny thought it best to leave it, wait for Holt to say something.

  ‘You’re right,’ Holt said eventually.

  Danny nodded. But deep down he wondered if he was right. They’d soon see: kick-off was approaching.

  FIRST HALF

  The tension in the stadium was overwhelming as the players came on to the pitch.

  Danny had been able to watch the fans arriving through windows in the back of the press area. English and Russians mingling and talking. The stadium was in a lightly wooded park, on the edge of the Moskva river. A good setting.

  As more and more fans arrived you could see less and less green grass. Just red, white and blue – the colours of the teams. But most of the fans were Russian. And because he was so high up, Danny could see several groups of police – or soldiers – in buses, waiting for orders if there was any trouble.

  Once the game had kicked off, Danny watched through the great glass window of the press area. He’d asked Holt if he could go and sit in the press seats, but Holt had said no. It wasn’t safe.

  Danny accepted what Holt said. They’d got this far: there was no point in taking a risk. And it was fascinating watching the press from behind, talking into phones, typing their reports, making notes. But mostly – among the English reporters – sitting on the edge of their seats every time the ball went near either goal.

  Russia were on top from the start. In the first fifteen minutes England barely got a kick. The Russian fans were singing and chanting – the atmosphere very intimidating. It was like the England players expected to lose. Very strange. Only Peter Day and Stuart Lane were having any impact at all.

  A text from Paul arrived:

  This is grim. P

  Danny felt uneasy during the half. Part of it was the way England looked so second-best to Russia. But there was something else making him feel so funny.

  What was it?

  And then he realized: he should be commentating. To his dad. He was having a string of thoughts about the game and he wanted to speak them: like he always did at the football.

  He pulled out his phone. He knew he was only meant to phone home if he had a problem. It would be expensive. But this was important.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Danny. Are you OK? Why are you phoning? What’s wrong?’

  Danny smiled. ‘Nothing. Everything’s fine. Are you following the match?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Dad said, calming down. ‘On TV. Sounds like it’s not going too well.’

  ‘Is John Motson doing his stuff?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Danny heard his dad pause. ‘But he’s not a patch on you.’

  ‘It’s doing my head in.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Not telling you what’s going on.’

  Dad said nothing for a minute. Then: ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In the press bit.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Next to the VIP area.’

  ‘Is it good?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Danny said. ‘But I’m behind glass. It’s not as exciting as being in the West Stand at City.’

  Danny heard his dad laugh.

  ‘Oh no,’ Danny said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Russia have got a corner. Aren’t you following the game?’

  ‘Hang on… right. It’s a corner now. We must have a delay.’

  Neither Danny nor his dad spoke as the players got into position for the corner.

  Danny watched in silence as the ball was lofted from the corner flag into the England box. He saw McGee come out too soon for it and flap at the ball, then he saw the ball catch his hand and drop into the six-yard area, losing all its pace.

  A Russian was on to it in a second. Hammering it home.

  One–nil.

  Danny said nothing. He waited until his dad cried out.

  ‘No!’ His dad paused. ‘Is it a goal?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Damn it. Sorry, Danny.’

  ‘I’d better go,’ Danny said. ‘This is costing loads.’

  ‘Call me later,’ Dad said. ‘I’ll give you the money. It’d be good to talk. After the game. Please?’

  ‘OK, Dad.’

  Danny slipped his phone into his pocket. He watched the Russia fans leaping around, their flags swirling, their horns blaring. He looked at the VIP area too. The President of Russia was meant to be up there. Danny tried to see if he could spot him. And looked straight into the eyes of Dmitri Tupolev.

  An action replay of the goal came up on a screen in front of the press area. Danny watched McGee go up, his arms raised to collect the ball, then – maybe – a slight nudge from one of the strikers, the ball falling to the other striker’s feet.

  Danny felt that sinking feeling he got whenever his team let in a goal. Nausea. Exhaustion. Something like that.

  ‘What do you think?’

  It was Holt, standing right behind him. Danny wondered how long he’d been there.

  ‘He got a nudge,’ Danny pointed out.

  ‘He dropped it,’ Holt said.

  Danny knew what Anton was saying: McGee had let it drop on purpose.

  ‘He wouldn’t…’

  ‘Wouldn’t he?’

  ‘I just can’t… I don’t –’ Danny couldn’t find the right words – ‘believe it. But I don’t know any more.’

  ‘Let’s see how it goes,’ Holt said.

  The first half became more and more frustrating.

  The tempo was slower now. Russia – one up – were happier to play the ball around, not take any risks. They waited for England to attack, sat deep; then tried to attack on the break. But they never sent too many players up front.

  Danny watched the England midfield trying to get a grip on the game. But although England had plenty of possession, there was nothing doing. The Russian defence was too deep now.

  And when the ball came at the English defence the players looked edgy. Hacking the ball away instead of passing it. Fouling players and giving away needless free kicks.

  Then things looked to be getting worse. Much worse.

  With seconds to go in the first half, the Russians beat the English offside trap, leaving a Russian winger one-on-one with McGee in goal. McGee dashed out of his area to fling himself at the feet of the Russian.

  For a moment Danny could imagine what he was going to do: bring the player down, concede a penalty, get himself sent off, end the game as a competition. If McGee did, then that was it: he was being bribed, corrupt.

  McGee lunged to his right as the player tried to steer the ball round him. He put out his right arm and flail
ed at the ball. But he caught the player, not the ball.

  Just inside the penalty area, Danny thought.

  He looked down at the floor. Was that it? Had McGee done it on purpose? Two mistakes: two goals conceded, probably.

  Danny watched the referee blow his whistle and go straight for his pocket. For his red card, Danny assumed. He saw McGee jump to his feet and start shouting, complaining. Then England’s captain, Peter Day, pulled McGee back. Trying to stop him doing anything worse.

  The referee pulled out a card: yellow.

  Danny exhaled. What a relief! The game would have been dead and buried.

  But now it was the Russia players complaining. Not only was McGee still on the pitch, but they hadn’t been awarded a penalty. That was their argument. The referee was pointing to a spot just outside the area: he’d judged that contact had not been inside the penalty area.

  The tall Russian striker set the ball down, turning it twice on the ground before he was happy. Then he took five deliberate steps backwards. Danny watched him breathe in and out – thinking this was another chance for McGee. If he wanted to let this in, all he had to do was dive the wrong way, make it look like he’d been fooled by the free kick.

  The striker stepped up and struck it. Straight into McGee’s arms. McGee hadn’t moved. Had made no effort either to save it – or let it in.

  Danny sat down, feeling his heart going like the clappers. He glanced up at Holt.

  They shared a look, but said nothing. But Danny understood it to mean something like: is McGee trying to lose us this game, or win it?