‘Acting captain,’ said Gabe. ‘How did you know?’

  McGee tapped the side of his nose with his finger. ‘We stewards know everything,’ he said.

  Gabe laughed and hurried over to the door to the changing rooms where McNamara was waiting impatiently. ‘Fan club?’ said the coach.

  ‘Gerry’s been with the club longer than almost anyone,’ said Gabe. ‘And he’ll probably be here long after we’ve gone.’

  Through the door was the yellow-tiled corridor off which led the changing rooms. To the left were the facilities for the visitors. A cramped room that hadn’t been painted in years, with small lockers on the floor and hooks for larger items. There was a whiteboard that had been screwed unevenly by the fire doors, and two of the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling didn’t work. They had never worked, just one of a dozen minor irritants that had been put in place to hopefully put visiting teams on the back foot. The showers were set to blast out cold water when switched on, with the thermostat only kicking in after ten seconds or so. There was a treatment area with just two ancient massage beds, and three sinks, one of which had a note on saying that it was blocked and wasn’t to be used.

  To the right was the changing room used by Gabe and his teammates. It was four times the size of the away team’s facilities. The physio area had an ice-bath and half a dozen state-of-the-art massage beds, a medical station, a gym area with a range of exercise machines, and a huge locker area with floor to ceiling doors. On the front of each locker was a life-size picture of the player in action. Gabe went over to his locker and pulled it open. His kit was already hanging there, including a choice of long or short-sleeved shirt. The players were given brand new shirts for every game and afterwards they were free to swap them or offer them to charities or fans.

  Gabe dropped his kitbag onto the bench in front of his locker. Inside the locker was a charging point for phones even though the manager had forbidden their use in the changing rooms. There was an individual air-conditioning unit and Gabe turned his onto full cold and let the breeze play across his face. He flinched as McNamara blew his whistle to get everyone’s attention. Gabe turned to see that Piero Guttoso was standing next to the coach, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his cashmere overcoat. Guttoso was close to being obese and his large feet were splayed out for balance giving him the look of a King Penguin looking for a fight. He had a mane of grey hair combed back and permanent flushed cheeks, and there was a small chunk of his left ear missing, rumoured to be the result of a brutal brawl when he was a teenager. ‘I just dropped in to wish you luck,’ he said, in his heavy Italian accent. ‘Not that you need luck.’ He nodded at McNamara. ‘Not with a coach like Joe. I just need you to go out there and do your best, because I know your best is more than enough to kick their arses.’

  There were several whoops and cheers from the team, but Gabe stayed silent. Guttoso was right. They were more than capable of beating Chelsea, but if they did, if United should win… He shuddered at the thought of what the consequences would be. If anything were to happen to Laura and Ollie and it was his fault… He shuddered again.

  ‘The owner’s in his box with his family and a dozen monks, so we need to put on a good show today,’ continued Guttoso. ‘He wants me to watch it in the box with him so please, don’t fucking let me down.’ He turned on his heel and walked out.

  ‘If he really has got a dozen monks with him then we’re in deep shit,’ said Armati.

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked McNamara.

  ‘They only have even numbers of monks at funerals,’ said Armati. ‘When it’s a wedding or a blessing, it’s always an odd number.’ He shrugged. ‘I used to have a Thai girlfriend.’

  The team laughed. Armati changed his girlfriends about as often as he changed his wristwatch, which was pretty much on a daily basis.

  ‘Well I know we all appreciate the boss’s pep talks, but I’ve got a few words to say myself,’ said McNamara. ‘The pundits have us down as easy winners, but we all know there are no easy victories, only easy defeats. I want you to go out there and play as if you’re the underdogs. With heart. No slacking off, no thinking we’ve won the game before we set foot on the pitch. Got it?’

  The players nodded.

  ‘Excellent. Okay, grab yourselves a snack and a drink and then Tommy will go through their line up with you and give you the weather briefing.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I know Marco and Michael want the physio to work on them, anyone else need it?’

  Armati raised his hand and Devereau laughed. ‘You know you won’t be getting a happy ending,’ he shouted.

  Armati frowned. ‘What is a happy ending?’

  The players laughed and headed for the side room where a range of healthy snacks, sandwiches, tea, coffee and soft drinks had been arranged on a large table. On the far wall was a large flatscreen TV on which the coaching staff would replay highlights from the first half at half time.

  McNamara walked over to Gabe. ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure. Fine.’

  ‘How are the knees?’

  ‘Knees?’

  ‘Those funny-shaped things that connect your thighs to your shins,’ said the coach. ‘Gabe, seriously, are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, sure. All good, Joe.’

  ‘Are you hurting? Do you need to see the doc?’

  ‘Joe, I’m fine,’ said Gabe. In fact he hadn’t given a thought to his knees from the moment he’d received the FaceTime call from Laura. ‘Pre-match jitters.’

  ‘You never get worried before a game,’ said McNamara. He patted him on the back. ‘This is your big day, Gabe. One more penalty and you’re in the record books.’

  Gabe nodded.

  McNamara’s eyes narrowed. ‘Seriously, Gabe. You’re okay?’

  ‘Of course. Sure.’ He smiled as confidently as he could. ‘I’ll give it a hundred and ten per cent, Joe, you know I will.’

  McNamara grinned. ‘I know you will. You always do.’ He handed him a black armband with the word CAPTAIN on it. ‘You’ll be needing this.’

  CHAPTER 32

  The address Sammy Wu had given Ray was a basement flat in a long line of white stucco houses. There was a gate set into the black railings at the front of the building with a flight of metal steps leading down to a black door. A handwritten sign stuck to the wall stated the obvious - BASEMENT FLAT. Underneath were five Chinese characters which Ray assumed meant the same in Chinese. He went down the stairs and pressed the doorbell. A few seconds later the door was opened by a middle-aged Chinese woman in a dark blue denim dress. ‘I’m a friend of Sammy Wu’s,’ said Ray.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ she said brusquely. ‘Not stand on doorstep.’

  She ushered him inside and closed the door. They were in a hallway with a laminated wood floor and a narrow black table on which an incense stick was smouldering, filling the air with the scent of jasmine. Two open doors led off to the left and at the end of the corridor was another door, closed.

  ‘In, there,’ she said, pointing at the door closest to him.

  ‘Are you Mrs Wei?’ he asked.

  ‘Talk in room,’ she said impatiently. ‘In, in.’

  Ray did as he was told. It was a small bedroom with a double bed covered in a red sheet with matching pillows. Thick curtains were drawn across the window and the only light came from a bedside lamp over which had been draped a red silk scarf. On a bedside table was a glass bowl containing a variety of condoms, a box of tissues and a tube of KY Jelly that from the look of it had been well-used. Ray suppressed a shudder as he turned around to look at Mrs Wei. Close up, even under the red light, it was clear that Mrs Wei was well over sixty. Her face was smooth and unlined, but unnaturally so, as if her skin was made of wax, but it was her hands that gave her age away. They were rough and wrinkled and dotted with liver spots, and the nails were yellowing. The skin around her neck was mottled and loose and Ray realised she was closer to seventy. ‘I have four girls today,’ she said. ‘All young and all pretty. I will show you them and you can choose.’

  Ray put up a hand to silence her. ‘Sammy told me that Lilly used to work here.’

  ‘She left,’ said Mrs Wei. ‘Rose is same Lilly. Young and sweet. I will get Rose for you.’

  ‘Mrs Wei, I just want to talk to Lilly.’

  Mrs Wei sighed. ‘She not here. I tell you already.’

  Ray reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a money clip with a thick wad of fifty pound notes. ‘Sammy Wu said you might know where I can find Lilly.’

  Mrs Wei screwed up her face as she peered at the notes. ‘Why you want Lilly?’ she barked.

  ‘I just need to talk to her. It’s nothing bad, I promise. I’ll pay her, too.’

  ‘How much?’ she said, her eyes still on the wad of fifty pound notes.

  ‘Five hundred pounds, if you can give me her address.’

  She looked up from the notes and tilted her head on one side. ‘How I know you not police?’

  ‘Because I’m offering to pay you for information.’

  ‘The police pay. Entrapment.’

  ‘Do I look like a cop?’ He held up the money. ‘Do cops carry money around like this?’

  She shrugged. ‘Who knows what cop look like? Take off clothes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Take off clothes,’ she repeated.

  ‘I don’t want a massage. I want information.’

  ‘You want information, you take off clothes.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Mrs Wei didn’t say anything, she just folded her arms and stared at him impassively. Ray sighed and took off his jacket. He tossed it onto the bed, then kicked off his shoes and took off his trousers. He stood in his boxer shorts, his arms out to the side. ‘Happy now?’ he said.

  ‘Take off everything,’ said Mrs Wei.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Ray.

  ‘No need for bad language,’ she said. ‘Policeman can not take off clothes. That is rule.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ said Ray. When he saw that Mrs Wei was serious, he sighed and took off his shorts. ‘Okay?’

  Mrs Wei turned her head and shouted in Chinese. A few seconds later he heard soft footsteps in the hallway and a Chinese girl appeared in the doorway. She was in her late twenties with a pageboy haircut and bright red lipstick. She was wearing a white knee-length nightdress cut low to show a cleavage that was so impressive that her breasts must have been enhanced.

  Ray shook his head. ‘I don’t want a massage.’

  Mrs Wei ignored him. She spoke to the girl in Chinese and the girl got down on her knees in front of Ray. ‘No fucking way,’ said Ray, taking a step back.

  ‘I told you, no bad language,’ said Mrs Wei sternly. ‘She give you oral, I know you not police. She not give you oral…’ Mrs Wei shrugged. ‘This way I know for sure. Policeman can not have oral. That is a rule.’

  ‘Mrs Wei, this is crazy.’

  She looked at him and shrugged again.

  Ray sighed. ‘Okay. Fine.’ He looked down at the girl and she smiled up at him. ‘Go ahead.’

  Mrs Wei spoke to the girl in Chinese and her smile widened. Her teeth were perfectly even and gleamingly white. She moved towards him and from the way her breasts moved Ray figured they were probably real after all. Ray closed his eyes as she took him in her soft, warm mouth. Her hands stroked the inside of his thighs and Ray felt himself grow hard, then Mrs Wei clapped her hands. ‘Okay, enough,’ she said. The girl moved back, licking her lips.

  Ray opened his eyes. Mrs Wei spoke to the girl in Chinese and the girl stood up. ‘Give her fifty pounds,’ said Mrs Wei.

  Ray bent down and retrieved his money clip from his trousers. He gave the girl a fifty-pound note and she took it and left the room. Mrs Wei held out her hand. ‘My money,’ she said.

  Ray gave her five hundred pounds. ‘Okay if I get dressed now?’

  ‘If you want to stay naked, up to you.’

  Ray dressed quickly as Mrs Wei checked the banknotes. ‘So what you want to know?’ she asked.

  ‘I just want to know where I can find Lilly,’ pulling on his trousers.

  ‘She stay in Knightsbridge. Near Harrods.’

  ‘CK Lee takes care of her now?’

  Mrs Wei’s face hardened. ‘You know Mr Lee?’

  ‘I know of him.’

  ‘Bad man,’ she said. ‘You be careful.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not hearing good things about him,’ said Ray. He buttoned up his shirt and slipped on his shoes. ‘He took Lilly?’

  Mrs Wei nodded. ‘I paid a lot to get her into the country. Many thousands of pounds. But Mr Lee said he wanted her. He likes young girls. Lilly was the third girl he took from me.’

  ‘So why do you let him come here?’

  Her eyebrows arched. ‘You think I can stop him? You think I can stop him doing what he wants?’ She shook her head. ‘Mr Lee always gets what he wants.’ She held up her dainty left hand and for the first time he realised that the tip of her little finger was missing. ‘This is what happened when I tried to stop him,’ she said. ‘I had a girl here, before Lilly. Mr Lee wanted her and I said no.’ She waved the hand in front of Ray’s face. ‘He did this to me and I never said no again.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Ray, putting on his jacket. ‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’

  ‘Police can not help,’ she said. ‘And if I tell the police, I lose more than finger.’ She shrugged. ‘Mr Lee does not care about the police. Not here and not in China.’

  Ray nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and he genuinely meant it. ‘But thank you for your help.’

  Mrs Wei held up the fifty-pound notes. ‘No need for thank you,’ she said. ‘Money is thank you enough.’

  CHAPTER 33

  The team sat for half an hour listening to Martin Jessop go through the opposition line up and fine-tuning their set pieces to take account of the fact that Chelsea’s main defender had been dropped because of a tendon injury and replaced with a left-footer. Gabe sat with a coffee trying to listen but all he could think of was his wife and son being held at gunpoint. Could he really do that? He was just one man in a team of 11. Could one man actually throw a game? What if he tried and failed? Would the kidnappers carry out their threat? And if they did, how could he live with himself? And what if he did throw the match – how could he be sure the kidnappers would release his family. He realised he was gritting his teeth and he took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time to be tensing up.

  He slipped his phone out of his pocket and stole a quick look at the screen. Ray hadn’t called. He put the phone away and sipped his coffee. His heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it was about to burst out of his chest. He took another sip of coffee and realised that the players in front of him had twisted around to look at him and that Jessop was looking at him expectantly.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Gabe. ‘I missed that.’

  ‘Focus, Gabe,’ said Jessop. ‘I know that you find the pre-match briefings as dull as ditchwater but you might at least pretend to be listening.’

  ‘Sorry, Martin. My bad.’ He raised his coffee mug. ‘Won’t happen again.’

  ‘All I said was that any penalties will of course be down to you, unless you say otherwise. For any of you who have been living under a rock the past week, Gabe is just one penalty away from breaking the record for the most consecutive penalties scored. I’m not suggesting that any of you start diving in the opposition’s penalty box, but every little helps.’

  Gabe raised his coffee mug in salute.

  ‘That’s all for now guys,’ said Jessop. He looked over at a wall-mounted clock. ‘It’s now one-forty-five, we’ll be out for a warm up at two, until then do whatever you have to do.’

  Gabe stood up and hurried over to the toilets. He waited until he was in a cubicle with the door closed before pulling out his phone. He called Ray’s number but it went straight through to voicemail. ‘Ray, what the hell’s happening?’ he hissed. ‘Just over an hour to go. Where are you? Did you find that guy Lee?’ He ended the call, then slammed his hand against the side of the cubicle, hard. He called again and left a second message. ‘Let me know what’s happening, Ray. They make it difficult for us to use our phones on match day so send me a text or leave me a message.’ He felt tears stinging his eyes and he blinked them away. ‘I’m scared, Ray. I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do.’ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, annoyed at himself for getting so emotional. ‘If I don’t hear from you, I’ll do what I can to throw the game. Like I said, just over an hour to go.’ He closed his eyes, trying to think what else he should say, but nothing came to mind. ‘Thanks, Ray,’ he said eventually. ‘Thanks for this.’ He ended the call and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  CHAPTER 34

  It was residents parking only in the street but it was Saturday so there were no restrictions and Ray found a parking space close to where the SatNav said Lilly lived. Lilly’s flat was in a mansion block in a side street, a redbrick building with a flight of stone steps leading up to a front door with symmetrically-patterned stained glass windows. He pressed her buzzer and after a few seconds heard a hesitant ‘hello?’

  ‘Lilly, hi, I’m a friend of Mrs Wei’s,’ said Ray.

  ‘Mrs Wei?’

  ‘She gave me your address.’

  ‘Mrs Wei gave you my address? Why?’

  ‘I just need to talk to you, Lilly.’

  ‘I am not allowed visitors.’

  ‘I just need to talk to you, that’s all.’

  ‘And Mrs Wei sent you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a silence lasting several seconds and then the door lock buzzed. Ray pushed open the door. He headed up a green-carpeted stairway. Lilly’s flat was on the third floor and she already had the door open when he reached it. She had put the security chain on and was peering nervously through the gap. At first he thought it was a child, she was barely five feet tall, but as he got closer he realised she was older. But not much. She had long black hair and all he could see was one almond-shaped eye. He smiled. ‘Hello,’ he said.

 

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