Gabe led the team out into the corridor. The opposition was already there, lined up, and the two teams walked quickly down the tunnel towards the pitch. The crowd began to cheer and chant and Gabe felt the familiar vibration in his stomach that had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Gabe nodded at the Chelsea captain and he nodded back. ‘All right?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Gabe.

  ‘According to the bookies you’re going to wipe the floor with us.’

  ‘That’s what I heard.’

  ‘Fucking bookies, hey? What do they know?’

  McNamara patted Gabe on the shoulder and pointed towards the stadium. Gabe took a deep breath and then started walking. The stadium erupted with cheers and chants and he felt the familiar chill run down his spine as he stepped out into the daylight and the sound washed over him.

  CHAPTER 44

  McGee pointed at a concrete stairwell in the corner of the stand, next to a burger outlet where several home supporters were stocking up before taking their seats. ‘The family box is on the next level,’ said the steward. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you up?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ said Ray. ‘You’re a star.’ He hurried to the stairs and ran up, taking them two at a time. There were boxes on all four sides of the stadium, on the first and second levels and Ray had no way of knowing which one CK Lee was in. All Zhou had said was that Zhou’s box was close to the halfway line. It wasn’t quite a needle in a haystack, but it wasn’t far off.

  He reached the first level. There was a wide corridor leading the full length of the stand. The doors to the boxes were to his left. Most of them were open. The boxes were pretty much identical, with an inside area with sofas and a dining area, then full length glass sliding doors that led to the seating area. To the side of each door was a small metal cardholder containing the name of whoever had use of the box. The first one was a well-known double-glazing company and half a dozen men in dark suits were drinking glasses of champagne. The second was in the name of G. HARRINGTON and the occupants were a mix of men and women – the men looked like drug dealers in leather jackets and Versace jeans and the women almost certainly hookers. Again champagne appeared to be the drink of choice, though this time it was Cristal and not the Bollinger that the double-glazing team were knocking back. Ray heard the crowd start to roar. He stopped at the doorway to the third box. The door was open and he could see through the box and onto the pitch where the two teams were jogging out. Ray could see Gabe, leading out the United team. Ray smiled to himself. It had been ten years, give or take, since he had seen his brother in the flesh.

  A sour-faced woman with scraped-back hair and a Botox-smooth forehead closed the door in his face. Ray grunted and continued down the corridor.

  CHAPTER 45

  There were 42,000 people in the stadium, but all Gabe’s attention was focussed on one man, the referee. He was in his forties, balding and slightly bow-legged. His name was Davie Scott but he was Welsh. He had a cheap Casio watch on his right wrist and a chunky red Goal Decision System watch on his left wrist. The watch functioned as a secondary timepiece but was connected to the stadium’s half a million pound Hawk-Eye system which used cameras to monitor the two goal lines between the posts and under the crossbars. When a ball crossed the goal line the watch would vibrate and display the word GOAL. On his left arm, under his sleeve, was the bulge of his Touchline Powerflags paging system through which the Assistant Referees could communicate with him using a system of beeps and vibrations. In a nylon holster secured to his shorts was an aerosol can of vanishing spray that he could use to mark where he wanted free kicks to be taken and to draw a line ten yards from the ball to make sure that the defence kept their distance. The marks would disappear after a minute or so.

  The referee tossed the coin he was holding high in the air. ‘Heads,’ said the Chelsea captain.

  The coin landed on the turf and Scott peered down at it. ‘Heads it is,’ he said, straightening up so that both men could see it. Chelsea made the obvious decision to play towards the home stand so that in the second half they would be playing towards their own supporters. Chelsea took their places and Gabe trapped the ball on the centre spot. He took a deep breath, knowing that the next ninety minutes would change his life for ever.

  The referee blew his whistle and Gabe tapped the ball to Babacar on his left. Babacar sent it zipping along the grass to Jason Wood and Wood tapped it across to Reid. It was a set piece they had rehearsed hundreds of times. As the Chelsea forwards rushed towards the ball, Gabe and Babacar sprinted towards the Chelsea goal. The Chelsea defenders moved to mark them. The crowd was buzzing in anticipation and a loud aggressive chant started in the North Stand.

  Reid made his move, running hard and fast with the ball at his feet. Gabe scanned the pitch as he ran. There was an opening to the left where Reid could easily reach him with the ball but Gabe broke right. He saw Reid frown in annoyance and then kick the ball over to Babacar. Babacar caught the ball on his chest but as it dropped to the ground he was tackled from behind and went down. One of the Chelsea defenders booted the ball towards the United goal and the crowd groaned in frustration.

  CHAPTER 46

  Ray reached the final box on the first level. It was the family box, from where Laura and Ollie were supposed to be watching the game. Two stewards were standing outside the door and Ray moved over to the far side of the corridor as he walked by. The stewards looked at him but realised he wasn’t a gatecrasher or a threat so they just smiled and nodded. Ray nodded back and headed for the stairs. There was another row of boxes on the second level, pretty much identical to the ones on the floor below. The problem was there were also boxes in the other stand, several dozen in all, and Ray was running out of time. He heard a roar from the crowd, and cheers, then a chant started. ‘U-NI-TED. U-NI-TED. U-NI-TED.’

  He ran up the stairs and started walking quickly down the corridor. The door to the first box was closed but the card in the holder on the wall said it was being used by a supermarket group. There was another loud cheer from the stadium that seemed to make the floor vibrate, followed by tens of thousands of people groaning in unison. Ray hurried down the corridor.

  CHAPTER 47

  The Chelsea striker wrong-footed two United defenders and kicked the ball towards the goal but the United keeper was already in position and he caught it easily before taking three quick steps and booting it halfway down the field.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ asked Billy Huang, gesturing at the television. ‘He wasn’t even trying. How much do these fuckers earn a week? A hundred grand? My aunt can kick better than that.’

  The United team were passing the ball back and forth, looking for an opportunity to press forward.

  ‘Come on!’ shouted Ricky Zhang. ‘Move yourselves. What are you doing?’

  Teddy Kang looked up at the ceiling. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked. Zhang and Huang were engrossed in the game and neither paid him any attention. Kang picked up the remote and muted the sound.

  ‘What the fuck?’ said Zhang.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Kang, getting to his feet. ‘I heard something.’ He listened for a few seconds but there was no repeat of the noise he was sure he’d heard.

  ‘Yes!’ hissed Zhang. Kang looked over at him. Zhang was staring at the screen, his fists clenched. A Chelsea defender brought down a United attacker and the ball rolled over the sideline. ‘No!’ said Zhang, throwing himself back on the sofa. ‘Did you see that? Did you fucking see that? He was heading for the goal and that bastard brought him down with a late tackle. And what does the referee do? Nothing.’

  Kang tossed the remote onto the coffee table and headed for the door. He pulled on his ski mask and took his gun from its holster as he padded up the stairs. Behind him he heard the television sound go on again. He reached the door to where the woman and kid were being kept and he placed his ear against it. He listened for several seconds and then pushed the door open. The woman was lying on her side, facing away from him. The boy was lying on his back, his eyes closed. Kang stepped into the room and the woman rolled over and looked at him. Her eyes widened when she saw the gun in his hand and he lowered the barrel so that it pointed at the floor.

  ‘Can you check that my son is all right?’ she asked.

  Kang ignored her as he walked around the room, looking for anything out of place. Then he checked the bathroom.

  ‘Can he breathe all right?’ asked the woman.

  Kang came out of the bathroom and stared at her for several seconds. ‘I heard a noise.’

  ‘He was coughing.’

  Kang looked over at the boy. ‘He’s not coughing now.’

  ‘I think he’s having trouble breathing.’

  Kang walked over to the couch. The boy’s eyes were closed but his chest was rising and falling as he breathed. ‘He’s asleep.’

  ‘Okay. Thank you.’

  Kang reached down and checked the duct tape around the boy’s ankles. It was secure.

  ‘Has the match started?’ asked the woman as Kang straightened up.

  Kang nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who’s winning?’

  ‘No one yet.’

  ‘That’s good, right? Good for you?’

  Kang walked over and stood looking down at her. ‘Your husband’s team has to lose.’

  ‘What if they don’t lose?’ asked Laura.

  Kang shrugged. ‘That depends on my boss.’ He checked the tape around her ankles.

  ‘You can’t hurt a child, not because of a football match.’

  Kang shrugged again. ‘Your husband was told what he has to do and what will happen if he disobeys.’ He grabbed her arm and rolled her over so that he could check her wrists. They were tightly bound.

  ‘But it’s not our fault,’ said the woman over her shoulder. ‘And it’s not my son’s fault.’

  Kang looked around at the room. Nothing had moved since he was last there. So far as he could see.

  ‘Do you have children?’ she asked.

  Kang gestured at her with the gun. ‘Shut up or I will gag you and the boy again.’

  ‘Okay,’ said the woman. ‘I’m sorry.’ She closed her mouth and forced a tight-lipped smile. Kang took one more look around the room and then went back downstairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened for a few seconds, then went into the sitting room.

  Zhang and Huang were leaning towards the television, their eyes glued to the screen. ‘Come on, come on,’ Zhang was saying, his hands gripped into tight fists. ‘Come on.’

  ‘What’s the score?’ asked Kang as he took off his ski mask but before anyone could answer he saw the numbers in the top corner of the television. 0-0. No score.

  ‘Come on!’ said Zhang, louder this time.

  Kang headed for the sofa but before he could sit down there was a flurry of action on the screen and the ball rocketed into the back of the Chelsea net. ‘Who scored?’ asked Kang.

  ‘United,’ said Huang. ‘The black fellah.’

  ‘Babacar,’ said Zhang. ‘He’s from Senegal.’

  ‘Where the fuck is Senegal?’ asked Huang.

  ‘Africa,’ said Zhang.

  ‘So 1-0 to United,’ said Kang, sitting down and reaching for his brandy glass. ‘CK is not going to be happy.’

  CHAPTER 48

  Babacar was doing a moonwalk behind the goal as the home fans cheered him on. Reid was taking credit for the pass that Babacar had scored from but Gabe knew that the ball had cannoned off the shoulder of one of the Chelsea defenders before Babacar had slammed it into the back of the net. It had been one hell of a goal, one that came close to justifying the player’s two hundred thousand pound a week salary. The Chelsea keeper was standing with his hands on his hips and a look of disgust on his face, shaking his head as if Babacar had done something wrong, but it had been a perfect goal. The keeper had done nothing wrong, he had placed himself in the centre of the goal and was anticipating the shot to come from Moretti, who had been calling for the ball. Truth be told, Reid had aimed his cross at the Italian but hadn’t seen the Chelsea defender running across the penalty box. The ball had glanced off the defender’s shoulder and shot across to Babacar who had reacted instinctively, swiveling on his back foot and putting his whole bodyweight behind a kick that sent the ball into the top left hand corner of the goal before the keeper had any time to react.

  Gabe flinched as an arm fell across his shoulder. ‘Fuck me!’ shouted Michael Devereau in his ear. ‘That was a fucking goal and a half!’

  Gabe forced a smile. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Come on, smile, captain!’ shouted Devereau. ‘Fifteen minutes in and we’re one nil up!’ He punched the air and ran over to hug Reid.

  Babacar had stopped his moonwalk and was raising his arms in salute to the fans, beaming with pleasure. There was no better feeling than scoring a goal in front of a home crowd, Gabe knew. The love and admiration that poured out of the fans was like nothing else, though it could just as easily turn to vitriol and hatred when things weren’t going their way. Gabe took a deep breath as he looked at the cheering fans, most of whom were now on their feet waving their scarves. He wondered how they would react if they knew that he was going to have to do whatever he could to make sure that United lost.

  ‘Bloody hell, Gabe, smile!’ shouted Maplethorpe behind him. The defender jogged over and drew back his hand for a high-five. Gabe hit his hand, open-palmed but with little or no enthusiasm. ‘You okay?’ asked Maplethorpe.

  ‘Let’s not get over confident,’ said Gabe. ‘The match has only just started.’

  ‘Fucking hell, you got out of the wrong side of the bed today,’ said Maplethorpe. ‘We’re going to demolish them, mate. Fucking demolish them!’ He ran over to Babacar and gave him a high-five, then stood in front of the screaming fans with his arms above his head.

  Gabe turned away and jogged back to the middle of the pitch. One-nil. One fucking nil.

  CHAPTER 49

  CK Lee poured himself a slug of brandy and drank it down in one. A big screen TV on one wall of the box was showing three pundits discussing the game. A former English international was explaining why he thought United were on target for a 3-0 victory. ‘You know nothing!’ Lee shouted at the TV in Cantonese. The picture switched back to the game. Chelsea were kicking off. He looked through the full-length glass windows down to the pitch. It took him a few seconds to pick out Gabe Savage, standing close to the centre spot with his hands on his hips.

  His mobile phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out. It was Yung Jaw-Lung. There was no small talk from the man. ‘A United win is no good to me,’ said Yung. ‘I made that clear. Chelsea have to win this match.’

  ‘It’s okay, I have it in hand,’ said Lee.

  ‘You are sure? I have your word?’

  ‘They will lose, there is no doubt.’

  ‘You had better be right. For your sake.’

  The line went dead. Lee poured another brandy and downed it in one as he looked down at the pitch. Chelsea were in possession but their midfielders didn’t seem to know what to do. They were passing it back and forth and making no progress.

  Lee looked for Gabe Savage again and found him in the middle of the pitch, moving aimlessly from side to side and making no attempt to intercept the ball. It had been fortuitous that Savage had been acting captain in place of LeBrun. The captain was the lynchpin of any team and Savage knew that if his team won, his family would be dead. Lee sipped his drink. It was more than a threat, Lee had every intention of killing the man’s wife and son if United didn’t lose. There was no point in making idle threats. If word got around that Lee didn’t keep his promises, then before long no one would take him seriously. He poured himself another brandy. The big question was what would happen to the wife and son if Savage did as he was told and United lost? Lee had no qualms about killing women and children. He’d had it done before and he would no doubt do it again. He sipped his drink. If United lost, Yung Jaw-Lung would be pleased. Or at least he would not be angry, which is probably all that Lee could hope for. Yung Jaw-Lung wouldn’t care one way or the other what happened to the wife and son. He was a pragmatist and would probably take the view that the fewer witnesses the better, but he would leave the final decision up to Lee.

  Lee had told Teddy Kang to make sure that the woman and the boy never saw the faces of their captors. Providing Kang and his men did their job properly, the hostages shouldn’t have any information that would help the police so freeing them wouldn’t cause Lee any problems. And if he did have the family killed, Savage would certainly go to the police and tell them everything. Yung Jaw-Lung’s involvement in football gambling was well known, at least within the Chinese community, so an investigation into game fixing would throw up his name sooner or later. And that was definitely something that would make Yung Jaw-Lung angry.

  Lee stepped through the sliding glass doors to the seating area where two of his men were sitting in high-backed chairs watching the game. They raised their glasses to him in salute and he nodded an acknowledgment. He sipped his drink again as he watched the Chelsea midfielders pass the ball between them. They seemed unsure of what they should be doing and Lee shook his head in disappointment. They deserved to lose, the way they were playing. As he watched, one of the United forwards managed to intercept the ball and the crowd roared. It was one of the Italians. Moretti. Moretti was a good player but he had been a better fit at Liverpool, Lee knew. The manager, Guttoso, had brought him into the team but Lee always thought the man had been thinking with his heart and not his head.

  Moretti ran with the ball, then stopped and looked around. Babacar had made his run but had two Chelsea defenders sticking to him like glue. The Argentinian was running but he was slow and had too much ground to cover. Moretti saw Gabe over on the left and he sent the ball skidding across the grass, about twenty feet ahead of him. Gabe sprinted towards the ball but was a fraction of a second late getting to it and the moment he trapped it he was shouldered to the side by one of the Chelsea midfielders. Gabe lunged at the ball but the midfielder was too quick and he twisted around and passed it to a teammate who dribbled it towards the United goal. Gabe gave chase but was too slow, Chelsea were back in possession. Lee raised his glass to Gabe down on the pitch. ‘Just do what you’re supposed to do, my friend, and everything will be all right,’ he said.

 

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