The referee was red-faced and clearly upset. His hand went to his pocket, presumably to pull out a yellow card, but Gabe rushed in between him and the players and pushed Maplethorpe and Fernandez away from the official. ‘Let it go, guys,’ he said.

  ‘The tackle was good,’ said Fernandez. ‘I never touched him.’

  ‘Referees make mistakes,’ said Gabe. ‘Get over it.’

  ‘I didn’t touch him, Gabe.’

  ‘I believe you. Just let it go.’ He ushered Fernandez away. One of the Chelsea players put the ball down, the referee blew his whistle and the kick was taken, a quick chip to one of the Chelsea midfielders who ran with it to the half-way line. There he passed it to a teammate on the right wing who was promptly shouldered by Mancini. Mancini got the ball but the player shouldered him back and as the two men struggled the ball rolled over the sideline.

  The referee ran over and awarded the throw in to Chelsea. It was a long throw and caught United by surprise – a Chelsea midfielder snapped it up and sprinted towards the United goal. Devereau moved to intercept and managed to take the ball off him before quickly back-heeling it to Mancini who then booted it all the way up the field. It all happened so quickly that the entire Chelsea team were wrong-footed.

  Gabe realised that the ball was coming straight to him and that the nearest Chelsea player was twenty feet away. He jumped to trap the ball on his chest, let it drop to his feet and then turned and started running. There was one defender in front of him and Gabe slowed. Babacar had sprinted down the opposite wing and was unmarked. Gabe couldn’t see that he had any choice other than to pass to Babacar, but if he did there was a good chance that he’d score.

  He continued to move forward, then kicked the ball towards Babacar, but he sent the ball behind the striker so that he had to reverse direction to get it. Babacar saw what was happening and tried to stop his run but he was too slow and the ball bounced over the sideline, a good six feet behind him. Tens of thousand of disappointed fans groaned as one. Babacar shook his head in disbelief.

  The referee blew his whistle and a Chelsea player threw it in, straight to the head of a teammate. The ball cannoned past Moretti, straight to the feet of a Chelsea striker who ran full pelt towards the United goal with Moretti in hot pursuit.

  Ronnie Watts moved off his line, his arms outstretched. The striker was fast and pulled away from Moretti. Devereau and Mancini ran to intercept the player but before they reached him he took his shot. It was a blistering volley that Watts made a valiant attempt to reach but his headlong dive missed by inches and the ball powered into the back of the net.

  The Chelsea fans went wild, cheering and whooping, while the United supporters sat in stunned silence.

  The referee blew his whistle. He was to Gabe’s left and as Gabe looked over the official took his whistle from his mouth and grinned. ‘Nice one,’ he said, before running over to the centre spot. Gabe stared after him, wondering what the man had meant. Had he realised that Gabe had deliberately fluffed his pass? And did his comment mean that he knew why Gabe had done it. The men who wanted United to lose the match had kidnapped his wife and child, had they also got to the referee?

  CHAPTER 64

  Ray glanced over at the SatNav. Lee’s house was twelve minutes away. The Range Rover was caught in traffic again and Ray couldn’t see any rat runs on the screen. He tapped the steering wheel impatiently. The hold-up was a van unloading office supplies. The driver had parked on double yellow lines and didn’t seem in the least concerned about the tailback he was causing. When he returned from a shop and started pulling a box from the rear of his van, Ray got out and jogged over to him. He was big with a shaved head and the tattoo of a cobweb across his neck, with puffy ears that suggested he’d been a boxer at some point, and not a good one. He was wearing dark blue overalls with the name of a courier on the back.

  Ray tapped him on the shoulder. The man turned, a massive beer gut straining at the material of the overalls. Ray saw that he had LOVE tattooed across the knuckles of his left hand and HATE on the right. Ray needed his game face on and he had to resist the urge to smile. He had never yet come across anyone with tattoos like that who didn’t fold at the first punch. ‘You need to move your van now, mate,’ said Ray.

  ‘What are you, a fucking traffic warden?’ sneered the man.

  Ray punched him in the face, hard enough to make his nose bleed but not hard enough to break it. The man stepped back, blood streaming down his chin. ‘For fuck’s sake!’ he said.

  ‘Move it,’ said Ray.

  The man looked at the blood on his hands in amazement. ‘You hit me,’ he said, as if he couldn’t believe what had happened.

  ‘And if you don’t move that fucking van now I’ll break your fucking legs,’ said Ray, pointing at the man’s bloody face. ‘Now fucking move it.’ Ray took a step towards the man and he stumbled back against the van.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said the man, wiping his nose with his sleeve. He slammed the rear doors shut and hurried to the front of the van. Seconds later he was driving down the road.

  Ray went back to the Range Rover. Two of the drivers in front of him gave him a thumbs-up but a middle-aged woman shook her head disapprovingly. By the time Ray got back into his car the road was clear and he was soon powering along at 50mph, well over the speed limit.

  CHAPTER 65

  Chelsea had the ball in the middle of the pitch, tapping the ball back and forth as they probed for an opening. One of their strikers was just outside the penalty box but Tim Maplethorpe was on him and cutting him no slack. Ronnie Watts was moving up and down the goal line, calling for Devereau to move to the side. A Chelsea midfielder made his run and hared down the left wing. The cross was perfect, low and fast and straight to his feet. He took three steps then sent it in a high curving pass towards the striker but Maplethorpe had it covered and the two men jumped at the same time and the striker fell forward. Watts scooped up the ball, ran and kicked it with all his might. The ball arced up into the air and almost made it to the half-way line. Wood trapped it, swerved by a Chelsea defender and sent it skimming across the turf to Gabe. Gabe’s way was blocked by two Chelsea players so he tapped it to the left, to Armati. Armati did a cute backheel and spin to shrug off the player marking him and kicked it across to Wood. Babacar had made his run and was at the edge of the penalty box. Wood feinted left then went right and kicked the ball high towards Babacar. The crowd was roaring in anticipation of a United goal but the ball was still in the air when the whistle blew, long and hard. Half time.

  CHAPTER 66

  Laura felt the jaws of the clippers grip the duct tape and she pressed down with the thumb. The jaws clicked. She pulled at her wrists but the tape felt just as secure as when she’d started cutting the tape. She had no way of judging her progress, all she could do was to keep cutting as best she could. Her hands were dripping with sweat and several times the clippers had slipped from her fingers. Her hands were hurting and her right wrist was sending lancing pains up through her arm. Tears of frustration ran down her cheeks but she tried not to make any sound because she didn’t want to worry Ollie.

  She took a deep breath, then twisted her hand and tried to find the duct tape with the clippers. She closed her eyes as she concentrated, visualising the tape around her wrists and the jaws of the clips closing on it. She felt resistance against the clippers and pressed down with her thumb. There was a faint clicking sound but she had no way of knowing whether she’d cut the tape or not. She strained at her bonds but they held tight. She blinked away the tears and tried again.

  CHAPTER 67

  Gabe was the first into the changing rooms and he hurried over to his locker. He had just opened it when he felt a shove between his shoulders. He stumbled against his locker door and turned to see Babacar glaring at him. ‘What the fuck are you playing at, man?’ hissed Babacar.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Gabe.

  ‘You know what I fucking mean,’ said Babacar. ‘Every pass you sent me out there was off. Late or early. You trying to get me killed?’

  ‘Don’t be fucking stupid,’ said Gabe, pushing him away.

  Babacar pushed him back and Gabe slammed against his locker door. ‘You need to get your fucking head straight because I got hit twice out there because of you,’ said Babacar. ‘And I got hit fucking hard.’

  ‘Don’t blame me because you’re having a bad game,’ said Gabe.

  Babacar shoved Gabe again this time Gabe pushed back hard with both hands sending Babacar staggering backwards. Babacar bunched his right hand into a fist and launched himself at Gabe but Michael Devereau grabbed him from behind and pulled him away. ‘Cool it. Omar,’ he said.

  The door opened and McNamara walked in. He frowned when he saw Devereau struggling with Babacar. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ asked the coach.

  Devereau let go of Babacar and held up his hands. ‘Just horseplay,’ he said.

  ‘Omar?’ asked McNamara.

  Babacar shrugged but didn’t say anything. He went to grab an energy drink.

  Gabe turned away and opened his locker door.

  McNamara went over to Babacar. ‘What’s going on?’

  Babacar shrugged. ‘Nothing, he growled as he twisted the cap off the bottle. He drank greedily and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘All good, Joe.’

  ‘You sure?’

  Babacar nodded. ‘I’m sure.’

  McNamara walked into the middle of the changing rooms. ‘Right, listen up,’ he said. ‘The boss’ll be in any moment, but I want to get my two pennyworth in first. I know that didn’t go as we’d expected, but one all is no bad thing providing we go in hard in the second half. We had a few good opportunities out there and we could easily be 3-1 right now. Let’s get our heads straight and go back out there fighting. Okay?’

  There were nods and a few ‘yeahs’ from the team. Gabe picked up his phone. There was a text message from an unknown number. His heart raced as he pressed the screen to read it.

  A DRAW IS NO GOOD. YOU MUST LOSE IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR FAMILY AGAIN.

  Tears pricked Gabe’s eyes and he tossed the phone back into his locker and slammed the door shut.

  The door to the changing room was pushed open and Piero Guttoso strode in. The manager had taken off his overcoat to reveal a Savile Row dark blue suit, a blue silk shirt and a dark blue tie. Gold cufflinks peeped from under his sleeves. He strode into the middle of the room and stood with his feet splayed out as he waited for quiet. His cheeks were more flushed than usual, and Gabe figured the wine had been flowing freely in the owner’s box.

  ‘Well, at least we’re not losing,’ said Guttoso. He flicked back his mane of grey hair. ‘That’s about all I can say. The owner isn’t happy, obviously. Like me he thinks we should be winning this game. He doesn’t understand what’s going wrong and frankly I’m at a loss. We made too many mistakes out there, right Joe?’ He looked over at the coach and McNamara nodded in agreement. ‘Small mistakes, stupid mistakes, mistakes that we shouldn’t be making. We should have had this game in the bag by now. We are by far the better team. You need to take a breath, you need to compose yourselves, then you need to go out there and kick the shit out of them. We are the better team. By far. Just go out there and prove it.’

  Several of the team cheered, but Gabe sat with his back against the locker, his hands in his lap.

  The manager looked over at him. ‘Gabe, how are the knees?’

  Gabe forced a smile. ‘All good, Boss.’

  Guttoso jutted his chin at him. ‘A few times out there you looked as if you were struggling.’

  ‘That’s one way of saying it,’ said Babacar sourly. McNamara flashed him a warning look and Babacar turned away and drank from his bottle.

  ‘I lost focus for a bit, Boss,’ said Gabe. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  ‘You’re the captain, Gabe. Lead from the front.’

  ‘Yes, Boss.’

  Guttoso nodded, then turned to McNamara. ‘Joe, maybe go over the throw-ins on the playback. They’re catching us unawares with those long throws.’

  ‘Will do, Boss,’ said McNamara.

  Guttoso nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll go and keep the owner sweet. But trust me, if we don’t pull this game round, he’ll be on the warpath.’ He turned and walked out of the room. Gabe leaned back and banged his head against the locker door.

  CHAPTER 68

  Tommy Kang stood up and stretched. Billy Huang waved his glass at the television. ‘What do you think? Do you think Chelsea will win?’

  Kang shrugged. ‘You can see that Savage is doing his best,’ he said. ‘United could have scored but he fucked up the pass and then Chelsea got the throw in and scored. If he can do that again…’ He went over to the sideboard and poured himself another brandy. He sipped his drink and then turned to look at Zhang and Huang. ‘We need to get this tidied up before CK gets back.’

  ‘When will he be here?’ asked Zhang.

  ‘Game finishes at quarter to five. The traffic will be bad.’ He shrugged again. ‘Half five, maybe.’

  Huang pointed at the ceiling. ‘What about them? Do we deal with them before he gets here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Kang. ‘I guess that depends on who wins.’

  ‘We’re really going to let them go?’ asked Zhang.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Kang. ‘It’ll be CK’s call.’

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Huang.

  ‘They haven’t seen our faces,’ said Kang. ‘They don’t know where they are. If we do release them then there’s a good chance Savage will keep quiet about it. If we finish them off…’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘But if United win…’ said Zhang.

  ‘Then we’ll be offing them for sure,’ said Kang. ‘CK doesn’t fuck about. And nor does Yung Jaw-Lung.’ He took another sip of brandy. ‘There’s another possibility, though.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Zhang.

  ‘If Chelsea do win, if Savage does as he’s told, maybe he’ll kill them all anyway. Savage and his family.’

  ‘You think he’d do that?’ asked Huang.

  ‘The fewer witnesses the better,’ said Kang with a shrug. ‘Me, I’d feel safer if they were all dead. But it’s not my call. I’m just a footsoldier in this.’ He looked at his watch, then put down his glass. ‘I’m going to check on them.’

  He went upstairs, then paused in the hallway and listened. There was no sound from the bedroom. He pulled on his ski mask and pushed open the door.

  CHAPTER 69

  The SatNav showed that Lee’s house was a few hundred yards ahead. He was in a quiet road, lined with trees, with large detached houses hiding behind high walls. There were no cars parked in the road and no pedestrians, it wasn’t an area where people walked. Ray slowed the car as he drove by Lee’s house. He couldn’t see much of the building itself, but could see several SUVs parked in the driveway. There were two ornate wrought iron gates that were more than ten feet tall and to the left a wooden door set into the high brick wall. Ray couldn’t see any CCTV cameras but he figured they must be there. He drove the full length of the wall and when he reached the neighbouring house he did a U-turn and drove back. He took a longer look at the gate and this time spotted a Chinese man in bomber jacket and jeans. The wooden door led into a single story building to the left of the gates, which he guessed was probably where security were based.

  He couldn’t see a back entrance which meant the gates were the only way in. He pulled over at the side of the road and checked the gun he’d taken from Lee. He put the Glock on the centre console between the two seats and unclipped his seat belt before pulling another U-turn and driving back to the gates. He pulled up at the side of the road just past the driveway and climbed out. He looked up and down the road as if he was lost, then walked towards the gates. The man in the bomber jacket stood in the middle of the driveway looking at him. He was in his thirties with a crop of old acne scars across his cheeks. ‘Is this number 19?’ he asked.

  The man frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Number 19. I’m looking for number 19.’

  The man was wearing a black leather jacket and as he shrugged Ray caught a glimpse of a gun in a shoulder holster. ‘No number,’ he said.

  ‘Every house has a number,’ said Ray. ‘That’s how the postman knows where to deliver the mail.’ He knew the house did have a number – 16 – because it had been on Lee’s driving licence.

  ‘You’re not a postman,’ said the second heavy. He had been standing in the building beyond the gate. He had a wrestler’s build and a shaved head. He was wearing a long coat and from the way his right hand was twitching the garment was concealing something and that something almost certainly spat bullets when the trigger was pulled.

  ‘No, that’s right. But I have to collect a passenger.’

  ‘You’re a taxi?’ asked Long Coat.

  ‘Uber,’ said Ray.

  ‘What’s the name of the passenger?’

  ‘Hunt,’ said Ray. ‘Mister Hunt.’

  Long Coat wrinkled his nose and shook his head. ‘No one called Hunt here. And we don’t use taxis.’

  Ray sighed and peered through at the house. It was a modern steel and glass mansion, two glass-fronted wings either side of a main entrance that looked more like an upmarket car dealership than a family home. There were three black SUVs that he’d seen from the road and beyond them a silver Mercedes. ‘Who owns this place, then?’ he asked. ‘Must be worth a fortune.’

  The man in the long coat took a step closer to the gates and this time Ray saw something black hanging from a nylon sling. A gun. A big one. An Uzi, maybe. ‘You should go,’ said the man. ‘This is private property.’

  Ray couldn’t see anyone else in the building behind the man in the long coat. So just two guards, both armed.

  CHAPTER 70

 

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