‘Sorry, thought I’d put it on silent.’

  ‘Yeah, well you clearly didn’t,’ said Donovan. He looked over at Wesley. ‘Sorry that my associate is such an arsehole.’

  Wesley shrugged. ‘S’okay. So long as it’s not the cops calling.’

  ‘See now, that’s not funny,’ said Donovan. The theme tune continued to ring out. ‘Fucking hell, Ray, will you deal with that?’

  Ray reached for his phone but as he did the two Yardies opposite pulled out their guns and aimed them at him, gangster-style, the butts parallel to the floor. Ray raised his hands. ‘Guys,’ he said, ‘it’s a phone.’ He pointed at his left armpit with his right hand. ‘This is where my gun is.’ He pointed at his right jacket pocket. ‘This is where my phone is. Now I’m going to take it out slowly and you’ll see it’s a bloody iPhone and not a Heckler and Koch. Okay?’

  One of the Yardies waved his gun at Ray’s chest, his finger on the trigger. ‘Let’s see it, man.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, how many guns do you know that play the James Bond theme?’ asked Ray.

  Mike pulled out his gun and aimed it at the Yardie who was threatening Ray. ‘Put the fucking gun away,’ he said.

  The second Yardie took a step towards Mike and aimed his gun at Mike’s face. ‘You drop your gun first!’ he shouted.

  The third Yardie pulled his gun from his belt and waved it around as if unsure who he should be pointing it at, then Barry produced his Glock and aimed it at him, his face impassive.

  Wesley stood up slowly and pulled out his gun, a large chromed automatic with a mother-of-pearl handle. He pointed the gun at Donovan. ‘What the fuck’s going on, man?’ he shouted.

  Donovan smiled and raised his hands. ‘For fuck’s sake, Wesley, will you fucking chill out.’ He looked over at Ray. ‘See what you’ve fucking started here?’

  Ray sighed and raised both his hands high up above his head. ‘Guys, look, I’m sorry, OK?’ he shouted. ‘My fucking bad. I’m an arsehole for not switching my phone off but what’s done is done. It’s a fucking phone. It’s an iPhone 5 for fuck’s sake. It’s not even a 6 or a 7. So let me take it out and switch it off and we can carry on with business. OK?’ He kept his left hand above his head as he reached down slowly with his right hand to fish out the still-ringing phone.

  Wesley relaxed slightly but still kept his gun pointed at Donovan. ‘Are you fucking happy now, Wesley?’ asked Donovan. ‘It’s a phone for fuck’s sake. Put your pea-shooter away.’

  ‘Who the fuck is it?’ asked Wesley.

  ‘What the fuck does that matter?’ Donovan pointed his finger at Ray. ‘Turn that fucking thing off, Ray, or I swear I’ll shove it so far up your arse that you’ll be burping text messages.’

  Ray stared at the screen, frowning.

  ‘Ray, turn that fucking thing off now,’ growled Donovan. ‘Or I swear to God I’ll shoot you myself.’

  Ray turned his back on Donovan and took the call. ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘Ray?’

  ‘You dialled my number by mistake, did you?’

  ‘Are you in London?’ asked Gabe.

  ‘You don’t talk to me for what, ten years, and now you want to know where I am.’

  Donovan stood up, pulled out a Glock and gestured at Ray with it. ‘For fuck’s sake, Ray, we’re in the middle of something here, if you hadn’t noticed. Put the fucking phone away.’

  Ray waved him away without turning around. ‘You’ve got a fucking cheek, Gabe.’

  ‘I need your help, Ray.’

  ‘What?’ It was the last thing Ray expected to hear.

  ‘I need your help. It’s Laura. She’s been kidnapped. And Ollie. I’m in deep shit, Ray. I didn’t know who else to call.’

  ‘What the fuck?’

  Donovan walked over and put his left hand on Ray’s shoulder but Ray shook him off. ‘Ray, what the fuck are you playing at?’ snapped Donovan.

  Ray turned to glare at him. ‘It’s Gabe. He’s in trouble.’

  Donovan frowned. ‘I thought him and you never spoke.’

  ‘We don’t. He wants fuck all to do with me. But he needs my help. It’s serious. I’ve got to go, sorry.’

  Donovan stared at him for several seconds and then he nodded. ‘Okay. Fuck off.’

  ‘Will somebody tell me what the fuck’s going on?’ shouted Wesley. ‘Are we doing this fucking deal or not?’

  ‘Ray’s got to go,’ said Donovan.

  Ray started walking towards the door. Wesley pointed his gun at Ray’s back. ‘You ain’t going anywhere!’ he shouted.

  ‘Leave him be,’ said Donovan. ‘He’s got family troubles.’

  ‘Family troubles? What the fuck?’

  ‘Just let him go.’

  ‘How do I know he’s not going to get the cops?’

  Donovan laughed harshly. ‘Ray Savage talking to the cops? Give me a fucking break, Wesley. ‘

  Ray reached the door, pulled it open and left the building.

  Donovan put his gun into his holster and raised his hands. ‘Look Wesley, all’s good. Ray’s just got some personal business to take care of. We’re all good.’

  Wesley jutted up his chin, then nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, okay.’ He put his own gun away and nodded at his team to do the same. Mike was the last to lower his gun and slide it into his holster. Wesley gestured at the door. ‘Families always fuck you over, one way or another.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Donovan.

  ‘Always asking for money or help or whatever. Mine drive me fucking crazy. Three wives, eight kids. I should learn to keep my dick in my pants, right?’ Wesley sat down and sighed. ‘Okay, let’s get down to business. How the fuck are we going to handle the Turks?’

  CHAPTER 18

  Ray walked away from the carwash, his phone clamped to his ear. ‘What the fuck’s going on, Gabe?’

  ‘Laura’s been kidnapped. If I don’t throw this afternoon’s game, they’ll kill her. And Ollie.’

  ‘Who’ll kill her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know? How can you not know?’

  ‘All I got was a call. From Laura. She was with some guys in ski-masks. They said we had to lose. If we don’t lose, they’ll kill her. And Ollie.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m heading to the training ground to get on the team bus. The match starts at three.’

  ‘Have you called the cops?’

  ‘No. Do you think I should?’

  ‘No, mate. The cops’ll only fuck it up.’ He stopped walking. ‘Look, Gabe. You’re sure it’s not a con? Have you tried calling her?’

  ‘It goes straight through to voicemail. And there’s no answer on the home phone. Ray, what do I do? I’m at my wit’s end here.’

  ‘Just stay calm, Gabe. I’ll find her. Where was she last time you saw her?’

  ‘At home. This morning. They were coming to the match later.’

  Ray started walking again. His BMW was parked next to the black Range Rover that Donovan, Mike and Barry had arrived in. ‘And you’ve no idea who they might be?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘You haven’t been dealing with any shady characters?’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  Ray took his key fob from his pocket and clicked it. ‘Don’t snap my head off, Gabe. I’m just asking. Maybe it’s someone you know, someone you’ve crossed paths with.’

  ‘You think someone I know has done this?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking you.’

  ‘I’m not in bed with match-fixers, if that’s what you mean.’

  Ray pulled open the car door and climbed in. ‘What about the guys in the ski-masks?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What can you tell me about them?’

  ‘Hell I don’t know.’

  ‘What did they look like?’

  ‘Are you not fucking listening? They were wearing ski-masks.’

  ‘I heard you. But were they white? Black? Asian?’

  ‘Not black. White maybe. I don’t know, Ray.’

  ‘Big, small, short, tall?’

  ‘Difficult to say.’

  ‘Taller than Laura? Shorter?’

  ‘She was in a chair. They were standing over her.’ There was a silence of a couple of seconds. ‘Yeah, they weren’t tall. And they didn’t look big. Not that big, anyway. Average.’

  ‘Anything else? Anything you can remember?’

  ‘They had guns.’

  ‘Okay. But what about the men?’

  ‘I keep telling you, Ray. They were wearing fucking ski-masks.’

  ‘Clothes, Gabe. Jewellery. Watches. Anything that might help identify them.’ He started the engine.

  ‘I took screenshots,’ said Gabe.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Screenshots. While they were talking.’

  ‘Why the fuck didn’t you say so. Send them to my phone.’

  ‘I will do. Ray, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to check your house. Just to make sure they’re not there and that someone’s not pulling your chain.’

  ‘This isn’t a fucking prank, Ray. Do you want the address?’

  ‘I know where you live, Gabe. Don’t worry, I’ll get this sorted, one way or another.’ Ray ended the call, tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and drove out of the car park. Two minutes later his phone beeped to say that he’d received a text message. Then another. And another. Ray ignored them and concentrated on cutting through the Saturday morning traffic.

  CHAPTER 19

  Gabe drove into the training ground. From the number of luxury cars in the car park it looked as if he was the last to arrive. He hurried into the changing rooms. Tommy Brett pointed at the wall clock. It was 10.15. ‘I’m going to have fine you, Gabe,’ said the assistant coach. ‘You know the rules.’

  ‘I was checking on Eric for Joe,’ said Gabe, tossing his kitbag down in front of his locker.

  ‘He didn’t tell me, sorry,’ said Brett.

  Gabe’s training kit was hanging up inside his locker, freshly laundered. He kicked off his shoes, then took off his suit and hung it up.

  ‘So, what’s the story with Eric?’ asked Brett.

  ‘He wasn’t home, but his car was there,’ said Gabe, taking off his tie and shirt.

  ‘Do you think he’s drinking again?’

  ‘I don’t know, Tommy. He’s been off the booze for months.’

  ‘Either that or he got good at hiding it,’ said Brett. ‘He’s gone off the rails before.’

  ‘That was two, three, years ago,’ said Gabe.

  ‘Leopards don’t change their spots,’ said Brett.

  ‘Once a drunk, always a drunk? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘If the cap fits,’ said Brett. “I’m just saying, it’s not the first time he’s fucked up. Okay, see you on the pitch.’ He jogged off before Gabe could say anything.

  Gabe finished changing, grabbed himself a bottle of water and headed out. The training sessions on match day were always a relaxed affair, an hour and a half of warming up and rehearsing a few set pieces. Joe McNamara was running things, wearing a dark blue tracksuit and with his whistle on a club lanyard. He waved at Gabe when he saw him and jogged over. ‘You okay?’ asked the coach.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Still no sign of Eric?’ Gabe shook his head. ‘Did you check the hospitals?’

  ‘I got Tommy to call around but getting information from the NHS is like getting blood from a stone. So if he is in a hospital somewhere, we’re none the wiser. I’m thinking of calling the cops, see if they can get anywhere.’

  Gabe’s stomach lurched at the mention of the police. If he was seen speaking to the police, the kidnappers might think he had called them in. ‘Wouldn’t be great publicity for the club,’ said Gabe. ‘You know the cops always talk to the Press. Guttoso will hit the roof if he read about it in the papers.’

  McNamara swore. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I suppose there’s still a chance he’ll turn up.’ He patted Gabe on the back. ‘Okay, let’s get you warmed up.’ He blew a sharp blast on his whistle to attract the attention of the squad. ‘Right guys, just want to let you know that we’re having problems locating Eric LeBrun, so in his absence Gabe here will be acting captain!’ shouted the coach. ‘Gabe here didn’t ask for the job, he’s had it thrust upon him as it were, so give him your best and don’t give him any grief.’

  ‘What’s happened to Eric?’ asked Devereau.

  ‘He’s not available,’ said McNamara. ‘That’s all we know.’ He pointed over at Johnnie Reid, a young mid-fielder who had joined the squad from Newcastle six months earlier but who had yet to play for the first team. ‘Johnnie’ll take Eric’s place mid-field.’

  ‘So Eric’s been dropped?’ asked Stefano Armati, an Italian player with movie star looks and a seven-figure contract to be one of the faces of Hugo Boss.

  ‘He’s not been dropped, Stefano. We’re just not sure where he is.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Right come on, let’s get moving. Those highly-paid muscles won’t warm themselves up.’

  CHAPTER 20

  There was a red Honda CRV parked in front of Gabe’s house and Ray parked behind it. He ran up to the front door and pressed the bell, long and hard, then shouted through the letter box. There was no reply and he hurried around to the rear garden. The kitchen door was locked and so was the sliding door into the conservatory.

  Ray picked up a rock and weighed it in his hand. Gabe’s house was fitted with an alarm system but if Laura and Ollie had been kidnapped the kidnappers were unlikely to have set the alarm when they left. He threw the rock with all his strength at one of the conservatory windows and it shattered. Ray pulled out the remaining shards and then stepped through into the conservatory. He moved quickly through the ground floor. There were breakfast things on the table in the kitchen but no signs of violence or a struggle. There was a fashion magazine open on a coffee table and an open Chanel handbag on one of the sofas. Ray picked it up. Inside was a purse, make up and keys. He doubted that Laura had left the house voluntarily without taking her keys with her.

  There was a selection of framed family photographs on a low sideboard, mainly of Gabe, Laura and Ollie, including several when Ollie was a babe in arms. There was a large photograph of Laura and Gabe’s wedding with the bride and groom surrounded by friends and family. Ray wasn’t in the photograph. He hadn’t been invited and had only found out about it three months after the event. Gabe had been playing for Oldham Athletic and his agent had just started negotiations with Liverpool. Laura had been five months pregnant at the wedding, but there was barely a bulge to be seen. Gabe and Ray’s parents were there, as proud as punch, and Ray had never forgiven them for not telling him about the wedding. Ray shook his head sadly as he stared at the photograph. He didn’t blame Gabe for cutting him out of his life. He’d probably have done the same if the roles had been reversed.

  He went upstairs and checked the bedrooms and bathrooms, though he knew he wasn’t going to find anything. Ollie’s bedroom was a mess, the quilt half off the bed and clothes thrown around the floor, but Ray was sure that was just the result of general untidiness rather than signs of an abduction. The master bedroom was the opposite, the bed had been neatly made and there were half a dozen cushions arranged perfectly against the headboard.

  The bathroom was spotless with gleaming marble his-and-her sinks. On the side that was obviously Laura’s was a row of perfume bottles. One of them was Chanel Coco. Ray recognised the black bottle. He picked it up and squirted it onto the back of his hand, then sniffed it and smiled.

  He replaced the bottle, went back into the bedroom, sat down on the bed and took out his phone. There were six messages from Gabe, each a screenshot. He flicked through them. There were three men in the pictures, all wearing ski-masks. One of the pictures showed the hand of one of the men. Ray zoomed in on the hand. There was a tattoo between the thumb and the first finger. A scorpion and what looked like a Chinese character.

  He went through the screen shots again, slowly this time. He zoomed into the faces. The eyes could be Chinese, it was hard to tell. One of the men sported a green ring, jade maybe. Another indication that the kidnappers might be Chinese. It made sense. The kidnappers wanted Gabe to throw the game and the Chinese bet millions on UK football matches.

  He called Gabe’s number and it went through to voicemail. ‘Gabe, mate, I’m at the house. I got the pictures. I’m thinking they’re Chinese. I know someone in Chinatown who might help us ID these bastards. Chin up, mate. I’m on it. You play your game, I’ll play mine.’

  He ended the call and stood up, taking a quick look at his watch as he headed downstairs. It was just coming up to eleven. Just four hours to go before kick-off.

  CHAPTER 21

  McNamara had the squad jog slowly around one of the pitches, just to loosen up, then started them on a few passing exercises. It was all gentle stuff, the coach didn’t want any pulled muscles or stupid injuries. The pre-match training was more about building team spirit than anything. Some managers allowed their teams to arrive at the ground on match day, get changed and play, but Piero Guttoso insisted that they meet first at the training ground and travel together to the stadium. He also insisted that players didn’t use phones or headphones on the coach, he wanted them socializing and talking so that when they ran out onto the pitch they were a true team and not a group of highly-paid individuals. Despite there being more than a dozen nationalities on the squad, Guttoso insisted that everyone spoke English. He followed his own rules; there were three Italians on the Walford United team – Luca Moretti, Stefano Armati and Marco Mancini – and whenever he spoke to them he did so in English. Being caught speaking any other language than English was an automatic £200 fine.

  Guttoso rarely attended the training ground himself, he believed in letting his coaching staff do their jobs and judged them by their results rather than micromanaging them. So far his faith in the coaches had paid off and the team were third in the Premier League with the bookies giving even odds of them being on top by the end of the season, now just two months away.

 

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