Private Games

Chapter 102

THE CROWD ALONG the south side of Birdcage Walk, facing St James’s Park, is bigger and deeper than I had anticipated. But then again, the men’s marathon is one of the final competitions of the Games.

It’s beastly hot, half-past eleven, and the leaders are coming around to start the second of four long laps that constitute the racetrack. I hear the crowd’s roar, and spot the runners heading west towards the Victoria Memorial and Buckingham Palace.

Carrying a small shoulder sack, I push to the front of the crowd, holding aloft my Olympic security pass, which was never taken from me. It’s critical that I be seen now, here, at this moment. I’d planned to find any policeman I could. But when I look down the side of the course, I see someone familiar. I duck the tape and walk towards him, holding up the pass.

‘Inspector Casper?’ I say. ‘Mike Lancer.’

The inspector nodded. ‘Seems to me you got a raw deal.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, then add, ‘I’m no longer official, of course, but I was wondering if I could cut across the street when there’s a gap in the runners. I wanted to watch from the north side if I could.’

Casper considered the request, then shrugged and said, ‘Sure, why not?’

Thirty seconds later, I’m across the street, pushing back through the crowd and into the park. Inside, I move east, glancing at my watch and thinking that Marta will release Daring in ninety minutes or so, right around the end of the marathon, a move that should attract heavy police attention and give me enough of an edge to ensure that I can’t possibly be beaten.

I won’t be defeated today, I think. Not today. And never again.