Private Games

Chapter 114

LIGHTNING FLASHED IN the near distance and the wind began to gust as Knight reached the entrance to the observation deck of the Orbit. Samba music blared from inside the Olympic stadium as part of Brazil’s tribute to the 2016 games.

Though they’d been warned that he was coming, the Gurkhas at the entry insisted on checking Knight’s ID before allowing him to enter. Inside he was met by the senior SAS man, a guy named Creston, who said that he and his team and the skeleton television camera crew had been on the deck since roughly five o’clock when the restaurant had been closed to everyone but the Queen’s guardsmen who were using the gents’ inside to change in and out of uniform.

Queen’s Guard, Knight thought. Lancer’s regiment served in the Guard. Hadn’t he said that?

‘Get me in that restaurant,’ Knight said. ‘There might be a triggering device tied into the gas line above the kitchen.’

In seconds, Knight was running through the restaurant towards the kitchen with the SAS man in tow. Knight looked over his shoulder at him. ‘Are the roof hatches open?’

‘No,’ Creston said. ‘Not until the end of the ceremony. They’re timed.’

‘No way to talk to the guardsmen up there?’

He shook his head. ‘They aren’t even armed. It’s a ceremonial bit.’

Knight pressed his microphone. ‘Stuart, where do I go up through the ceiling?’

‘In the kitchen, left of the oven hood,’ Meeks replied. ‘The kitchen is past the toilets and through the double doors.’

As Knight went into the hallway towards the kitchen, he saw the gents’, remembered that the guardsmen got changed there, and had a sudden strange intuition. ‘When did the relieved guards leave?’ he asked the SAS man.

Creston shrugged. ‘Right after their shift. They had seats inside the stadium.’

‘They changed and left?’

He nodded.

Still, rather than barge on into the kitchen, Knight stopped and pushed on the door of the ladies’ toilet.

‘What are you doing?’ Creston asked.

‘Not sure,’ Knight said, seeing it empty and then squatting to peer under the stalls. All empty.

He quickly crossed to the gents’ and did the same, finding a black man’s naked body stuffed into the farthest stall.

‘We have a dead guardsman in the men’s loo up here,’ Knight barked into his radio as he headed towards the kitchen. ‘I believe Lancer has taken his uniform and is now on the roof.’

He looked at the SAS man. ‘Figure out how to get those hatch doors open.’

Creston nodded and took off, with Knight going in the opposite direction, bursting into the kitchen and quickly spotting the trapdoor in the ceiling left of the restaurant’s oven hood and vent. Dragging a stainless steel food-preparation table over beneath the trapdoor, he triggered his mike and said, ‘Can we get a visual on the guards to confirm that one of them is Lancer?’

Listening to Jack relay the request to snipers high atop the stadium, Knight noticed the padlock on the trapdoor for the first time. ‘I need a combination, Stuart,’ he said into his radio.

Meeks gave it to him, and with shaking hands Knight spun the dial and felt the lock give. He used a broom to push the trapdoor open, then looked around the kitchen one last time to see if there was anything he might be able to use or might need to shut down a gas line. A self-igniting blowtorch of the kind that chefs use to caramelise sugar caught his eye. He snatched it up.

Knight tossed the torch up into the crawl space, and then swung his arms twice to loosen them before jumping up and grabbing the sides of the trapdoor frame. He hung there a second, took a deep breath, and raised his legs in front of him before driving them backward with enough force for him to be able to lurch his way up into the cavity between the restaurant ceiling and the roof of the Orbit.

Knight pulled out a slim torch, flipped it on and, pushing the blowtorch in front of him, wriggled towards a piece of copper pipe that bisected the ductwork about six feet away. Knight didn’t have to get much closer to see the bumpy black electrical tape wrapped around it, securing a mobile phone and something else to the gas line.

‘I’ve got the trigger. It’s a small magnesium bomb taped to the gas line,’ he said. ‘It’s not on a timer. He’s going to blow it remotely. Shut down the entire gas system. Put out the Olympic flame. Now.’