Private Games

Chapter 37

BY SEVEN THAT evening the world’s eyes had turned to five hundred-plus acres of decaying East London land that had been transformed into the city’s new Olympic Park, which featured a stadium packed with ninety thousand lucky fans, a teeming athletes’ village, and sleek modern venues for cycling, basketball, handball, swimming and diving.

These venues were all beautiful structures, but the media had chosen British sculptor Anish Kapoor’s ArcelorMittal Orbit as the park’s and, indeed, the Games’s signature design achievement. At three hundred and seventy-seven feet, the Orbit was taller than Big Ben, taller than the Statue of Liberty, and soared just outside the east flank of the stadium. The Orbit was rust red and featured massive hollow, steel arms that curved, twisted and wove together in a way that put Knight in mind of DNA helices gone mad. Near the top, the structure supported a circular observation deck and restaurant. Above the deck, another of those DNA helices was curved into a giant arch.

From his position high on the west side of the stadium, at the window of a lavish hospitality suite set aside for LOCOG, Knight trained his binoculars on the massive Olympic cauldron, which was set on a raised platform on the roof of the observation deck. He wondered how they were going to light it, and then found himself distracted by a BBC broadcaster on a nearby television screen saying that nearly four billion people were expected to tune in to the coverage of the opening ceremonies.

‘Peter?’ Jack Morgan said behind him. ‘There’s someone here who would like to talk to you.’

Knight lowered his binoculars and turned to find the owner of Private standing next to Marcus Morris, the chairman of LOCOG. Morris had been a popular Minister of Sport in a previous Labour government.

The two men shook hands.

‘An honour,’ Knight said as he shook Morris’s hand.

Morris said, ‘I need to hear from you exactly what Richard Guilder said before he died regarding Denton Marshall.’

Knight told him, finishing with, ‘The currency scam had nothing to do with the Olympics. It was greed on Guilder’s part. I’ll testify to that.’

Morris shook Knight’s hand again. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want there to be any hint of impropriety hanging over these Games. But it does nothing to make any of us feel any better about the loss of Denton. It’s a tragedy.’

‘In too many ways to count.’

‘Your mother seems to be holding up.’

Indeed, upon their arrival Amanda had been showered with sympathy and was now somewhere in the crowd behind them.

‘She’s a strong person, and when this Cronus maniac claimed that Denton was crooked she got angry, very angry. Not a good thing.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Morris said, and smiled at last. ‘And now I’ve got a speech to give.’

‘And an Olympics to open,’ Jack said.

‘That too,’ Morris said, and walked away.

Jack looked out the window at the huge audience, his eyes scanning the roofline.

Knight noticed and said, ‘Security seems brilliant, Jack. It took more than an hour for my mother and I to get through screening at Stratford. And the blokes with the weapons were all Gurkhas.’

‘World’s most fearsome warriors,’ Jack said, nodding.

‘Do you need me somewhere?’

‘We’re fine,’ Jack said. ‘Enjoy the show. You’ve earned it.’

Knight looked around. ‘By the way, where’s Lancer? Poor form to miss his own party.’

Jack winked. ‘That’s a secret. Mike said to thank you again. In the meantime, I think you should introduce me to your mother so I can offer my condolences.’

Knight’s mobile buzzed in his pocket. ‘Of course. One second, Jack.’

He dug out the phone, saw that Hooligan was calling and answered just as the lights in the stadium dimmed and the audience began to cheer.

‘I’m at the stadium,’ Knight said. ‘The opening ceremony’s starting.’

‘Sorry to bother you, but some of us have to work,’ Hooligan snapped. ‘I got results on that hair sample you sent over this morning. They’re—’

A trumpet fanfare erupted from every speaker in the stadium, drowning out what Hooligan had just said.

‘Repeat that,’ Knight said, sticking his finger in his ear.

‘The hair in Cronus’s envelope and Selena Farrell’s hair,’ Hooligan yelled. ‘They fuckin’ match!’