Danny smiled. He was being paranoid again. Trying to make his life more exciting, as if he was a character in a book.
He picked up the phone.
‘Are you ready?’ a voice said.
It was Holt.
‘For what?’ asked Danny.
‘Sightseeing.’
‘I thought you had to work,’ Danny said.
‘I’m done,’ Holt said. ‘So are you ready?’
*
They took a taxi across the city. The hotel was in a built-up area, all office blocks. The taxi moved slowly through the packed streets. At times there were six lanes of traffic going each way.
Holt and Danny said nothing to each other until the car drew up at the foot of a large square on the other side of the river.
Holt paid the driver and Danny joined him on the pavement.
And there – above them – was a massive cathedral. Or was it a mosque? Danny wasn’t sure. It was huge. Several swirling domes that looked like ice creams. All red and white and green. Not like the parish church Danny had to walk past on his way to and from school.
Then Danny saw Holt staring to his left. Across the square at a towering red wall. A city of yellow buildings behind it. A giant clock tower.
‘What’s that?’ Danny asked.
‘The Kremlin.’
‘Really?’ Danny stared.
This was where the president of Russia lived and worked. One of the most powerful men in the world. And where the leaders of Russia from the past, that he’d read about in his dad’s books, had done their stuff.
They stood in the oversized square. Millions of cobbles gently curving like a football pitch to huge buildings at either side.
‘Then this is Red Square?’ Danny said.
‘Yep.’
They gazed around them. Everything was so big. The walls. The buildings. The square. Danny felt tiny. Like he was an ant. It made him feel edgy.
And he couldn’t stop looking at the cathedral. He was used to churches that were small and one colour. This one was crazy.
‘What do you think of the cathedral?’ Danny asked. He wanted to see what Holt thought of it.
‘It’s St Basil’s.’
‘Right,’ Danny said. ‘But what do you think of it?’
Danny didn’t want to say he thought it was ugly. But part of him thought that. From this side you could see six of the swirling domes, each brightly painted in different colours.
‘I…’ Holt paused. ‘It’s very impressive.’
‘It’s horrible,’ Danny said.
‘You reckon?’
‘I do. It’s too fancy.’
‘It’s one of the most famous landmarks in the world,’ Holt said. ‘It’s just different.’
‘Right,’ said Danny. ‘I’m just saying what I think.’
‘Listen to this.’ Holt had his guidebook out now. ‘It was built by Ivan the Terrible. You’ve heard of him?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And he blinded the architect who made it because he didn’t want him to make anything so beautiful again.’
‘You sure he didn’t blind him before he built it?’ Danny muttered.
Holt smiled. ‘And Napoleon – when he invaded – was going to blow it up. He filled it with gunpowder and set the fuses. But a miraculous rain shower put out the fires.’
‘Oh well,’ said Danny, shrugging. ‘Nice try.’
‘Jesus, Danny. You’re so down on it. It’s not that bad.’
‘I suppose.’
‘I bet there’s loads of good stories about it,’ Holt said. ‘Most cathedrals act as a place of sanctuary – where people can hide if they’re in trouble with the law. I bet a cathedral sees some interesting things go on in a country like this.’
Danny nodded. He was watching a line of soldiers walking towards them. All in long green coats and fur hats.
One at the front was dressed differently. He had on one of the massive brimmed hats. And a camouflage jacket, rather than a long coat.
The soldier – or was he a policeman? – gave Danny a hard stare.
‘I reckon it’d be worth hiding from someone like him,’ Holt said.
Danny nodded. He wanted to make a move. Out of this square that was making him feel more and more uneasy.
SECRET AGENTS
The lobby of the President Hotel was fancy. Seriously fancy. Danny knew why the FA had chosen it for the England squad to stay in.
This was as good as a hotel could get. Dozens of tables and comfortable chairs were set out on a plush red carpet. Overhead, tens of thousands of tiny lights glittered white and gold. There was a balcony above, leaves and flowers cascading down.
He was sitting in an oversized armchair, trying to read The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. But he was mostly watching people come through the revolving doors, past two men in black suits with ties.
Security, Danny assumed.
In Danny’s book, the character he’d thought was good had turned out to be a traitor. And the character he’d thought was a baddy was the nicest character of all. He was seriously confused.
In armchairs around the hotel lobby several groups of people were talking. Others were sitting alone. Reading newspapers. Stirring sugar into their drinks.
When people came into the hotel, most of them just stopped and stared. At the waterfall of light suspended over the lobby. At the spectacular plants cascading from the balcony. At the impressive reception desk, where four smartly dressed receptionists beamed smiles at the hotel’s guests.
Others walked straight past the spectacular entrance to the set of four lifts without even glancing at the foyer. They’ve been here before, Danny thought. Used to it. As if this was a normal kind of place to be in, a place you could ever get used to.
Every few minutes Danny saw an England official. You could tell by the dark blue suit and FA badge they wore. Without exception. Most of them were quite old too. They looked unapproachable. Too important. Posh. Something like that.
But Danny was off limits anyway. Anton had told him:
