Danny decided he had to speak up. ‘I don’t think it’s true,’ he said. ‘About you.’
Holt looked at him. Danny thought he was going to contradict, but he didn’t.
‘Keep thinking that,’ McGee said.
‘Why should we, Matt?’ Holt said. ‘The evidence –’
‘Anton. Do you value your life?’ McGee said.
‘What the hell does that mean?’ Holt stepped back a pace.
‘I’m not threatening you,’ McGee said, putting his hands up. ‘I’m saying if you value your life, then keep out of it. Don’t write a word. Not yet.’
‘That’s a threat.’
‘Not from me,’ McGee said and turned to walk down the tunnel. ‘Not from me,’ he said again. Then he was gone.
PRE-MATCH TENSION
Danny had spent most of the afternoon watching people. Unable to go anywhere and with Holt tapping away on his laptop, he had no option. He’d had two Cokes and a sandwich: now he was feeling jumpy.
Danny had tried to persuade Holt that he shouldn’t condemn McGee until the match, until he did throw the game. But Holt was convinced that McGee was going to let Russia win. Danny tried arguing with him for a while, but got nowhere.
So Danny sat and thought: trying to sift through everything he knew, thinking what he could do next.
A couple of hours before kick-off he got a text from Paul.
What d’y reckon? 2-2? P
Danny replied.
Depends on McG. If he plays bad, we lose. D
Throughout the afternoon more football writers arrived. Many of them Russian, who nodded a greeting, then got on with connecting their laptops up to their desks. And talking to each other in low voices, occasionally laughing at each other’s remarks.
But something had changed in the atmosphere too. Danny started to feel that tingling he got in his shoulders – the butterflies he got in his chest – when he was on the way to watch City back home. Pre-match tension. The best feeling in the world. And he was surprised that it made him think of his dad. And he had a disturbing thought: this would be the first match he’d been to without his dad. Ever.
His tingling turned to sadness. Or loneliness. He wasn’t sure. One thing he knew was that he missed his dad.
It just didn’t feel right. Being here without him.
When Holt had to leave to make some phone calls, out of earshot of the other journalists, Danny used Holt’s laptop to check his emails. He drafted an email to his dad. Hello. Wish you were here. That sort of thing. Then he surfed the Net and found a match preview.
England go into today’s vital qualifier only needing a draw to keep their World Cup campaign on track. After beating Russia at Wembley, one point each would leave England two points clear of a Russia team running out of time to catch England. But England have promised to play an expansive game, and not to defend, which, in the manager’s own words, would be ‘an invitation to the Russians to score’. The World Cup finals beckon and…
Danny felt a surge of excitement. Even though he had worries – how he was going to get out of this country being the first of many – he loved the football, loved the prospect of watching a team he supported playing for something so important.
However, there was something else on Danny’s mind too: he was bursting for the toilet. But Holt was still away.
Danny decided to risk it, even though Holt wouldn’t want him to. He needed to go. So long as he didn’t leave the press area, he’d be OK. That was the deal with Holt, wasn’t it?
As it happened, though, the gents appeared to be locked, so Danny had to go right down to the ground floor, under the stadium, to find a toilet. Out of the press area, but still in a part of the stadium closed to the public. Past some offices and a small gym with exercise bikes and treadmills.
As he was about to enter the toilets, a man came out.
The man nodded, held the door open for Danny, then disappeared down a corridor. As he did, two men emerged from the pitch area. The two men in black. One of them pointed to the toilets. The other nodded. They’d seen Danny go in.
The two men had been given orders. Deal with the boy. Direct orders from Tupolev – which meant you got the job done.
But the men were unaware that Matt McGee was watching them and had seen Danny go into the gents too.
The men in black went towards the toilet door, looking up and down the corridor. Checking. Now they could finish the piece of work they’d meant to deal with on the banks of the Moskva. They pushed the door open gently. No need to warn their target they’d arrived.
But that was when they saw Matt McGee running towards them; he rushed past and along the corridor, possibly out of the stadium.
The two men looked at each other, puzzled for a second, then they sprinted after McGee. He was their priority. If they let him slip away their boss would kill them. Quite literally.
They’d get the boy later.
In the gents, Danny heard the door and expected to see someone come in after him, but no one did. He heard the sound of running too, but assumed it was the players coming back from warming up.
The two men in black watched McGee double back down the corridor, head down the tunnel and run a lap of the pitch, in front of some England fans, there in good time, as Danny came out of the toilets and went back upstairs.
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Toilet.’
Holt sighed. ‘You should have waited for me.’
‘You’d gone. I was desperate.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Under the stand. It was fine.’
Holt nodded. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I’ve got us a lift on the England coach later. Back to the airport and fast track on to the plane. I talked to a mate at the FA.’
‘Great.’
‘So all we have to do is stay
