‘It was a woman called Anna Loverdos. She’s on the International Relations Committee of the HFF.’
‘Yes, I know. She keeps calling me to offer her sympathies about Bekim. I’ve been avoiding her calls but now I think I’ll get back to her. Maybe tonight.’
‘As a matter of fact I’m pretty sure Anna introduced Valentina to Bekim Develi, too. Really, Scott, that’s all I know. Only please, don’t let any of this get out. Anna could lose her job.’
‘And I know how keen you all are to keep your jobs.’ I nodded. ‘On one condition.’
‘Yes?’
‘That when you and I see each other again, at next week’s game, you’ll shake my hand. Before and after the match. Properly. Because that’s the example we’re supposed to give those who watch the game. If we don’t have respect for each other we don’t have anything. And I’m fed up with the British press hunting for reasons why we don’t get on.’
As he nodded I grabbed his shirt collar through the gate, and pulled him towards me quickly so that he banged his head hard on the railings.
‘And if you ever call me a black Nazi again, you cunt, I’ll fucking have you up before a FIFA disciplinary committee.’
I got back in the car and Charlie drove off.
‘Speaking as a Green, sir,’ he said, ‘that was nicely done. Very nicely done indeed. I’d have paid money to see that bastard head hit something harder than a football.’
On the way back to the hotel I saw a tattoo parlour and had Charlie pull up outside so I could get an expert opinion on the dead girl’s tattoo, now on my iPhone. But here — and at another tat parlour closer to the hotel — the SP was that while the labyrinth was well-drawn, the design wasn’t unusual, not in Greece, where the idea of labyrinths got started, more or less.
About the only thing I knew for sure about labyrinths was that there was always a monster waiting at the end.
32
When I arrived back at the Grande Bretagne I found Vik having a meeting in the royal suite dining room with Phil Hobday, Kojo Ironsi, Gustave Haak, Cooper Lybrand and some more Greeks I didn’t recognise. I went into the bedroom, closed the door, picked up the telephone and called Anna Loverdos who sounded more English than Greek.
‘I’m so glad you called me back,’ she said. ‘And I’m so, so sorry about what happened to Bekim Develi. How is his poor wife?’
‘Not good.’
‘If there’s anything I can do for you and your players while you’re in Athens, Mr Manson — anything at all — then please don’t hesitate to get in touch.’
‘Well, there is something,’ I said. ‘But I hardly like to talk about it on the telephone. I was wondering if we might meet up sometime and have a drink.’
‘Of course. And I was going to suggest that myself. Where are you staying?’
‘At the Grande Bretagne.’
‘The Federation is just a ten-minute drive from there. Shall we say six o’clock tonight?’
‘See you then.’
I went into the media room and switched on the widescreen TV, looking for some football. There was a repeat of a UEFA Europa League play-off match from the previous evening, between Saint-Étienne and Stuttgart.
The door opened and Kojo came in, flicking the air with his fly-whisk like an African dictator.
‘Oh, good,’ he said, ‘you’re watching the match.’ He helped himself to a beer from the minibar and sat down.
‘What are they talking about in there?’ I asked.
‘Money, my friend, what else? It’s all those people ever talk about. Don’t get me wrong. I like money as much as the next guy. But to me it’s a means to an end and not an end in itself. I swear, all these fellows talk about is what they can buy and what they can sell and how much profit there is. It’s like hanging out with the International Monetary Fund. Numbers, numbers, numbers. It’s making me crazy, Scott.’
‘That’s why the rich stay rich, Kojo. Because they’re interested in that shit. All those little fractions they’re fond of add up and mean something — usually that the rest of us have been fucked over while we were looking the other way.’
‘Maybe.’ Kojo drank some of his beer. ‘Anyway, I only came here today to watch the game. They don’t get this channel on the boat.’
‘It must be the only thing you can’t get on that boat.’
‘And I’ve got a client who’s playing for Saint-Étienne, Kgalema Mandingoane: the South African boy who plays in goal.’
‘I suppose he’s one from your academy.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’re as bad as the guys next door. Just watch the fucking game, will you?’
I grinned, but we both knew I meant it.
My phone rang; it was Bill Wakeman from the Gambling Commission and for a moment I left the room. We talked for a while, but I didn’t have much to tell him.
‘Is it possible that Bekim Develi was nobbled?’ he asked.
‘I suppose it’s possible,’ I admitted. ‘We won’t know for sure until the pathologists end their strike and someone can give him a post-mortem. But from what I saw, it looked like natural causes. Frankly, it reminded me of what happened to Fabrice Muamba back in 2012. Besides, we were very strict about what the team ate before the match. Our team nutritionist made sure of that.’
I told him about the food-poisoning incident involving Hertha. ‘But it’s hard to see how anyone could have nobbled Bekim and not everyone else,’ I added. ‘If anything he was twice as particular as anyone else about what he ate while he was here.’
‘What about the other players?’ he asked. ‘Could one of them have intended to throw the match?’
‘It would be stupid of me to say that couldn’t happen, since it obviously does happen. But now you’re asking me which of my players is bent enough to throw a football game.’
‘And?’
‘I can’t think of one.’
‘Really? Some of them you hardly know at all. Prometheus has just arrived at London City.’
‘He may be a lot of things,’ I said. ‘But a cheat, I’m sure he isn’t.’
‘He’s African, isn’t he? Nigerian? Half the phishing scams in the world originate in Nigeria. They’re all dodgy. And from what I’ve read about him, he’s dodgier than most.’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Mr Wakeman.’
‘I’m sorry if I misspoke, Mr Manson. I certainly didn’t mean to offend you. But you know, one particular punter in Russia — someone nicknamed the Russian bear — made a killing on this game. They won’t say how much, but the bookies reckon that game might have cost them as much as twenty million pounds.’
‘My heart bleeds for them. Look, I’d like to help. But I don’t see what I can do from here. Right now all I really care about is that I get my team back to London as soon as.’
I ended the call and went back into the media room.
‘You know, you really should think about buying this boy, Scott. You’re going to need another goalkeeper now that Didier Cassell isn’t coming back to the game. I happen to know Mandingo — that’s what the French call him...’
I went to the fridge and helped myself to a Coke.
‘I’m glad I’ve got this opportunity to be alone with you, Scott. There’s something else I want to talk to you about. It’s about Prometheus.’
I sighed. ‘Why is it that every time I hear that boy’s name I want to rip someone’s fucking liver out?’
‘It was Prometheus who hung that evil eye trinket on the door handle of Bekim’s bungalow. The night before he died.’
‘I might have known he’d have something to do with it.’
‘The boy meant it as a stupid joke. Only now he’s worried sick that it actually worked. And I do mean sick.’
‘Come on, Kojo. That sort of thing. It’s bollocks.’