‘What are we looking for?’ Knight asked as they heard applause from the entryway in front of them, and a woman’s voice on the public address system announcing the first rotation of the women’s team finals.
‘Anything out of the ordinary,’ Lancer said. ‘Absolutely anything.’
‘When was the last time dogs swept the building?’ Jack asked.
‘Three hours ago,’ Lancer said.
‘I’d bring them back,’ Jack said as they emerged into the arena itself. ‘Are you monitoring mobile traffic?’
‘We jammed it,’ Lancer said. ‘We figured it was easier.’
While LOCOG’s security chief gave orders over his radio to recall the canine-sniffer bomb squad, Knight and Jack scanned the arena floor, seeing teams lining up near individual pieces of gymnastics apparatus.
The Chinese were at the south end of the venue, preparing to compete on the uneven parallel bars. Beyond, the Russians were doing stretching exercises beside the balance beam. The UK contingent, which had performed remarkably well in the qualifying rounds thanks to gutsy performances by star gymnast Nessa Kemp, was arranging gear near the floor-exercise mat. At the far end of the arena, the Americans were preparing to vault. Guards, many of them Gurkhas as well, stood at their posts around the floor, facing away from the competitors so they could scan the crowd for threat with zero distraction.
Knight concluded that an attack on one of the athletes down on the floor was virtually impossible.
But what about their safety back in the locker rooms? Or on the way to and from the Olympic Village?
Would the next target even be an athlete?
Chapter 57
AT SIX-FIFTEEN THAT Tuesday evening, the last of the Chinese gymnasts stuck her dismount off the balance beam, landing on her feet with nary a bobble.
The crowd inside the Chinese Gymnastics Federation’s luxury box high in the arena roared with delight. With one round to go, their team was winning handsomely. The Brits were a surprising second, and the Americans sat solidly in third place. The Russians had unexpectedly imploded and were trailing a distant fourth.
Amid the celebration, Teagan set her drinks tray on the bar and then dropped a pen on purpose. She squatted and in seconds had the thin gas line running beneath her wrist, up across her palm, past her little finger and attached to the back of the ring.
She stood to smile at the bartender. ‘I’m going to clear glasses for a bit.’
He nodded and returned to pouring wine. As the Chinese team moved to the vaulting pit, Teagan’s senses were on fire. She slipped through the crowded luxury box towards a stocky woman in a grey suit who was watching at the window.
Her name was Win Bo Lee. She was chairman of the national committee of the Chinese Gymnastics Association, or CGA. She was also, in her own way, as corrupt as Paul Teeter and Sir Denton Marshall had been. Cronus was right, Teagan thought. People like Win Bo Lee deserved exposure and death.
As she neared the woman, Teagan held her right arm low and by her waist while her left hand slipped into the pocket of her uniform coat and felt something small and bristly. When the distance between her and Win Bo Lee was less than two feet, she snapped her hand sharply upward and squeezed the right side of the ring with her little finger.
With a soft spitting noise rendered inaudible by the joyous conversations in the hospitality suite, the tiny dart flew and stuck in the back of Win Bo Lee’s neck. The CGA’s chairman jerked, and then cursed. She tried to reach around the back of her neck. But before she could, Teagan slapped her there, dislodging the dart, which fell to the floor. She crushed it with her shoe.
Win Bo Lee twisted around angrily and glared at Teagan, who looked deeply into her victim’s eyes, savouring them, imprinting them in her memory, and then said, ‘I got it.’
She crouched down before the Chinese woman could reply and acted as if she were picking something up with her left hand. She stood and showed Win Bo Lee a dead bee.
‘It’s summer,’ Teagan said. ‘Somehow they get in here.’
Win Bo Lee stared at the bee and then up at Teagan, her temper cooling, and said, ‘You are quick, but not quicker than that bee. It stung me hard!’
‘A thousand pardons,’ Teagan said. ‘Would you like some ice?’
The CGA chairman nodded as she reached around to massage her neck.
‘I’ll get you some,’ Teagan said.
She cleared the table in front of the CGA chairman, took one last look into Win Bo Lee’s eyes, and then left the glasses at the bar. Heading towards the exit with no intention of returning, Teagan was already replaying every moment of her quiet attack as if it were a slow-motion highlight on a sports reel.
Chapter 58
I AM SUPERIOR, Petra told herself as she moved parallel to the vault pit along the railing and towards the Gurkha with the thin black moustache. I am not like them. I am a weapon of vengeance, a weapon of cleansing.
She carried a stack of towels that hid her right hand when she smiled at the Gurkha with the moustache, and said, ‘For the vault station.’
He nodded. It was the third time the fat woman had brought towels to the pit, so he didn’t bother to go through them.
I am superior, Petra said over and over in her mind. And then, as it had as a young girl, during the rape and the killings, everything seemed to go strangely silent and slow-motion for her. In that altered state, she spotted her quarry: a slight man in a red sweat-jacket and white trousers, who was starting to pace as the first Chinese woman adjusted the springboard and prepared to vault.
Gao Ping was head coach of the Chinese women’s gymnastics team and a known pacer in big competitions. Petra had seen the behaviour in several films of Ping that she’d studied. He was a demonstrative, high-energy man who liked to goad his athletes to big performances. He was also a coach who had committed repeated crimes against the Olympic ideals, thereby sealing his fate.
The assistant coach, a woman named An Wu, and no less a criminal herself, had taken a seat, her face as emotionless as Ping’s was expressive. An Wu was an easier target than the ever-moving head coach. But Cronus had ordered Petra to take Ping first, and the assistant coach only if the opportunity followed.
Petra slowed in order to match her movement to Ping’s pacing. She handed the towels over the rail to another Game Master, and moved at an angle to the Chinese coach, who was bent over, exhorting his tiny athlete to greatness.
The first Chinese girl took off down the runway.
Ping took two skipping steps after her, and then stopped right in front of Petra, no more than eight feet away.
She rested her hand on the rail, intent on the head coach’s neck. When the Chinese girl hit the springboard, Petra fired.
I am a superior being, she thought as the dart hit Ping.
Superior in every way.
Chapter 59
THE CHINESE COACH slapped at the back of his neck just before his athlete nailed her landing and a roar went up from the crowd. Ping winced and looked around, bewildered by what had happened. Then he shook the sting off and ran clapping towards his vaulter, who beamed and shook her clasped hands above her head.