The Edge (13 page)

‘She’s in a stable condition, but still unconscious,’ the emergency doctor said, closing the door to Room E12 behind him. Jake peered through the viewing panel and saw Veronika lying on a bed with her eyes closed. She had tubes in both arms and a mask over her face.

I can’t lose her now
, Jake thought, but no one was listening to him, not the paramedics on the ambulance ride over, not
the emergency room staff. ‘I’m telling you,’ said Jake. ‘It’s whatever’s in the drink. Olympic Edge.’

‘And I’ve already told you,’ said the doctor, ‘a sports drink couldn’t have this effect, even if you drank a whole lake’s worth.’

‘At least run some tests,’ Jake said. ‘There are hundreds of bottles of this stuff at the camp.’

‘Enough!’ said the doctor, signalling to a passing security guard. ‘We’ll run the standard toxicology tests to see what this girl has put into herself, but I won’t be lectured by a kid with an overactive imagination.’ He turned to the security guard. ‘Take this young man out of here. He’s not family and he’s getting in the way. If he makes any trouble, call the police.’

Jake was gripped by a vice-like hand. ‘What’s it gonna be, kid? Easy or hard?’

Jake let himself be led away, and waves of hopelessness crashed over him with each step away from Veronika. Why wouldn’t the doctor listen?

He was pushed out into the ambulance bay at the front of the hospital. It was getting dark, and the complex was a good forty-minute walk back through the city to the camp. Jake wished he’d remembered to bring his mobile phone. It had been such a rush to get Veronika to hospital, he hadn’t even
picked up his wallet, so there was no way he could make a call to his dad. Jake set off at a run, letting his frustration drive his legs. He would have loved to see Krantz’s face right then. So much for the case being wrapped up. The guy didn’t deserve to stay afloat after just brushing everything under the carpet like that.

Jake took a route down a deserted road lined with a lock-up facility of low-rise storage units. He presumed it must lead back to Main Street. He needed to speak with his dad again, get Rick to carry out more tests. He
must
have missed something.

Jake suddenly heard footsteps right behind him. He half-turned as something hit him hard near the base of his spine. A stinging surge spread across his body.

Everything went white.

Jake woke up with the smell of leather in his nostrils. His vision swam into focus, and he realised he was in the back of a car, lying awkwardly across a seat. He managed to sit up, but his whole skeleton seemed to ache. Sitting opposite him was Igor Popov and the guy Jake had dropped with a kick to the balls.

‘You bastard!’

Weakly he tried to lunge, but the thug leant forwards and pushed him back into his seat. He waved something that
looked like a police truncheon. As he pressed a button, the end fizzled with silver electricity.

‘I didn’t ask Kurt to use his little toy,’ said Popov, folding his hands between his knees, ‘but I think he rather enjoys it. I think you should relax, Mr Bastin.’

Jake’s head was pounding. ‘Your daughter’s in hospital,’ he said. ‘What do you want with me?’

Popov flinched. ‘Well, Jake, I find myself in an unusual position. You see, I need your help.’

‘You’ll be waiting a long time.’ Jake sat up straight.

‘I thought you might say that,’ said the Russian, ‘which is why I had to resort to such –’ he waved his hand towards the stun-rod – ‘clumsy measures. Jake, I fear that someone is using the Olympic Advantage athletes as guinea pigs, testing illegal performance-enhancing drugs concealed within the supposedly organic energy drink.’

Jake’s eyes widened. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Trouble is no one else believes it.’

‘I don’t yet know who is behind all this,’ said Popov, ‘or even
why
they are doing it, but the last thing I want is for any more athletes to get sick. Or worse.’

Jake considered the Russian for a long moment, but he wasn’t buying Popov’s pure motives. ‘Because Ares Sports might suffer too.’

Popov glared at him. ‘So that my daughter doesn’t die,’ he said. ‘We need to find out what they’re putting in the drink, and then we need to find an antidote.’

Jake held Popov’s stare.
We?
Could he really trust this man, after everything that had happened in Russia and Italy? True, Veronika had changed the stakes considerably, but he wouldn’t put it past Popov to treat a daughter he’d hardly met as collateral damage in a bigger plot.

‘This
Phillips
,’ Popov said the name as if it tasted rotten, ‘cannot have been working alone.’

‘I don’t think Phillips was involved at all,’ said Jake. ‘He was corrupt, but not a murderer.’

‘So, do we have a deal?’

Jake stretched his back – the lower half felt badly bruised.

‘I need an answer, Mr Bastin . . .’ said Popov.

Did he really have a choice? Maybe Popov’s people could find something that Rick had missed.

‘Only if, when this is all over, we let the authorities deal with whoever is responsible. I’ve seen your brand of justice before.’

Popov grinned like a wolf, and held out a hand. ‘Understood,’ he said. ‘I just want to see my daughter well again.’

Jake stared at the hand. What would his dad think about this?

Popov must have been reading his mind. ‘Oh, and I don’t
think there’s any need to worry Bastin Senior with any of this, is there?’

Jake took Popov’s hand in his. ‘Of course not,’ said Jake, lying through his teeth.

It was dark by the time Popov pulled up in front of the gates of the complex. The thug handed Jake a mobile phone. ‘That’s to call me,’ said Popov, ‘in case you find anything important.’

Jake pocketed the phone, and started to get out of the car, but something stopped him. ‘How did you know where to find me?’

Popov glanced at the watch on Jake’s wrist. ‘I like to keep my friends close but my enemies closer.’ Popov grinned his devilish grin again. ‘My little gift to you was not without its benefits. It’s got a tracking device so I’ll always know where to find you.’

Jake went to remove his watch. He didn’t like the idea of the Russian keeping tabs on him.

‘Keep it for a little while longer. Now that we are working together, it might come in handy. You never know when you might need me.’

Jake reluctantly nodded and walked back into the camp without looking back. He’d agreed to share information with a master criminal. Just who was Jake Bastin working for now? He thought of Veronika in her hospital bed, barely alive.

You’re working for her.

Back in his room, Jake washed his hands several times, but still thought he could feel Popov’s touch, smooth as snakeskin. He’d sworn to himself in Milan that he’d never trust him again.

But sometimes you had to deal with the devil to get things done.

A
fter breakfast, Krantz called all the athletes together in the main stadium over the tannoy. There was to be a combined training session in aid of bringing the camp closer together. It was like he’d forgotten a certain tennis star was lying in hospital less than three miles across town.

As Jake ran out in his training kit at ten o’clock, he saw his dad talking to a small group of athletes in the stadium grounds. In total there were close to two hundred at Olympic Advantage and they were now all scattered around. At least he wouldn’t have to be up close to Oz this morning.

At least half the athletes were holding or swigging bottles of Olympic Edge. Jake didn’t get it: a lot of these young men and women had been drinking it for over a week. There was no pattern. Otto had been huge, BeBe small. Completely different lifestyles and sports. The Brazilian said she didn’t even drink the stuff. But there was definitely something wrong
with Olympic Edge; even Rick didn’t seem to understand what was in it.

‘All right, everybody, get together,’ called his dad. ‘My name is Steve.’ He caught Jake’s eye and gave him a friendly nod – at least he hadn’t mentioned his surname. ‘We’re going to mix things up a bit today: fast and slow, strength and agility, stamina and power. I expect we’ll see some interesting contrasts between your respective disciplines. We’ll get things started the old-fashioned way, though, with a few light laps. I need a pacemaker.’ He pointed to Oz. ‘Ellman, you’ll do. Keep it gentle, yes?’

As they set off round the track at a light jog, Jake wondered what the point was. A lot of the others were chatting to each other, but he kept quiet. He really wanted to speak with Dr Chow – she’d been tasked with measuring the effects of Olympic Edge, and she’d lost someone close to her. Maybe the doctors at the hospital would listen to her?

Jake felt a shove in his back, but ignored it. They were running bunched up, so it was inevitable.

‘Get out of the way!’

Jake twisted, expecting to see one of Oz’s pals, but it was a gymnast, a Canadian guy called Adam Lee whom Jake had spoken to a couple of times with Tan. His eyes were wild, and despite the slow pace he was dripping with sweat.

‘We’re supposed to be taking it slow,’ said another runner.

Lee launched forwards, practically clambering over the people in front. People started to grumble:

‘Watch where you’re going!’

‘Slow down, man!’

But Lee wasn’t listening. He broke through the front of the pack, shouldering Oz aside, and sending him sprawling. Normally Jake wouldn’t have minded seeing the Australian take a spill, but something was wrong. Lee continued to charge ahead.

‘Stop him!’ Jake yelled.

Dom broke away after Lee. If anyone could catch him, it would be the Jamaican sprinter. But just as he was getting close, the Canadian jerked sideways, veering off the track and across the central field. It looked like he was sprinting for a gold medal. The rest of the pack had come to a halt.

Jake saw his dad from the other side of the track, running as fast as his false limp would allow to intercept Lee. With his head down, arms and legs pumping, the gymnast didn’t see Steve Bastin until Jake’s dad rugby tackled him in the middle, bringing him to the ground in a blur of tangled limbs.

Jake ran across. At first, he thought they were fighting on the ground as Lee thrashed and his dad tried to hold the gymnast down, but as Jake drew closer he could see Lee’s
eyes were shut and he was frothing at the mouth.

‘Give me a hand!’ shouted his dad.

Jake knelt on the grass and managed to control the gymnast’s bucking legs. One of Lee’s arms came free and he slammed his fist into the ground so hard Jake thought he’d break every bone in his hand. Jake managed to grab the flailing arm, but he tore it loose again, and Jake was left holding a beaded bracelet on a leather thong from his wrist.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Oz, his voice full of uncertainty.

‘Phone an ambulance,’ said Jake. ‘And get Dr Chow!’

Lee was gurgling, and blood was coming out of his nose. Jake wasn’t sure if it was internal bleeding, or if he’d managed to hit himself. With a final, shuddering convulsion, Lee flopped, suddenly still. His head flopped back, and his eyes were closed.

‘Let’s take him inside,’ said his dad, lifting him by the shoulders. Jake took Lee’s feet, and together they hoisted him up. They hurried across the field as quickly as they could, with a loose group following them.

Jake could already feel Lee’s skin going cold beneath his touch.

Ten minutes later, with only Jake and his dad looking on, Dr Chow was breathing heavily from her attempts at resuscitation. She hunched over Lee’s body, which they’d laid
across a table-tennis table, pumping his chest. ‘Come on!’ she said. ‘Breathe!’

Jake’s dad had made the others wait outside, for fear of crowding the doctor, but Jake thought she was fighting a losing battle.

‘Let me try,’ said his dad.

Dr Chow looked over. ‘I’m a doctor,’ she said accusingly.

‘Don’t worry,’ said his dad. ‘I’m trained. And, to put it bluntly, you need to be strong to carry out a prolonged resuscitation like this.’

Jake caught a flash of annoyance in Dr Chow’s face, but she stepped aside as his dad took up the position, and began the rhythmic compressions. After a minute he stopped and placed two fingers to Lee’s throat. ‘I’ve got a pulse!’

Jake realised he’d been holding his breath and let it out.

‘Thank God!’ said Dr Chow.

Jake’s dad held his hand over Lee’s slightly open mouth. ‘He’s breathing too,’ he said. He rolled Lee into the recovery position as the sound of sirens came from outside.

‘I’ll show them the way,’ he said to Dr Chow, leading Jake outside.

She stood over Lee, one hand protectively on his shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much.’

A crowd of the other runners had gathered outside the
sports studio, and his dad ran over to the ambulance and the paramedics who were gathering their things. Then Jake realised he was still gripping Lee’s snapped bracelet. Some of the crowd were shaking their heads in disbelief; others were crying quietly. Jake went back inside the studio to drop it off. He knew it was sentimental, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

At the door to the table-tennis courts, Jake paused for a moment to peer through the wire-mesh viewing panel.

The doctor was leaning over Lee’s body, still gripping his upper arm. In her other hand was a syringe.

‘Out of the way, please,’ said a voice behind him. ‘Coming through.’

Jake moved as the paramedics entered the studio hall.

‘Everything OK?’ asked his dad, drawing up behind him.

‘I’m not sure . . .’ said Jake.

‘He’s going into shock!’ said the paramedic.

Jake turned back to the room. Lee was spasming on the table, his legs thrashing, and his back arching. One of the paramedics tried to support his head while the other lay over his body. Dr Chow had stepped away, her hand over her mouth.

Jake tried to push into the room, but his dad pulled him back. ‘Let them work, son.’

‘But, Dad –’

‘No buts. He’s in the best hands now.’

Jake didn’t bother to protest. He’d heard the same steel in his dad’s voice before and he knew there was no point arguing.