Page 41 of End Game
When her parachute opened moments later, most of the crowd clapped and cheered, while three spectators fainted. The cheering grew even louder as the parachute continued to make its way slowly down towards the centre of the stadium.
William had been among the few people who had known about the secret for weeks. He now nursed another secret the public weren’t aware of. But for how much longer?
Five minutes left.
A lightbulb in the Gold suite blew, and William’s heart missed a beat, but when he looked back at the screen, the stage remained bathed in light.
He could see the audience looking on in admiration as the performance began to unfold. William could only wonder if the exuberant crowd would ever see the eternal flame lit to officially declare the opening of the Thirtieth Olympiad.
Four minutes left.
As a precaution, he began to set in motion preparations for a worst-case scenario. He first radioed the protection team in the Royal Box.
‘Be ready to get HM out at a moment’s notice. Have her car up front, engine running. Understood?’
‘Understood, Commander,’ said a voice, not asking why.
Three minutes left.
William’s gaze rarely left the screen. He assumed that at any moment the stadium would be cast into darkness. His heart was pounding as he tried to decide what would be the best course of action. The Queen would have to be movedfirst, then the Prime Minister, followed by Michelle Obama and François Hollande, and the presidents of Germany and Italy, and finally the Mayor of London.
Two minutes left.
‘The distribution box is installed,’ said the General, ‘and all that’s left to do is attach the cables, which Sergeant Johnston tells me should only take a minute, possibly two.’
William wanted to say there’s a big difference between one minute and two, but simply held his breath.
Moments later, his heartrate doubled when Ross and the Sergeant disappeared from the screen and the stadium was thrown into total darkness for a second time.
His worst fears realized.
•••
The Chinese Ambassador switched on his torch, refilled the two champagne glasses and raised his hand in a mock salute. ‘To the British Empire, on whom the sun never sets.’
‘God Save the Queen,’ said the Russian Ambassador, as their two glasses touched.
Around them, the audience sat quietly, patiently waiting, assuming the blackout was all part of the build-up before the main event.
‘How long before panic sets in,’ mused Wei Ling.
‘Not too long,’ suggested Mikailov. ‘In fact …’ but before he could finish his sentence, the lights came back on. The cheers that followed were deafening. The crowd clearly thought the temporary blackout was all part of the spectacle that was about to unfold.
•••
‘Thank you,’ said William, but the General had already turned off his phone and left to rejoin his wife in the stand to enjoy the opening ceremony.
‘Such a clever idea to turn all the lights off and leave us in suspense,’ she said, as her husband sat back down beside her.
‘Very clever,’ agreed the General.
‘You nearly missed it.’
‘The queue for the lavatory was very long.’
•••
In the hours that followed, over a billion people enjoyed Danny Boyle’s memorable production. The crowds, both in the stadium and at home, delighted to see Mr Bean accompanying the London Symphony Orchestra on the keyboard, laughed and cried at the heartfelt tribute to the NHS, and raised the roof when the eternal flame was lit by a group of seven young athletes.
