Page 71 of End Game
Sun Anqi dialled a private number on her mobile. When it was answered, all she said was, ‘The high jumper’s cleared the bar.’
‘I’ll let Moscow know immediately,’ said the Russian Ambassador, ‘and we’ll make sure someone is on standby at Sheremetyevo to meet her when she lands.’
•••
Artemisia watched as the Air France plane gathered speed as it set off down the runway. She took one more photograph before it took off and rose steeply into the air. Seconds later, the plane disappeared into a bank of clouds, and she couldn’t resist letting out a small cheer.
•••
The editor only had to read the first couple of paragraphs of Artemisia’s article to realize it was Olympic gold dust.
‘Get Artemisia Warwick on the line,’ he screamed at his secretary, ‘and find the news editor. Now!’ He went on reading the article until the news editor appeared moments later. ‘We’ve got our front-page exclusive,’ he said.
The phone on the editor’s desk began to ring. He handed over Artemisia’s copy and the four photographs he’d selected. ‘I’ve marked the one I think should be on the front page. The rest will make a centre page spread.’ He picked up the phone.
‘You wanted to speak to me,’ said a voice.
‘Where are you, Warwick?’ demanded the editor.
‘At Gatwick station, waiting to catch the next train back to Victoria.’
‘Has their plane taken off?’
‘A few minutes ago,’ said Artemisia.
‘You should have been on it,’ barked the editor, ‘so make sure you’re on the next one.’
Why? Artemisia wanted to ask, but before she could open her mouth to speak, she was told, ‘I need a follow-up piece with pictures of the happy couple standing outside the church where they’ll be married. Quotes from his mother and father about how delighted they are that she was able to join them, and lots more photos. Report back to me the moment you land in Lyon.’
I suppose that’s about the nearest I’m going to get to a compliment, thought Artemisia, as she began running back towards the airport. When she reached the terminal, she headed straight for the Air France desk to purchase a ticket for the next available flight, but she was still yards away when she spotted a forlorn figure leaning on the counter. She felt sick.
‘What happened?’ she cried, as she ran across to join Alain and placed an arm around his shoulder.
She tried to comfort him as he explained exactly what had happened.
‘It was only later I realized,’ said Alain, ‘that the woman in the wheelchair who went into the toilet was far bigger than the woman who came out.’
‘This is an announcement for all passengers travelling on Aeroflot Flight 247 to Moscow. Please make your way to the check-in desk, as the gate is about to close.’
Alain and Artemisia looked at each other. Neither of themneeded to be told where Natasha was. They both took off with the same thought in mind and didn’t stop running until they reached security.
The duty officer politely pointed out that neither of them had a boarding pass. She produced her press pass, but he wasn’t moved. She pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears.
‘But someone is being abducted against her will,’ said Artemisia, her voice rising with every word.
‘Then you should inform the airport police,’ the official told her.
‘By then it will be too late,’ she shouted.
He shrugged his shoulders. Artemisia looked up and saw that Flight 247 had disappeared from the departure board.
•••
Artemisia and Alain walked slowly towards the exit. She didn’t know what to say to reassure him, and could only hope that Natasha was safe and their only purpose had been to get her back to Russia.
‘I’ll have to return to the Olympic Village,’ said Alain, ‘and try to find out if there’s any way of contacting her. When I tried her mobile, a male voice answered.’
Artemisia watched as the dejected figure made his way slowly out of the airport and back into the real world. She tried to remain detached and not become involved – first rule for any journalist – but it just wasn’t possible. She dialled the editor’s number on her mobile, knowing he’d still be at his desk, only to be greeted with the words, ‘Why aren’t you on that plane?’
