Dead Ball by Tom Palmer (snow like ashes series .txt) 📕

This time Danny heard the voices loud and clear.

‘A penalty in the first half. A misjudged cross in the second. Yes?’

That was the Russian accent. Tupolev. No question.

There was no reply.

‘Yes?’ said Tupolev, louder, his voice making Danny shudder.

Danny saw the black shoes cross each other, like the other man was adjusting his footing.

‘I heard what you said,’ a voice replied. McGee’s.

Danny exhaled. He couldn’t help himself.

There was a long silence during which none of the feet moved.

‘OK,’ Tupolev said.

The black shoes uncrossed themselves. Then all eight feet moved noisily back into the courtyard.

Danny lay under the Rolls-Royce for a minute. He’d give the men time to leave before he emerged.

And anyway, he had a lot to think about.

What had he just overheard? A Russian billionaire asking an England goalkeeper to let in two goals?

What was going on?

He had to tell Holt. Everything.

But first he wanted to send the film he’d just made to Charlotte. Just in case he lost his phone. Or had it taken off him. This would satisfy her, surely. There was no way she could say this was boring.

He quickly texted Charlotte.

Look after this. Show no one. D x

Then he slid from under the Rolls-Royce, brushed himself down and began to head back across the courtyard to the buzz of voices coming from the reception.

‘Èj!’ Danny heard a shout.

It seemed to have come from above. Danny didn’t have a clue what had been said. But he knew he had to get away.

Instead of going back into the main hall, where he could easily bump into Tupolev or some of his men in suits, Danny darted towards a gateway at the far end of the courtyard. Out into the open.

Behind him he heard pounding footsteps. Just one pair of feet, he reckoned.

He took a quick look.

One man. In black. Gaining on Danny.

Danny sprinted round the side of what looked, in the dark, like a horse-drawn carriage. There was a pile of earth on the floor. Danny hurdled it, and realized it wasn’t earth, but a massive heap of horse manure. It stank. Danny ran on, looking for an escape route.

He heard the man come after him. Too close. Ten metres behind him. Danny gagged. He was terrified. If this man got him, here on the edge of a forest, in the middle of the Russian countryside, he could do anything to Danny and no one would know.

Danny kicked on. And, as he did, he heard a scuffing and a short cry. The footsteps had stopped. Danny looked back. The man had fallen over. In the manure. He was covered in it.

Danny had gained a few seconds. But he had to use them wisely.

Where now? Back round the front of the house? Into the trees fifty metres away? Behind one of the parked-up coaches?

Danny chose the trees. He sprinted across the grass and darted behind the first tree he saw.

Fortunately there was no moonlight, so when the man had regained his footing, he could only look about himself, before running round the front of the house.

Danny stood still as he tried to regulate his breathing. In, out. In, out. Slowly. He felt sick. Being chased was terrifying. It threw his body into a panic. But now he had to calm down. Work things out. Quickly.

So what should he think now? He’d heard Matt McGee talking to the Russians about the match. McGee had appeared to agree to throwing the game. Although he’d not said he would exactly, it was the easiest conclusion to come to.

Danny’s mind was in a whirl. Any detective would be thinking of McGee as the main suspect now. The man who was at the centre of some crime or scam. But Danny didn’t want to believe it.

Then he realized: he didn’t have to believe it. He just had to have it as a possibility. It didn’t have to be true until it actually happened.

And that’s what Danny resolved. He’d try and do something to make it not happen, try and stop people from fixing the game.

Danny decided to wait for ten minutes before he did anything. He’d just stand there. Then he’d go back to the party.

Five minutes later his phone buzzed. It was on silent. He always kept it on silent. Just in case. He looked at the screen. A text from Charlotte. His heart started pounding again. He opened her message. She’d have seen his films from the garage.

What the hell is going on? Who is this? Text me now to say you are OK. C xxx

Danny smiled – and texted Charlotte back:

OK. D

Then he stood at the edge of a Russian forest, thousands of miles away from home. And waited.

Five more minutes. Then he’d go back to the party.

GOOD FRIEND

Danny had been standing in the woods without moving a muscle.

Although he could see no one looking for him, he knew they might be watching. That was why he’d chosen to wait – and to do nothing. That would be what they least expected.

As he waited, Danny listened to the sounds coming from the woods. Rustles. Screeches. And snaps. He smiled. They could rustle and screech and snap all they liked – he wasn’t scared of wildlife tonight.

But he jumped when his phone started to buzz in his pocket. A call this time. Not a text.

A call? From who? Holt? Worrying where he was?

Danny looked at the screen, cupping his hands round it, so the light it gave off wouldn’t be seen.

Charlotte.

Danny fumbled with the phone, nearly dropping it.

‘Hello?’ he whispered.

‘What’s going on? What the hell are you doing? Who were those men in the video?’

‘It’s some Russians…’ Danny tried to explain, keeping his voice quiet.

‘I thought I told you to look after yourself. I’ve been worried. Are you safe?’

‘I’m OK.’

‘Then why are you whispering, Danny?’

Danny grinned. ‘I’m hiding,’ he said.

‘What? Hiding? From who? Danny, tell me.’

‘Some men. We’re at some rich guy’s house. At a party. I went for a look round and… well,