Close Range

by Nick Hale

  Firm hands gripped his armpits, then twisted his arm behind his back.

  ‘You’re coming with us,’ said an English accent. ‘There’s no time to argue.’

  Jake tried to wrench free, but they weren’t letting go.

  Two guys pushed him towards the cars. The boot was open, and Abri was laid inside with ease by the heavily–muscled guy.

  There’s no way I’m going in there, thought Jake. Granble was probably going to have them driven to a quiet place outside the city so that he could finish what Jaap had started. He pushed with his heels against the gravel, but his legs were hoisted off the ground and before he could fight, he too was in the boot beside Abri. He writhed into a more comfortable position in the confined space, but still her hair was in his face, choking him.

  Jake tried to turn over, and saw the three guys looking down, the smoke-filled sky behind them. ‘Feet in if you wanna keep them,’ said the English one.

  Jake tucked his legs up. The guy slammed the boot, and the rectangle of daylight disappeared. Everything was black.

  The doors slammed in quick bursts, then the engine turned over and rumbled into life. The sounds seemed magnified in the enclosed space. Jake was disorientated. He couldn’t tell where they were headed. At one point after setting off, he heard sirens and imagined it must be the fire-fighters heading to the ruined church.

  ‘Jake …’ Abri said.

  ‘I’m here,’ Jake replied. He tried to shift his cramped body to give her more room. This was up close and personal, but not how he’d imagined.

  ‘Who are those people?’ Abri said. ‘Granble’s men?’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Jake. He lifted his head, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. Perhaps he could open the boot from the inside. Jump out when they slowed at lights. He felt for a release catch, but there was nothing. There wasn’t room to get a good strong kick in, not that either of his legs would respond. All he could do was be ready and waiting when they stopped. But would he even get a chance? These guys had killed before.

  The only thing we’ll get when that boot opens is a bullet to the head.

  21

  Occasionally Jake heard other traffic nearby, and the blast of horns. That was a good sign.

  We’re not leaving the city.

  He managed to roll on to his front and ball up into a low crouch. At least when that boot did open, he’d be ready.

  They drove for about twenty minutes by Jake’s guess, before the car slowed.

  ‘Don’t make a move until I do,’ he said to Abri. ‘Let me take the lead.’

  If bullets were going to fly, they stood more chance if they worked together.

  The car slowed to a stop and the driver killed the engine. Abri’s breath was coming in rapid pants now.

  The doors cracked open, slow and menacing. Jake’s heart was hammering through his ribs. He clenched his fists, tensed his legs to spring. ‘Let them out,’ said a low voice.

  The boot catch clicked. Jake pushed up with all his strength and the hatch flew open. He saw Mr Muscles and swung his fist. It connected clean on the point of his chin and Jake toppled forwards, making sure his momentum caused him to fall on to the guy, who cried out in surprise.

  Jake rolled up off the floor, waiting for the next attack, his eyes scanning for a gun. No one pounced. The other guys were standing well back in a circle. And none were armed. Slowly, the scene came into focus. They were in an underground car park. The man on the floor was on his haunches, rubbing his chin and flexing his jaw.

  ‘God, Steve … your boy packs a good one.’

  Steve?

  Jake spun round and saw his dad with his arms folded across his chest. He was wearing a dark suit and grey tie. And, unless Jake was mistaken, some discreet make-up. The sound of distant cheering reached his ears. It was a noise Jake would recognise anywhere. They were in a football stadium.

  The San Siro …

  ‘It was his mother who insisted on the boxing lessons,’ his dad said to his friend, who was getting up off the floor.

  Jake lowered his fists. ‘What’s going on?’

  Abri was climbing tentatively out of the boot and Jake couldn’t help thinking that she still looked like a model. The black smudges on her face, the tangled hair and the torn clothing could have been staged for a shoot.

  ‘I might ask you the same question,’ his dad replied. He looked gravely at Abri. ‘Monique Herne and Sienna Coppola are both dead.’

  Abri gave a defiant nod. ‘We know.’

  If that surprised his dad, he didn’t show it.

  ‘We heard the police were tracking two teenagers, a guy and a girl, on Herne’s Vespa. We only managed to track you down by triangulating your phone, Jake. If we hadn’t –’

  ‘I can explain –’ Jake started.

  His dad interrupted. ‘What part of observe and report did you not understand?’

  Jake started to protest.

  His dad raised an eyebrow, then looked at his watch. ‘Well, we have about twenty-five minutes before kick-off.’

  The other men disappeared into their cars, and his dad led Jake and Abri upstairs, saying he had to be in the commentary box for the start of the game. They got a few odd looks from the various behind-the-scenes runners on the way, but Jake’s dad rushed them through. He listened patiently as Jake outlined what had happened since leaving his mum’s that morning. More than once he shook his head or pinched the top of his nose in dismay, but he didn’t interrupt. Jake wasn’t sure what he was allowed to say in front of Abri, but so far his dad hadn’t sent her away. He guessed she might be an important source of information for him now about Granble’s activities.

  Maybe the only source.

  They washed up as best they could in his dad’s dressing room. Luckily Jake could fit into his dad’s spare clothes, and he tossed his smoke and blood-stained rags into a bin. Abri charmed another presenter out of his extra shirt and belt, which she wore over her top. In her makeshift dress, she looked ready for the catwalk.

  ‘It’s a good job we got to you when we did,’ his dad said. ‘If the police or fire brigade had found you at the church, you could have jeopardised everything. Jake, what were you thinking?’

  ‘Don’t blame him,’ interrupted Abri. ‘He was trying to protect me.’

  ‘Young lady, I know some people who will want to talk to you. Not the police,’ he assured her. ‘But people who want to bring down Granble as much as you do. This is bigger than your little group can handle, evidently.’

  Jake swallowed. Does he have to be so harsh? She’s lost her two best friends.

  Perhaps his dad was thinking the same thing, because he softened his tone.

  ‘I’m glad you’re both safe. If what you say about this accomplice of Granble – what was his name, Jaap? – is true, then Granble probably thinks you’re both dead. That buys us time. We’ve asked the police to keep an embargo on announcing the deaths of your colleagues. My ex-wife has arranged for some of the players’ wives and girlfriends to take their place.’ He paused to check his watch again. ‘It’s a shame we don’t have any proof of these fake diamonds. Our guys won’t be able to get near the wreckage of the church –’

  ‘Wait!’ said Abri. She reached inside her top. Jake grinned as she pulled out the diamond necklace. She handed it to his father. He held the necklace up and watched it sparkle in the dressing-room lights.

  ‘You’re telling me these aren’t real?’

  ‘Practically worthless,’ said Abri.

  His dad whistled.

  ‘So we’ve got him,’ said Jake. ‘We can take Granble down –’

  ‘Not so fast,’ his dad said, holding up a palm. ‘This isn’t enough. Granble will just deny knowledge of it. Or he’ll make it sound like some sort of security arrangement – using fakes in case of theft. Christ, he’ll probably turn it into a positive and get even more investors.’

  ‘But we can’t let him get away with it,’ Jake said. He felt his blood start to boil.
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br />   ‘I think we’ll have to let this one pass,’ his dad said. ‘The runway show’s at half-time. Our sources say that Granble’s managed to get diamonds from another source at short notice. My guess is that he’s paying through the nose for it, but for appearances’ sake it’ll keep his investors happy.’

  ‘So Granble walks?’ said Abri.

  Jake’s dad nodded sharply. Jake felt a measure of comfort that it seemed to make his dad as angry as he was. ‘For now.’

  ‘Just like Popov,’ Jake said quietly. ‘The guy’s a crook, a murderer, and we watch him walk away with everything.’

  ‘What about Sienna and Monique?’ said Abri. ‘They didn’t give their lives for nothing.’

  Jake’s dad’s face remained impassive. ‘I’m sorry. There’s nothing more we can do at this time. We’ll monitor Granble over the coming months –’

  ‘No way!’ said Abri. She marched towards the door and yanked it open, only to find the beefcake who Jake had floored earlier.

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t let you jeopardise our intelligence work,’ said Jake’s dad. ‘Frank will keep you here until after the game. For your own safety.’

  ‘You can’t do this,’ said Abri, squaring up to Frank. She looked fierce enough, but Frank didn’t look impressed.

  ‘Dad!’ said Jake, gripping his father’s arm. ‘She’s on our side.’

  His dad looked for a second at Jake’s hand.

  ‘Listen, Jake. Granble’s sitting up in the VIP box at the moment. I doubt he’ll even stay around after half-time. He’s a clever guy. If we try to take him without enough evidence, he’ll make it a hundred times harder for us next time. You must understand that a man like him doesn’t just present you with an open goal. He puts eleven men behind the ball and hits you on the break.’

  Jake let go of his father’s arm. He felt like punching a hole in the wall. ‘I get it.’

  His dad straightened his collar and sleeves. ‘Now I have a game to commentate on in ten minutes.’ He raised the tiny roving mic a few inches up his lapel. ‘How do I look?’

  Jake was still looking at the mic, and a plan was forming in his mind.

  ‘Jake?’

  Jake felt a slow smile spreading over his face. ‘What if we could get Granble to confess?’

  ‘Enough of this,’ said his dad sternly. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘No, wait,’ said Jake. ‘I know what we need to do. Hear me out.’

  His dad checked his watch. ‘You have two minutes … Convince me.’

  Fifty minutes later, Jake stood backstage behind the catwalk. His mum was snapping shots of the WAGs trying to look natural in ridiculous designer dresses. One of the women was practically tangerine orange with fake tan and another was trying to stop her implants busting over the top of her corset dress. Some of Granble’s people were draping diamonds over the models.

  ‘Kid, pass me those pins,’ said a small Asian-American man. He was the designer whose clothes were being showcased alongside Granble’s rocks. He was flustered, running around between various chattering models, making last-minute adjustments to the designer dresses that passed for fashion. Jake held out a pin cushion and the man took two in his mouth and one in each hand. He didn’t even say thank you. Another time Jake might have said something, but his mind was only on the half-time whistle.

  It had taken all of the two minutes to persuade his dad that his plan could work. It was risky, but if he’d learned one thing about Granble it was that he liked to show off. Jake’s scheme rested on that assumption.

  ‘Hey, handsome,’ said a sexy Afrikaans accent.

  Jake turned to see Abri lighting up the whole backstage area with a smile. Jake gasped. She was dressed chest to ankle in a pale blue silk dress that flowed over her curves like water. Her shoulders were bare, and her blonde hair fell over them in loose curls. Hard to believe that an hour ago she’d looked like a chimney sweep.

  ‘You’ll do,’ said the designer, rushing past and giving Abri an appraising up-and-down glance.

  ‘You look amazing,’ said Jake.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Abri. ‘What a little make-up can do for a girl, huh?’

  ‘You sure you want to do this?’ said Jake. ‘Granble will see you up there.’

  ‘I’ll do it for Sienna and Monique,’ she said. ‘Just make sure you get him for all of us.’

  Jake tapped the top pocket of his shirt, where a roving mic had been concealed. He was wearing a flesh-coloured earpiece the size of a sim card in his ear. ‘Ready to go.’

  Abri smiled. ‘Fasten this for me, will you?’ She held out the fake diamond necklace.

  ‘Nice touch,’ said Jake. He fastened the clasp of the necklace on the back of her neck. The fine hairs lifted slightly as they brushed against his fingers.

  When she turned again, she was closer than before. Really close.

  ‘I’m sorry you got mixed up in all this, Jake,’ she said.

  ‘It had its advantages,’ he said.

  Abri grinned, and looked away for a second. Then she raised up on to her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. It took him by surprise, but he put his arm round her waist and kissed her back. When they parted, there was a slight flush on her cheeks.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For everything.’

  A runner came in. ‘Five minutes till the half-time whistle,’ he shouted. ‘Everyone at their stations.’

  Abri gave Jake another quick peck on the cheek. ‘Good luck, Jake.’

  She turned and ran to join the WAGS, who eyed her enviously.

  Jake wondered if he’d ever see her again. The Italian police would need to talk to her at some point. She might even be arrested before the game was over.

  He left the backstage area and found the elevator that would take him up to the VIP spectator boxes. To Granble.

  It’s all up to me now.

  22

  The lift doors opened and Jake stepped inside. He could still feel the electric tingle of Abri’s lips on his.

  All too soon, the lift stopped and the doors opened.

  He showed the backstage pass and marched along the corridor. The spectators roared and the ground vibrated, like a giant beast stirring. Jake knew what that meant. Half-time.

  ‘Can you hear me, Dad?’ he said.

  There was a tiny crackle of static, then his dad’s voice came over the earpiece, faint but clear. ‘I got you, Jake. Take it easy. If it looks like he’s not playing, abort. You got me?’

  ‘Roger,’ said Jake.

  ‘You can call me Dad,’ his father said, deadpan. Then added, ‘Seriously, be careful, Jake.’

  The VIP boxes were marked with the names of whatever corporate group or celebrity had hired them out. Jake passed an energy conglomerate, a telecoms giant. Then he saw it.

  Granble Mining Company.

  He took a deep breath and passed through the door. A guard put his arm out.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Jake made a show of patting his pockets, but he knew what he was looking for. From the back of his jeans he pulled out the exclusive invitation that he’d taken – well, borrowed – from his mum’s handbag: Mr Granble requests the pleasure of your company …

  The guard cast a quick glance over it, then waved Jake through.

  The room contained maybe twenty people. Jake recognised a well-known rapper, but mostly it seemed to be suits. He guessed they were the sponsors whose money Granble was planning to steal. Marissa the pit bull was drinking a glass of champagne. She saw Jake, swallowed slowly and walked to the other side of the room.

  Through the bodies, Jake saw Granble. He was sipping from a long drink. Marissa whispered something in his ear and he looked up. Granble’s eyes went wide for a split second and Jake walked over towards him. There was no way Granble could touch him in here. Not in front of all these people.

  When he got close, Granble waved Marissa away.

  ‘You’re sure?’ she asked.

  Granble nodded. He held out a hand t
o Jake.

  ‘What a … surprise.’

  ‘Not a pleasant one, I hope,’ said Jake.

  Granble’s smile was fixed, and he clenched his fat fingers around Jake’s. Jake squeezed back. He was stronger.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ said Granble. ‘I heard you’d run away with that girlfriend of yours.’

  From below in the stadium, booming music began to play. ‘Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend'.

  Jake nodded towards the viewing glass.

  ‘Abri didn’t want to miss the show,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take a look?’

  Granble released the grip on Jake’s hand and walked over to the glass. A few other suits were watching the show too. The catwalk had been laid out from the player tunnel halfway across the pitch. A giant screen at one end of the ground showed a close-up.

  Abri Kuertzen was strutting her stuff along the runway, looking every inch the international supermodel. Jake felt Granble tense beside him. His cheek was twitching.

  The plan’s working.

  ‘You’ll see she’s wearing a particularly special piece of jewellery,’ Jake said. ‘One of Granble’s finest. Thing is, we both know it could be out of a Christmas cracker.’

  Granble seized Jake’s arm, and pulled him away. Marissa noticed, but pointed out on to the pitch, focusing the attention of the other guests. ‘We call that particular piece the Star of Mozambique. One hundred and twenty-five carats –’

  ‘Just who do you think you are, kid?’ hissed Granble. ‘You’re one boy against me? I could crush you and your family in an instant.’

  ‘Better send someone better than Jaap next time.’

  Granble’s face went red. ‘What have you done to him?’ he snapped.

  ‘Let’s just say his bell-ringing days are over,’ said Jake, trying not to smirk too much.

  Granble relaxed and backed off. ‘In a country that has had as many problems as mine, there are always more Jaaps.’ Granble gestured towards a door leading off the box. ‘Why don’t we talk somewhere more private?’

  Jake had to think fast. He wasn’t scared, if it was just the two of them. But what if Granble had something up his sleeve?