Own Goal

by Tom Palmer

  Danny decided it was time to change the subject. He wanted to find out more about the paintings his mum had been so interested in – and that Fo had been so obsessed with. He was convinced there was something about them that could help him work out the answers to his questions about Salvatore Fo. So when Mum looked back from the waiter, he started asking questions.

  ‘Did you enjoy meeting Salvatore Fo?’ he asked.

  ‘I did,’ Mum said, cautious.

  ‘Did you really like those pictures?’

  ‘You know I did, Danny.’

  The wine waiter arrived and asked Mum to try the wine. She tasted a little and nodded to him.

  ‘I thought they were rubbish,’ Danny said, bluntly.

  ‘Yes. You made that clear to Salvatore,’ she smiled thinly.

  ‘How much does he spend on them?’

  ‘A lot,’ Mum answered, putting her wine glass down. ‘I expect they cost tens of thousands of pounds. Why don’t you look the artist up on your fancy iPhone and see?’

  Danny’s heart skipped a beat. He tried hard not to show his shock. ‘Erm … I didn’t bring it down with me,’ he replied. Then he changed the subject again. ‘I get the idea you’re meant to see something hidden in the blotches. But what’s the point?’

  ‘Do you really want me to tell you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Danny said, leaning forward.

  ‘Well. It’s called subliminal art,’ Mum said, suddenly animated. ‘On the surface, it looks like one thing – the blotches. But hidden from your conscious mind there is another image below. One that your mind sees, but your eyes don’t.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Well, your eyes take in information all the time. So much information that your conscious mind can only use some of it. But other things, which your conscious mind can’t take in, go in anyway, but without you knowing.’

  ‘And that’s Jesus?’

  ‘Yes. But if you really look, you can see him.’

  ‘I see,’ Danny said, wondering what this all meant to him. Not a lot so far. But he knew he had to find out everything about everything. He’d been reading the new Young Sherlock Holmes stories by Andrew Lane and Sherlock is told that he needs to gather as many facts as possible to help him solve crimes. That’s what Danny was doing now.

  The first course arrived. Small portions of food set out to look nice. But not to satisfy an appetite, Danny thought.

  ‘Do you think this food is subliminal?’ Danny asked his mum.

  She laughed. A nice laugh. He liked making her laugh.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But, seriously, subliminal techniques have not just been used in art. In the sixties, when TV started showing adverts, some companies used to flash images during popular shows. Like, for a split second, a picture of a drink would come up. Then thousands of people would go and spend money on those drinks.’

  Danny looked up sharply.

  ‘But it’s not a technique used any more, it’s banned now. And it’s …’

  His mum carried on chatting but Danny was no longer listening. All he could think of was the image he had seen in Fo’s desk. And his iPhone sitting under that wall across the water.

  He had to get it back.

  Because he’d worked out the answer to the most unanswerable of questions. Why everyone was supporting Forza FC.

  But – before he thought about what that meant – he had to find a boat.

  NIGHT BOAT

  Danny had already identified the boat he was going to use. It was hidden under an arch on the waterfront, only visible from the ferry he’d been on with his mum. He was pretty sure it belonged to the hotel. He’d also spotted the crowbar he was going to use to get to the boat, among the gardener’s tools at the back of the hotel.

  He left through the back exit of the hotel, a fire door. That way he could avoid whoever was manning the reception desk. He set the back door slightly ajar, so that he could get back in.

  It was 3 a.m. And dark.

  Overnight, all the clouds had been sucked back into the mountains. The sky was clear now, but moonless.

  A lovely cool breeze had blown away the heat of the day.

  Danny walked down a cobbled alleyway to reach the lakefront. All he had with him was a white towel and a small sealable plastic bag. He was wearing just a T-shirt, a pair of shorts and some black flip-flops.

  There were no cars, no people, no boats. Just mountains and water and a thousand closed shutters.

  He was alone with the night.

  Danny loved it like this.

  Once he reached the front he walked along the hotel jetty, carrying the crowbar. At the end he found a gate. On the other side he could see the rowing boat. Tied with a rope with oars propped inside it, it was ready to use. The only problem was that the gate was locked.

  He’d imagined this would be the case. That was why he’d brought the crowbar. But, thinking about it, he decided not to use it. If he did it would damage the gate and he didn’t want to do that.

  He knew what he had to do next. He couldn’t open the gate without damaging it. He couldn’t climb over it. He had to swim round it.

  But he was ready for that.

  Danny took off his shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops, placing them through the bars of the gate. Then he dipped himself into the cool water of the lake.

  Three minutes later he was in the boat, dry and dressed. Suitably refreshed.

  He untied the boat and pushed off.

  It moved as if it was floating on air.

  Once he was out on the water – and he could see that nobody from the hotel was running down the jetty to shout at him – Danny started to enjoy himself.

  He used the time to run through what he had worked out.

  Huge numbers of people were supporting Forza FC across the world.

  Danny had seen an image hidden in a replay of a football match, suggesting everyone should support Forza FC.

  The owner of Forza FC (and of several TV channels) was obsessed with art that showed one thing, but communicated something else. Subliminal art.

  What did all these facts add up to? That Salvatore Fo was using subliminal TV images to make everyone support Forza FC.

  Danny was sure of it.

  And that was why he wanted to get his phone back. That was where his evidence was.

  The lake was beautiful. It reflected the black of the sky and the pinpoint light of the stars. He was enjoying the sound of the water as his oars cut through it. It reminded him of the holidays he had been on when he was young. Rowing with his dad. Finding somewhere to cast their fishing lines.

  Forty minutes later Danny was feeling less at ease.

  He wasn’t sure if it was in his mind, but now that he was within a hundred metres of Fo’s villa the air and the lake seemed colder. Much colder.

  Danny shrugged off the feeling and concentrated on rowing as quietly as he could, dropping the oars into the water slowly, then pulling back on them with a steady strength.

  There were no lights on in the villa. But Danny still had to take care.

  He aimed his boat for the rocks, near where he had dived into the water to make his escape. It was hard to find the right spot, because the weather was so different now. But he knew he needed to be beneath the banisters.

  Edging the boat close to the rocks, he leaned over and grabbed them. Then he clambered out, tying the boat’s rope to the stump of a tree.

  Danny took a moment to breathe in and out. This had gone well so far. Mainly because he had kept himself calm. He needed to be sure he sustained that. How many crime books had he read where the detective had not been calm – had been eager or angry? And every time that happened, something went wrong.

  Danny was determined that nothing would go wrong tonight.

  Once he was as focused as he needed to be, he started to make his way up towards the villa.

&
nbsp; But the rocks were wet and slippery. He went slowly, knowing that as long as he got a good foothold he would be OK. He had read about climbing. Keep three limbs fixed to the rock face and move only one at a time and he’d be fine.

  It didn’t take long.

  If he lifted his head now, he would be able to see the bottom of the stone banisters. And find his iPhone.

  He put both his hands on the bottom of the banisters and pulled himself up.

  He looked to his left, then edged along to the place where he thought his iPhone was. The silence was so perfect that he swore he could hear his heart beating.

  No sign of his phone. He’d have to check the other direction.

  Danny began to move to his right, hands on the banisters, feet on the black rocks.

  Methodical. He had to be methodical.

  ‘No, Meester Johnson, I do not want my name attached to the deal.’

  Danny recoiled instinctively and nearly fell back into the water. He had to dig his fingers into the rock to rescue himself.

  Someone was there.

  And not just anywhere. He could now see a pair of dark trousers two metres from his face. On the other side of the banisters.

  Danny lowered his head. Slowly.

  As he did he saw another figure. A young woman, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. Blonde, and wearing a small white dress.

  Danny closed his eyes. Again he had to concentrate on breathing in and out to calm himself.

  To stop himself from throwing up with fear.

  To think.

  And to listen. Because he knew whose voice he was hearing. Salvatore Fo.

  ‘We take over the club. We use the same network of companies. The ones based in the Cayman Islands. The ones I use with Forza. But it would be so helpful, Meester Johnson, if you could arrange for City FC not to play beyond their abilities this evening.’

  Danny nearly fell back again. What was this?

  It was lucky Fo had his back to Danny because, although he had managed to keep his footing, he had dislodged a stone.

  He heard it make a distant plop as it hit the lake below.

  Danny focused on holding on. He tried to think.

  Fo had clearly had enough of the phone call. He had stopped talking and was now moving towards his young friend.

  It was time to get out of here, Danny decided, not a time to think. He could think later. What he needed to do now was retrieve his phone.

  Danny, taking a risk now, edged to his right. Was it there? He reached up and down, left and right, as gently as he could, to avoid knocking it off the ledge. Mercifully, when he found it, it was still dry. He wrapped it tightly in the plastic bag he had brought, sealed the top and stuffed it into his shorts.

  Now all he had to do was get into the boat and row back across the lake.

  As he started to descend he took one more look at the scene above him.

  He was filled with horror by what he saw.

  Although he could see that Fo still had his back to him, he could also see that the young woman was pointing.

  Directly at Danny.

  SEA MONSTER

  Danny had no choice. He had to get out of there. Quickly. So, using all the power in his legs, he hurled himself backwards.

  It had been instinct to throw himself backwards and not climb timorously down the rocks.

  Self-preservation.

  He did a back flip and straightened his body, arms out.

  He’d seen Tom Daley do this too.

  He hit the water feet first. And soon he was, once again, in the deep dark confusion of the water.

  But this time he had kept his mouth shut. And this time he knew which way was up. So it wasn’t as bad as the last time.

  As he came back to the surface, all he had to worry about was whether Salvatore Fo had a gun.

  Danny breathed in and looked up. He could see two figures watching him. Fo and the beautiful girl. Neither of them had a gun. Neither of them was on their mobile phone. They were just watching him.

  Danny stared at them staring at him while treading water, working out what to do. After a few seconds, he climbed out on to the rocks and into his boat.

  He decided not to look up again until he was safe.

  Once in, Danny pushed the boat away with one of the oars and started to row. Fast, this time. No more silent rowing. He was an Olympic rower, using all the power he had.

  The boat moved speedily through the water. Because he was facing backwards, towards the villa, he could see Fo and the young woman on the balcony. They had still not moved. They were just watching him.

  But Danny knew that that could just be appearances. Maybe Fo had a helicopter gunship heading down the lake towards him and it was a matter of time before it came round the corner like a huge and deadly night wasp. Or maybe he had a submarine forcing its way up from the bottom of the lake to smash his tiny rowing boat to pieces.

  Danny felt like he was a character in some terrifying thriller novel. Alex Rider. Young Bond.

  So he rowed.

  Hard and fast, his upper arms and shoulders exploding with pain.

  But he was strong. And soon he was halfway back to the hotel – and still nothing had happened.

  No gunship.

  No submarine.

  Danny felt like laughing.

  Was he safe?

  He slowed his pace. His arms could not take much more, anyway.

  And now, because his body was not working flat out, he could, at last, think.

  What had Fo been talking about?

  Danny could remember what he had said word for word.

  We take over the club. We use the same network of companies. The ones based in the Cayman Islands. The ones I use with Forza. But it would be so helpful, Meester Johnson, if you could arrange for City FC not to play beyond their abilities this evening.

  Take over which club?

  He had to be talking about City FC, didn’t he?

  Who was Mr Johnson?

  Was there a Mr Johnson involved in the takeover of City?

  Arrange for City FC to do what?

  And why should Mr Johnson expect to have control over City FC?

  Then the hardest question of all came into Danny’s head: was Fo involved in the takeover of City FC? As well as being involved in brainwashing millions of fans into supporting Forza FC?

  Everything was still quiet.

  Just the faint sound of ripples of water hitting the side of Danny’s boat.

  And Danny realized he had stopped rowing.

  He was sitting in a tiny boat on an enormous lake under the light of half the stars in the universe. And everything was becoming clearer.

  The image in Fo’s drawer.

  The image on the TV screen at home.

  The reason his sister and Theo Gibbs and everyone else had become Forza FC fans.

  Subliminal advertising.

  Brainwashing.

  It was a massive multi-billion-pound scam. And the only person who knew what was going on was Danny. And he was sitting on a lake in the dark, alone.

  He had to get back to the hotel.

  As all these thoughts ran through his head, Danny heard the first sound that was not the lapping of water or a creak of his boat.

  It was the sound of an engine.

  And, second by second, it was getting louder.

  When first light hit the lake just before six that morning, an English family heading off on a fishing trip in a rowing boat spotted something in the water.

  ‘It’s a sea monster!’ the youngest of the children shouted, delighted.

  The mother steered the boat towards the shape. She was anxious, but not afraid. She knew it couldn’t be a monster. She had already seen it was the underside of a small rowing boat.

  When they arrived they found the boat and saw two oars float
ing nearby.

  Also, a white towel, sodden, floating in the water like a ghost.

  WEDNESDAY

  FORZA FC

  Danny was a bit disappointed when he came round the corner, through a dusty car park, to find himself face to face with the world-famous Forza football stadium. It was famous for being the newest, fanciest stadium that had been completed in less than a year only eighteen months earlier.

  It had already been a long day for Danny. It had started with him capsizing his rowing boat at four in the morning, to make sure he would escape whoever was approaching him in the motorboat. Then, getting far enough away from the rowing boat before the motorboat reached it. He had achieved both and swam back to the hotel. Then, over breakfast, he had convinced his mum she didn’t need to come to the match if she didn’t want to.

  The main thing had been to check his phone. Was it OK? Were all the images he needed on it? To his relief, the answer was yes.

  There was no denying the stadium was big. And Danny recognized the famous crown design around the edge. But that was all. It did not have that magic feel of other stadiums he had visited like the Luzhniki in Moscow, Wembley in London or Elland Road in Leeds.

  It was just a big concrete stadium.

  But Danny was excited to be among thousands of City fans. He had travelled up with them on the Milan underground from the city centre, English football chants filling the corridors and stairways. Then they’d walked along a long road, next to a wall covered in graffiti, CAMPIONI D’EUROPA and CURVA SUD FORZA sprayed in blue aerosol paint.

  The main song they had been singing was ‘City Till I Die’. But other fans had been chanting ‘En-ger-land’.

  As Danny walked, he texted Charlotte. One, because he missed her and wanted to check she was OK. Two, because he wanted her to find some things out for him.