Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

LILY

‘D id I do something wrong? asks Vicki.

My mind is elsewhere, and I study Vicki’s photo pass again.

‘Do you have copies of everyone’s accreditation photographs?’ I suddenly ask.

‘Yes,’ she says hesitantly.

‘How quickly can you get me one of Pammie’s boyfriend?’

‘Er… well.’ My sudden question has put her on the spot and then she shoots me a brilliant smile. ‘I’ve got it right here.’ She pats her phone which is also hanging on a lanyard around her neck. ‘Everyone emails them to me, and I arrange for them to printed off with the barcodes, which determine what access they have.’

‘I need it now,’ I snap and hold my hand out as she finds the picture on her phone. It’s still not a great shot, but having another one adds to the data points needed for facial recognition. I hold her phone, still attached to her neck, and take a picture on my phone, then send it to Pennington.

‘What sort of access do they both have?’ I ask, releasing her phone. She rubs at her neck where the lanyard has loosened.

‘Everywhere. I mean… all areas. Because…’ Her words falter and she looks at Winston again. ‘Pammie still owns half the… the team.’

Shit, the sense of foreboding that has been dogging me all week gathers apace.

I ring Pennington.

‘Middle of the night, Lily,’ he mutters.

‘Photo incoming. Of Sven. I need identification ASAP.’

He snaps into action. ‘On it. I’ll call you back as soon as I get a hit.’

I turn back to Vicki who’s wide-eyed and very pale. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ she asks a second time.

‘Not at all,’ I reassure her. ‘But when was the last time you saw Pammie?’

‘When they arrived.’

‘Did you see which way they went?’

She shook her head. ‘Sorry.’ She waves her hand at the chaos around us. ‘I was busy.’

I snatch her clipboard. ‘Here,’ I say running my finger down the names on the printed sheet until I find the entry I’m seeking. ‘They got here a little over an hour ago.’

‘What the hell is going on?’ asks Winston.

‘I don’t know,’ I say honestly. ‘But we have to speak to Pammie. Find out what she knows. She’s involved. I’m sure of it. She’s?—’

My phone rings. I answer, knowing it’s Pennington.

‘It’s not conclusive yet, but there’s a possible match. Anders Gustafsson. Brother of Lars Gustafsson.’

‘Shit,’ I say. Lars Gustafsson was part of a terrorist plot in Paris that I helped to foil last year.

‘If it is him, and it’s an if , you’ve got a situation. It’s alleged that Anders could have been the bomb-builder in Paris.’

‘Bomb-builder,’ I echo, immediately thinking of Pammie’s outsize purses.

Winston and Tierney swing round, alarm etched on their faces.

‘ Alleged . No proof,’ clarifies Pennington.

‘Have you got enough to persuade the authorities to evacuate?’

‘Let me get onto my contacts at Homeland Security and the Critical Incident Response Group.’

It all makes perfect sense to me, though. Pammie was the perfect target, owner of half the football team with complete access on Superbowl day. All it took was a few dodgy photos and the shoulder of a sympathetic, handsome Swede– and hey, presto, bomb-maker Anders Gustafsson has the opportunity to make some kind of statement to over 123 million people.

The threats to Tate had been a diversion to keep everyone off balance. It was highly possible Sven recognised me, though, which would explain the change of MO and the serious attempt on Tate’s life that wasn’t aimed at Tate at all.

‘Is that the best you can do?’ I say. ‘It’s the bloody Superbowl, Pennington. In a few hours this place is going to be filled with over seventy-thousand people.’

‘I’ll get on to the authorities, like I said. But in the meantime, see if you can persuade the powers-that-be to get the place evacuated. Use your charm, Heath.’

I hang up.

* * *

Seems my charm has run out of steam.

‘You have to be fucking kidding,’ says Tierney when I explain it all to him and Winston.

‘Even you say yourself, there’s no evidence,’ says Winston. ‘I’ve been married for twenty-five years to Pammie. There is no way she’s involved in this. She’s the sweetest, kindest woman. Oh, fuck!’ He puts his head in his hands. ‘And I still love her. It kills me that she believes I’d cheat on her. She would never in a million years do anything to hurt anyone. I promise you. And as for her boyfriend wanting to blow up the stadium. Have you any idea how crazy that sounds?’

‘It might sound crazy,’ I tell him. ‘But people like Sven don’t follow normal rules. What if he’s got a gun? A bomb? Maybe he doesn’t care about the means, maybe he just wants to cause disruption on the biggest scale he can.’

‘So you want us to shut down the Superbowl, the biggest sporting event on the planet’—Tierney’s voice rings with undisguised scepticism—‘based on the fact that this Sven guy might be a bomb-builder or a sniper? You don’t even know which. I’m telling you it’s skinny. And have you any idea how much money we’re talking about? Millions.’

Winston shakes his head. ‘Sorry, Lily, you work for me. Pammie wouldn’t be mixed up with anything like this. Seriously, you think she’d threaten Tate?’ He actually laughs. ‘You’ve forgotten that this is a plain old protection detail. You’re not on His Majesty’s Secret Service anymore. I think you’re seeing conspiracies and plots where there are none.’

‘But what if I’m right?’ I can’t believe they’re not taking this seriously.

But a seed of doubt is there all the same. Like, maybe my judgement is seriously skewed by my feelings for Tate. I’ve not been acting rationally since I set foot on the field.

‘Honey.’ It’s the first time I’ve wanted to take Winston’s legs out from under him. ‘If you’re wrong, the TV advertising people would sue the ass off us, not to mention the NFL, the fans– I can see the class actions lining up.’ He shakes his head. ‘And while I’m not happy about Pammie shackin’ up with her tennis coach, I know her. You got the wrong people.’ He sighs. ‘Stand down, Lily.’

‘Winston, you can’t take the risk, you need to evacuate the stadium,’ I persist, studying the stands above us which are starting to fill up. I’m realising that Winston and Tierney have probably led comparatively sheltered lives, whereas my dad brought me up to expect the worst. I haven’t got time to explore why that may not be a good thing. Right now, I want to eliminate as much risk as possible when it comes to Tate.

‘I can’t do it, Lily.’ Winston studies me. ‘Find Pammie. Talk to her. And if she does have anything to do with those threats to Tate, well, I’ll eat my own shoes.’ He lifts his highly polished leather brogues. ‘There’s less than an hour until kick-off.’

‘Okay.’ I shove my phone into one of my boots, because I don’t have any pockets in the mini skirt and shirt that I donned as my blend-into-the-crowd outfit, and I don’t want it knocked out of my hand. Unfortunately, Tierney refused to let me bring a firearm into the stadium and the tight security getting in would have busted me if I’d defied him. I always pick battles I’m going to win. I start moving before either of them has a chance to say another word.

My all-areas pass works like a charm and no one gives me a second look when I ask them if they can direct me to the security offices.

Once I’m there it doesn’t take me long to find a room filled with TV screens and a young man monitoring them.

‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Sorry to bother you, but I need some help,’ and smile sweetly at him.

His eyes sharpen with interest.

‘Sure, what can I do for you?’

‘I know you’re busy but I’m searching for someone. We think she might have obtained her accreditation by fraud.’

The security guy in the CCTV room perks up even more. I guess scanning a dozen TV screens all day isn’t terribly exciting.

‘I know the time she arrived at Gate B, and she has a little dog with her, so she’s not difficult to follow.’

‘On it,’ he says, turning and starting to type quickly on the keyboard in front of him.

‘That her?’ he says. He points at an image on the screen of Pammie and Sven, with Teddy trotting along beside them.

‘That’s her. Great. Are you able to track her?’

‘Sure,’ he says, as if I’m asking him for cents when I could be asking for dollars. With my heart thumping, I watch the screen as it cuts from camera to camera.

Pammie is oblivious to the surveillance as the pair of them make their way up to the executive offices on the top floor and enter a door, after which they vanish from view.

‘Do you mind if we keep watching, check she’s stayed put?’ I ask.

‘No problem.’

My patience pays off. Five minutes later, Sven leaves the office alone.

‘Can you track him?’

‘Of course.’ My new friend is delighted to be able to show off his prowess, but thirty seconds later, when Sven slips through a non-descript grey door, he sighs. ‘Ah, looks like this is where it ends. He’s gone into a maintenance area, and there’s no coverage down there. No need for it.’

At least I know where Pammie is. ‘Where’s that office?’

He tells me the sector number and gives me directions.

Hopefully, Pammie can tell me what the hell is going on, but I’m pretty sure that Sven’s been using her as a mule to ferry something illicit into the building. A bomb, most likely, as its individual components might not be picked up by security.

I phone Pennington as I race up the escalators. ‘No dice on evacuation yet, this end. Winston won’t risk it. But I’ve watched some CCTV footage. Sven is in the maintenance area. Section 4 on the top level of the stadium. Let Tierney know. I’m going to find Pammie.’

It takes me ten minutes to locate her, and the black eye is the first thing I notice when I open the interior office door. Teddy is cowering behind her, his little face peeping out. Pammie peers up at me out of the swollen lid and lifts her head very slowly. She’s chained to the heating pipes, her legs fastened together with cable ties.

‘He’s got a bomb,’ she says. ‘He’s going to blow up the stadium. When the national anthem’s playing. You’ve got to go and tell someone. People will die.’ I can hear the desperation in her voice, but I’m also impressed that she doesn’t even suggest I free her.

Her words confirm my worst fears, and a cold run of fear ices its way down my back. As I step towards her, the dog whimpers and starts to shake.

‘No,’ Pammie croaks, her eyes suddenly fearful.

‘It’s okay,’ I say, gently, because I can see the finger marks around her neck as tears run down her face.

But too late, I realise she’s trying to warn me. Out of my peripheral vision, I see the shadow behind me, and even as I’m ducking to the right, a strike of pain reverberates through my skull as something hits the back of my head.

As I crumple to the floor, my last thought is that I never told Tate I loved him.