Black Op Page 3

  ‘How was the flight?’ a voice came over a speaker, breaking the silence. It was, of course, Julia. Hatty imagined her sitting at a desk in London, a cup of English tea on a saucer next to her, ready to give her orders.

  ‘Great,’ Kester said, speaking first.

  ‘Not so great,’ Adnan countered. ‘You had to pay to use the toilet on the plane.’

  ‘Why was that a problem?’ Julia asked.

  ‘Why?’ Adnan raised his voice. ‘You shouldn’t have to have to pay to … do … a … a … you know what.’

  Everyone laughed. But not Julia. Her voice was crisp and businesslike.

  ‘Did Adnan cause trouble?’ she asked.

  ‘No more than usual,’ Hatty replied.

  ‘Good. Well, stand by because I need to brief you a little more before you arrive. I’ll speak to you again in five minutes.’

  The vehicle was well away from the airport by now, taking them towards Krakow and they chatted as they passed castles on wooded hillsides and beautiful timber churches. Driving on the right, not the left, always made Hatty feel uneasy. She also noticed that every other lamp post had a Euro 2012 banner hanging off it. She had seen similar posters and banners in the airport.

  ‘Do you think we’ll be able to stay on to watch Euro 2012?’ Lesh asked her, his face lit up with excitement.

  ‘I hope not,’ Hatty replied.

  Lesh frowned, but said nothing.

  As they waited to hear from Julia, Hatty took the chance to study Kester. He smiled back at her, but there was something in his smile that wasn’t a hundred per cent confident.

  He’s not sure he should be leader, Hatty thought. Maybe.

  She wondered why. It was probably because this was his first mission as leader. But it could also be that there were things about this mission that worried him, like how they could pretend they were footballers. Especially Adnan. That was the real problem that could undermine their cover.

  Soon they were entering the city, with its tall buildings, traffic jams and people queuing at pedestrian crossings. Again Hatty observed the scene and tried to make sense of it as it rushed by. There were beautiful buildings that looked like churches and palaces next to really run-down grey office blocks covered in scrappy posters. It was like a rich country and a poor country had been mixed together at random.

  ‘Right. Time to talk. Have you got the scrambler on?’ Julia’s voice broke the sleepy feeling inside the people carrier.

  Without another word, Kester took a small device – which looked exactly like an iPhone – out of his pocket. In fact, it was an iPhone, but it could do so much more. They all had one and called them SpyPhones as a joke. But essentially that’s what they were: phones that helped them to spy, with several extra apps. The kind of apps most iPhone users could only dream about, from coding and decoding messages, opening electronically secured doors, X-ray and night-vision viewfinders and, when needed, they could even electrocute an enemy.

  Kester flicked the scrambler switch on his SpyPhone. This meant no one would be able to listen in to their conversation using bugs or any other monitoring devices. It worked by filling the air around them with pulses of radio waves that would break up the signal to any known listening device. It was just another precaution. Although they were there under the cover of being young footballers, there was always a chance that someone was monitoring them.

  ‘Ready,’ said Kester.

  ‘OK,’ Julia started. ‘We need to talk about the mission.’

  On the plane, all five had already studied a series of encrypted documents that Julia had sent to their SpyPhones. As a result, they knew their mission in Poland had two objectives.

  First, to gather evidence on the suspected terror group and whether an attack on the England team was being planned. This would involve anything from marches through woods at midnight to using devices to gather intelligence.

  Second, to play in a young English football team in a tournament against countries from across Europe.

  ‘So … any questions?’ Julia asked as the people carrier drove along the bank of a river, beside rows of large and impressive buildings.

  Adnan went first. ‘How are we going to deal with the … the big problem?’

  Julia paused. ‘What big problem, Adnan?’

  ‘That we’ve not played football at this level,’ Hatty cut in.

  ‘It’s not ideal …’ Julia began.

  ‘It’s not ideal?’ Hatty raised her voice, glad to have a chance to get her worries off her chest. ‘I know we’re well prepared for what we usually do, but pretending to be really good footballers: that’s a hard one to pull off.’

  But Julia had an answer for Hatty. ‘Has anyone heard of Jim Sells?’

  Lily smiled and leaned towards the speaker. ‘England defender. Played for West Ham, Leeds and Spartak Moscow.’

  ‘Very good,’ Julia said. ‘Any more?’

  ‘Central defender. Would do anything to stop the opposition scoring. At the heart of England’s defence for a decade. Now a freelance coach working with teams like Real Madrid and Zenit St Petersburg. He can turn a catastrophic backline into the best defence in Europe.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Julia said. ‘Well done, Lily. And that’s exactly why he’s going to be working with you.’

  ‘No,’ Lily gasped.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Awesome,’ said Kester.

  ‘Jim who?’ Adnan asked.

  ‘Sells,’ Lily answered.

  ‘So why is he working with us?’ Hatty asked. ‘We’re kids.’

  ‘We need someone who can make you excel. And quickly. You need to be convincing as footballers – or your mission won’t work. Whatever Jim says, you do it. His word is final. OK?’

  ‘What about the existing players?’ Hatty asked. ‘I take it we’re replacing five of their former teammates and that they’ll hate us for it.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Julia replied, a stiffness in her voice. ‘It will be very difficult.’

  Hatty nodded, even though Julia could not see her. Then something else occurred to her. ‘About Jim Sells?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Will he know about our actual mission?’ But Hatty already knew the answer to this. He would have to know. There was no way all this could happen without Jim Sells being involved in both the football and the spying.

  They heard Julia clear her throat. ‘Jim Sells has also worked for the government,’ she said. ‘He played football in Russia and, while there, did some special … favours for us.’

  ‘Ahhh,’ Lily said. ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘Jim Sells will be your commander in Poland. You do what he says on and off the field. Now we don’t have long. Any more questions?’

  Kester spoke next. ‘How are the teams chosen for this tournament? It’s clearly not players with teams like Chelsea and Liverpool – proper academy teams at professional clubs. So how does it work?’

  ‘It’s boys and girls of high ability,’ Julia explained. ‘But not ones attached to professional clubs. Amateurs, if you like.’

  It was clear to the Squad what their job was. And it was clear it was not going to be easy. Even before they monitored the terrorists or whoever they were, they had to convince some of the country’s best young footballers that they were great footballers too.

  And they had to be ready to do it now because the car had stopped in the shadow of an impressive football stadium.

  Spy Footballer

  The full England youth team – including the five members of the Squad – were brought together in a function room high in the Wisła Stadium, overlooking the pitch.

  In the room there were several round tables, fancy crystal chandeliers and framed pictures of Polish footballers on the walls. Hatty was intrigued by the Polish labels on the beer pumps and the water bottles. She still couldn’t get her head round the unfamiliar wo
rds and wished she was as clever at languages as Lily.

  Hatty watched as Kester led by example, going over to shake hands with all the real footballers. Lily, Adnan and Lesh joined him immediately. This was their first task: to settle into the team, to be friendly and open so that the other players didn’t feel threatened. If they couldn’t fit in and convince the others that they really were footballers, then their cover and the mission would have no chance.

  They’d all been given name tags, which made introductions easier. But someone had to observe as well, so Hatty stood back, watching the exchanges. Observation was something she’d got from her mother, who used to take her into town and sit in a cafe and people-watch. That’s what she called it. She used to ask Hatty what she thought people were doing. Did anyone look like they were lost? Were any of them shoplifters or thieves? Were people kind or unkind? Hatty’s mum had taught her a lot. But that was before the attack. A lifetime ago, Hatty thought.

  Hatty noted which of the footballers was smiling genuine smiles – and who was faking. She knew there could be trouble. There were always difficulties when one group infiltrated another. It was human nature. Especially when one set were imposters like them. Hatty’s priority was to anticipate who might feel threatened or, worse, guess that the Squad weren’t who they claimed to be.

  One boy stood out for Hatty. He was tall, black and athletic and seemed to have an energy that dominated the room. One of those people who everyone was aware of and everyone seemed to defer to. His name was Rio. Hatty wondered if he really was called that or if he’d somehow changed his name in homage to Rio Ferdinand, the England defender.

  Then Hatty noticed two more who worried her. The first was a thickset lad called Finn. Another stupid name, she thought unkindly. She worked out quickly that he was a slavish follower of Rio. He laughed when Rio joked. He frowned when Rio was cross. The rest of the time he just stood there with a blank look on his face.

  Then there was one of the girls. Georgia was her name. She was tall with long blonde hair and wore make-up and a constant smile. However, it was not a convincing smile. Georgia was standing next to Rio, but not really listening to him. She was too busy looking around. Looking at Kester mostly. And snatching glances back at Hatty.

  A loud voice interrupted the chatting, the tense circling and making friends.

  ‘Would everyone sit down, please?’

  The voice was a man’s. Loud, but not shouting. Strong, but not aggressive. Within five seconds, everyone was sitting quietly facing him.

  ‘My name is Jim Sells,’ the man said. ‘Welcome to Poland.’

  Jim was muscular, over six foot tall, had very short brown hair and not a bit of fat on him. He looked a bit like an Action Man.

  ‘I should explain,’ he smiled. ‘For this tournament I’m your coach.’

  There was a quiet unrest among the established footballers when he said this. Voices muttered between them. Hatty heard the boy called Finn say the word ‘Geoff’. But she was also aware that because they knew that Jim Sells was a former England player, no one was daring to challenge him.

  ‘I know this is a surprise,’ Jim said, raising his voice a little, ‘especially to those who’ve been in the team for a while, but your regular coach, Geoff Graham, has had to return to the UK on family business. They were hoping that replacing him with me – however temporarily – would help. If you don’t know me, I’m a former England international and I’ve coached teams like Real Madrid and –’

  Then a voice from the players interrupted him. Rio. ‘We know who you are, Jim … er, Mr Sells. And we’re big fans. But why has Geoff taken half the team with him too?’

  Jim smiled. ‘First, please call me Jim. Second, yes, several of the players have been kept in England as they are at a sensitive time with their education and family life. So I’d like to introduce and welcome a new draft of players.’ Jim eyed the back row. ‘I know you’ll all get along fine.’

  No one said anything for a moment. Then Georgia, the girl with long blonde hair, spoke up. ‘With respect, Jim, we’ve not heard much about this before and there are only a couple of days to go before the tournament and …’

  ‘I accept that and I apologize,’ Jim said. ‘This is not ideal. But to make it all more palatable for you I’ve arranged that – if we get to the final – the England first team will come to see you play …’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Amazing!’

  A cacophony of excited voices silenced all dissent.

  ‘And,’ Jim went on, ‘you’ll all get to meet them. Now is everyone happy?’

  ‘Yes!’ several voices said at once. The atmosphere of the room had changed.

  ‘Good,’ said Jim.

  As Jim talked, Hatty watched Georgia leaning forward more and more. She tried to spot a reflection of the other girl’s face in one of the windows, but couldn’t catch her expression. And how’s Rio taking the information? she wondered. Was the news about meeting the England team enough of a distraction for him or would he still see the new players as a challenge?

  ‘Our first game is against the Faroe Islands,’ Jim pressed on. ‘The best start we could have hoped for.’ He went on to explain how the competition worked. There were eight teams competing. There would be a first round, two semi-finals and a final. If England beat the Faroe Islands, they would be through to play Poland or Spain in the semi-final.

  ‘I hope you’re all going to get along,’ Jim concluded. ‘I’ve already been working hard with the new players. They’re going to form the defensive line, bearing in mind who the team has lost. I’ve been doing extra defensive coaching with them in England. They’d never played together or met before this week, but we’re all confident, aren’t we, kids?’

  Kester, Lesh, Lily and Adnan all nodded eagerly. After a second, Hatty joined in, even though, like the others, she was not clear about everything that Jim was saying. But they were stuck with Julia’s orders that Jim was their new commander.

  Jim’s talk had raised some questions for Hatty though. She wanted to know more about him. She knew that Julia had said he was on their side, but she never trusted anyone at first. They had to prove themselves.

  Jim Sells interrupted Hatty’s thoughts. ‘OK, everyone, this was just a short hello. I want you to settle into the hotel next to the stadium. You’re staying there with the other teams. I’d like you all on your best behaviour. You’re representing your country. Tomorrow morning we’ll train together for the first time. Eleven a.m. OK?’

  The Squad gathered in Kester’s hotel room immediately after dinner. They swept the room for bugs and other devices – a routine of checking light bulbs, picture frames and electrical equipment – then sat on the chairs and sofas that filled the room, taking in the fancy wallpaper and large pieces of polished furniture.

  The Squad had stayed in all sorts of accommodation before: in palaces, monasteries and ordinary hotels. They’d also stayed in holes in the ground and on exposed mountain tops. This was, for Hatty, quite a luxurious hotel, except that the corridors weren’t lit so you had to feel your way along the walls at times. But Hatty was aware that new countries always threw up unusual details that you could never make up.

  Overall, Hatty felt uneasy. But she knew that was good: the more ill at ease she felt, the less detail she would miss on this mission and the better spy she could be.

  Kester took out his SpyPhone and flicked the scrambler. The group instinctively huddled into a two-metre circle within the phone’s range. Kester also put the TV on loud to make sure no one could listen at the door or through a wall. Before he spoke, he breathed in. He was the leader of the Squad now, replacing Rob. This was the first full discussion he was having to lead and he wanted to get it absolutely right.

  ‘We need to talk about Jim,’ he said quietly.

  ‘We do,’ Hatty agreed.

  ‘I like him,’ said Lily, smili
ng.

  ‘Lily, you like everyone,’ Hatty sneered. She had known Lily for years, but she still could not understand how the girl could be so nice and friendly all the time. Did she have no dark thoughts?

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Lily frowned.

  ‘We need to ask ourselves questions about everyone,’ Kester broke in, trying to regain control of the conversation. ‘Even the people who are on our side. If Julia gives us someone to work with, we should trust them, but we should suss them out too, just in case.’

  ‘Go on then,’ Hatty challenged him. ‘Ask a question.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘A former England footballer,’ Adnan answered. ‘For what it’s worth.’

  ‘I think that’s worth a lot,’ Lily argued. ‘He played for England for ten years and in three World Cups. He was famous for being passionate on the pitch. How much more could someone do to show they were patriotic?’

  ‘But he’s more than a footballer, isn’t he?’ Kester claimed.

  ‘A former spy,’ said Adnan. ‘Our commander now.’

  ‘What else?’ Kester asked.

  Lily pushed her SpyPhone in front of everyone, showing a picture from the Internet of Jim Sells in a West Ham top. ‘It’s definitely him,’ she said.

  Hatty decided it was time to ask her question. ‘So how come …’

  A loud triple knock on the door silenced her.

  Nobody spoke.

  Nobody moved.

  ‘It’s Jim,’ a voice said. ‘I think it’s time you put your lights out. I’m taking the five of you for some special training tomorrow – and it’ll be hard. Meet me at the stadium at nine sharp.’

  The Squad stayed quiet for a moment, then Adnan asked the question that was on all of their minds.

  ‘Do you think he heard all that?’

  Training

  The Squad stood on the centre circle inside the empty Wisła Stadium. It was 9 a.m. and they’d already had breakfast.

  They gazed around at the hoardings advertising Polish beers and TV stations. Everything seems different from England, Lily thought. Even the grass and the colour of the sky.