he stopped before getting in and stared at me seriously. “We must talk some more about Steve tomorrow,” he said.
My heart skipped a beat. “Why?” I asked as casually as I could.
“There are things you should know. I don’t want to get into them now — it’s too late — but I think . . .” He trailed off into silence, then smiled. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. It might help you make up your mind about some other things.”
And on that cryptic note he said farewell. He promised to send over a ticket in the morning, gave me his hotel name and cell number, shook my hand one last time, got into his car, and drove away.
I stood outside the walls of the stadium a long while, thinking about Tommy, Annie, and the past — and wondering what he’d meant when he said we needed to talk some more about Steve.
CHAPTER NINE
W HEN I TOLD HARKAT about the match, he reacted with automatic suspicion. “It’s a trap,” he said. “Your friend is an ally of . . . Steve Leonard.”
“Not Tommy,” I said with absolutely certainty. “But I have a feeling he might in some way be able to direct us to him, or set us on his trail.”
“Do you want me to come with . . . you to the match?” Harkat asked.
“You wouldn’t be able to get in. Besides,” I laughed, “there’ll be tens of thousands of people there. In a crowd like that, I think I’ll be safe!”
The ticket was delivered by courier and I set off in good time for the match. I arrived an hour before kickoff. A huge crowd milled around outside the stadium. People were singing and cheering, decked out in our country’s colors, buying drinks, hot dogs, and burgers from the street vendors. Troops of police kept a close watch on the situation, making sure rival fans didn’t clash.
I mingled for a while, strolling around the stadium, relishing the atmosphere. I bought a hot dog, a match program, and a hat with Tommy’s picture on it, sporting the slogan, “He’s not unusual!” There were lots of hats and badges dedicated to Tommy. There were even CDs by the singer Tom Jones, with photos of Tommy taped across the covers!
I took my seat twenty minutes before kickoff. I had a great view of the floodlit pitch. My seat was in the middle of the stadium, just a few rows behind the dugouts. The teams were warming up when I arrived. I got a real buzz out of seeing Tommy in one of the goals, stopping practice shots. To think one of my friends was playing in a World Cup qualifier! I’d come a long way since childhood and put most of my human interests behind me. But my love of soccer came flooding back as I sat, gazing down at Tommy, and I felt a ball of pure childish excitement build in the pit of my stomach.
The teams left the pitch to get ready for kickoff, then re-emerged a few minutes later. All the seats in the stadium had been filled and there was a huge cheer as the players marched out. Most people stood up, clapping and hollering. The ref tossed a coin to decide which way the teams would play, then Tommy and the other captain shook hands, the players lined up, the ref blew his whistle, and the game got under way.
It was a brilliant game. Both teams went all out for the win. Tackles flew in fast and hard. Play shifted from one end to the other, both sides attacking in turn. There were lots of chances to score. Tommy made some great saves, as did the other goalkeeper. A couple of players blasted wide or over the bar from good positions, to a chorus of jeers and groans. After forty-three minutes, the teams seemed like they’d be tied at half-time. But then there was a quick break, a defender slipped, a forward had a clear shot at a goal, and he sent the ball flying into the left corner of the net, past the outstretched fingers of a flailing Tom Jones.
Tommy and his teammates looked dejected as they trudged off at halftime, but the home fans kept on singing, “One-nil down, two-one up, that’s the way to win the cup!”
I went to get a drink but the
My heart skipped a beat. “Why?” I asked as casually as I could.
“There are things you should know. I don’t want to get into them now — it’s too late — but I think . . .” He trailed off into silence, then smiled. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. It might help you make up your mind about some other things.”
And on that cryptic note he said farewell. He promised to send over a ticket in the morning, gave me his hotel name and cell number, shook my hand one last time, got into his car, and drove away.
I stood outside the walls of the stadium a long while, thinking about Tommy, Annie, and the past — and wondering what he’d meant when he said we needed to talk some more about Steve.
CHAPTER NINE
W HEN I TOLD HARKAT about the match, he reacted with automatic suspicion. “It’s a trap,” he said. “Your friend is an ally of . . . Steve Leonard.”
“Not Tommy,” I said with absolutely certainty. “But I have a feeling he might in some way be able to direct us to him, or set us on his trail.”
“Do you want me to come with . . . you to the match?” Harkat asked.
“You wouldn’t be able to get in. Besides,” I laughed, “there’ll be tens of thousands of people there. In a crowd like that, I think I’ll be safe!”
The ticket was delivered by courier and I set off in good time for the match. I arrived an hour before kickoff. A huge crowd milled around outside the stadium. People were singing and cheering, decked out in our country’s colors, buying drinks, hot dogs, and burgers from the street vendors. Troops of police kept a close watch on the situation, making sure rival fans didn’t clash.
I mingled for a while, strolling around the stadium, relishing the atmosphere. I bought a hot dog, a match program, and a hat with Tommy’s picture on it, sporting the slogan, “He’s not unusual!” There were lots of hats and badges dedicated to Tommy. There were even CDs by the singer Tom Jones, with photos of Tommy taped across the covers!
I took my seat twenty minutes before kickoff. I had a great view of the floodlit pitch. My seat was in the middle of the stadium, just a few rows behind the dugouts. The teams were warming up when I arrived. I got a real buzz out of seeing Tommy in one of the goals, stopping practice shots. To think one of my friends was playing in a World Cup qualifier! I’d come a long way since childhood and put most of my human interests behind me. But my love of soccer came flooding back as I sat, gazing down at Tommy, and I felt a ball of pure childish excitement build in the pit of my stomach.
The teams left the pitch to get ready for kickoff, then re-emerged a few minutes later. All the seats in the stadium had been filled and there was a huge cheer as the players marched out. Most people stood up, clapping and hollering. The ref tossed a coin to decide which way the teams would play, then Tommy and the other captain shook hands, the players lined up, the ref blew his whistle, and the game got under way.
It was a brilliant game. Both teams went all out for the win. Tackles flew in fast and hard. Play shifted from one end to the other, both sides attacking in turn. There were lots of chances to score. Tommy made some great saves, as did the other goalkeeper. A couple of players blasted wide or over the bar from good positions, to a chorus of jeers and groans. After forty-three minutes, the teams seemed like they’d be tied at half-time. But then there was a quick break, a defender slipped, a forward had a clear shot at a goal, and he sent the ball flying into the left corner of the net, past the outstretched fingers of a flailing Tom Jones.
Tommy and his teammates looked dejected as they trudged off at halftime, but the home fans kept on singing, “One-nil down, two-one up, that’s the way to win the cup!”
I went to get a drink but the
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