remembered the carnage in the cockpit, the spattered blood from the co-pilot.
Perhaps I don’t want to talk about it either
. . .
Twenty minutes in, the driver spoke for the first time.
‘If you look to your right, you’ll see the new stadium Mr Popov has built.’
Jake wound down the window to let in some fresh air. The stadium was huge. Bigger than Old Trafford, Jake guessed. With its curved sides and soaring support stanchions, it looked a bit like a giant sixteenth-century galleon at anchor. But this was undoubtedly a modern building. It was all steel and glass, and as the sun rose over the hazy easternmountains, it glittered like gold. There was still some scaffolding along one wall of the stadium, but otherwise it looked complete.
‘It’s incredible,’ Jake said.
His dad leant past him. ‘It certainly is.’
The car took them along a forest road and up a gradual incline. With the cool morning air in his face, Jake wasn’t sleepy at all now. They emerged into a clearing with a gate ahead. The driver must have pressed a button, because the gate swung open automatically to admit the car. A building became visible over the brow of a small hill: single storey for the most part, with a single second-floor turret at one end. The whole thing was built of pale wood, with huge floor-to-ceiling windows along the front.
‘Welcome to your new home,’ said the driver, swinging the limousine round in front. ‘Mr Popov hopes you find it adequate.’
Jake slowly exited the car to take in the building better. The forest stretched out below, but beyond that was the stadium, two miles or so downhill, still glittering in the morning rays. Past that were the apartment blocks and offices of St Petersburg, and then the sea.
His dad came to stand beside Jake and put his arm round his shoulders.
‘Maybe the worst is behind us. I hope you’re glad you came?’
Jake could only nod.
The house inside was a mixture of traditional and modern. The front door opened directly into the kitchen. Jake noticed an espresso maker, juicer, ice machine. Above the oven was an entertainment unit. Jake only noticed it when the screen came to life and Popov’s face appeared.
‘Hi, Steven,’ Popov said, ‘and welcome to your new home. I hope you find it to your satisfaction.’ While the sight of Popov filled Jake with unease, the crisp image of what he assumed was a videophone call was damn impressive.
Popov continued: ‘Karenya is your maid and will help you find your way around the house, and she can also help with any immediate problems. If you need me, any time, day or night, my number is programmed into the in-house systems. For now, rest and explore. I’ve heard about your accident. I am pleased you are both OK. I’ve taken the liberty of providing some additional items of clothing and other things to make your stay more comfortable.’
‘Thank you, Mr Popov,’ his dad said, positioning himself in front of the screen. ‘When can I see the stadium and meet my team?’
‘I’ll send a car tomorrow at ten. For now,
do svidanya.’
The screen went blank.
Do svidanya.
The farewell greeting flashed an image of Helga, perched by the emergency exit, into Jake’s mind. He pushed it away.
‘Why don’t you go and look around?’ his dad said, surveying the stack of binders. ‘I need to do some work.’
Jake paused in the kitchen doorway. With the new house it was too easy to forget the extraordinary events of the night before.
If it wasn’t for their quick thinking and a hefty dose of luck, they’d both be corpses on a lonely road outside St Petersburg. If his dad was a killer, then someone else knew and was also trying to kill him. And without knowing who was pulling the strings, Jake was more in the dark than ever.
He decided to explore the house and grounds. The lounge area, lined with the glass windows, was sunk into the floor Huge, deep leather sofas surrounded a low slate table. Jake pressed a couple of the buttons
Perhaps I don’t want to talk about it either
. . .
Twenty minutes in, the driver spoke for the first time.
‘If you look to your right, you’ll see the new stadium Mr Popov has built.’
Jake wound down the window to let in some fresh air. The stadium was huge. Bigger than Old Trafford, Jake guessed. With its curved sides and soaring support stanchions, it looked a bit like a giant sixteenth-century galleon at anchor. But this was undoubtedly a modern building. It was all steel and glass, and as the sun rose over the hazy easternmountains, it glittered like gold. There was still some scaffolding along one wall of the stadium, but otherwise it looked complete.
‘It’s incredible,’ Jake said.
His dad leant past him. ‘It certainly is.’
The car took them along a forest road and up a gradual incline. With the cool morning air in his face, Jake wasn’t sleepy at all now. They emerged into a clearing with a gate ahead. The driver must have pressed a button, because the gate swung open automatically to admit the car. A building became visible over the brow of a small hill: single storey for the most part, with a single second-floor turret at one end. The whole thing was built of pale wood, with huge floor-to-ceiling windows along the front.
‘Welcome to your new home,’ said the driver, swinging the limousine round in front. ‘Mr Popov hopes you find it adequate.’
Jake slowly exited the car to take in the building better. The forest stretched out below, but beyond that was the stadium, two miles or so downhill, still glittering in the morning rays. Past that were the apartment blocks and offices of St Petersburg, and then the sea.
His dad came to stand beside Jake and put his arm round his shoulders.
‘Maybe the worst is behind us. I hope you’re glad you came?’
Jake could only nod.
The house inside was a mixture of traditional and modern. The front door opened directly into the kitchen. Jake noticed an espresso maker, juicer, ice machine. Above the oven was an entertainment unit. Jake only noticed it when the screen came to life and Popov’s face appeared.
‘Hi, Steven,’ Popov said, ‘and welcome to your new home. I hope you find it to your satisfaction.’ While the sight of Popov filled Jake with unease, the crisp image of what he assumed was a videophone call was damn impressive.
Popov continued: ‘Karenya is your maid and will help you find your way around the house, and she can also help with any immediate problems. If you need me, any time, day or night, my number is programmed into the in-house systems. For now, rest and explore. I’ve heard about your accident. I am pleased you are both OK. I’ve taken the liberty of providing some additional items of clothing and other things to make your stay more comfortable.’
‘Thank you, Mr Popov,’ his dad said, positioning himself in front of the screen. ‘When can I see the stadium and meet my team?’
‘I’ll send a car tomorrow at ten. For now,
do svidanya.’
The screen went blank.
Do svidanya.
The farewell greeting flashed an image of Helga, perched by the emergency exit, into Jake’s mind. He pushed it away.
‘Why don’t you go and look around?’ his dad said, surveying the stack of binders. ‘I need to do some work.’
Jake paused in the kitchen doorway. With the new house it was too easy to forget the extraordinary events of the night before.
If it wasn’t for their quick thinking and a hefty dose of luck, they’d both be corpses on a lonely road outside St Petersburg. If his dad was a killer, then someone else knew and was also trying to kill him. And without knowing who was pulling the strings, Jake was more in the dark than ever.
He decided to explore the house and grounds. The lounge area, lined with the glass windows, was sunk into the floor Huge, deep leather sofas surrounded a low slate table. Jake pressed a couple of the buttons
Similar Books
