-1"So, this is a cultural experience, huh?" Eames' tone was ironic as they settled into their seats at the City of London stadium. They were sat in the south side of the ground. Across the way from them were the VIP boxes for the stadium. Annoyingly, Goren thought, he'd have to walk all the way around the ground to meet Sienna, but he'd do it if he had to. He'd spent the time since parting from her at the pub with his thoughts in a whirl. He'd slept badly, then come downstairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning, to the hotel's breakfast room and found to his surprise that Eames was not only already there, but deep in conversation with Jack McAllister.

McAllister was explaining enthusiastically, with the aid of the contents of the breakfast table: "So, if the striker is here, and the goal's here, and the last defender is here…"

From behind him, Tanya had interrupted: "For God's sake, Jack, leave it. She doesn't have to understand it, football's the easiest game in the world to understand. Your team tries to kick the ball into the net, and the other team tries to stop you. That's all there is to it." She'd leaned across, twining her fingers through Jack's hair, pulled his head towards her and kissed him gently. It looked possessive, but Goren didn't miss the gentleness in her touch, the way she allowed Jack to pull away at any time. Once, he himself had used to kiss Sienna in the same way.

Jack had looked up from the kiss with a resolute expression. "Look, I'm sorry, but there's a law saying that if you take an American to a football match, you have to try and explain the offside rule using a saltpot… oh, hi, Goren. Coffee?"

They'd spent the morning at the hotel, reading the morning papers and drinking coffee, then left early to get to the stadium. Well, he, Eames and Tanya had done so. McAllister had been successful in tracking down Ranjit Elahi's friend, the roofing expert Edward Cattley, and had gotten a message from him saying that he was sorry for the short notice, but that they could meet right now, if McAllister was free? After much debate, Tanya and Jack had agreed that he'd take his ticket, see Cattley quickly to judge if he had anything useful, and catch them up at the ground. There was still no sign of him.

They'd got in with little difficulty. He had been more than slightly worried about that since he and Eames were still armed, both of them having an uneasy feeling, too instinctive to articulate, that they should stay armed until they were back in New York. They were being paranoid, he knew, but the fact remained that there was still a small chance that Andropov had arranged for revenge on anyone who threatened his scheme. That and Davenport's earlier comments about the lax safety at the hotel made them both feel that the safest places for their sidearms plus the ammunition clips was on their persons, where they could keep an eye on them. Goren had called Hood in advance, and after some negotiation, gotten his agreement that they could carry concealed as long as they both had their police identification with them.

He still had Davenport's secure cellphone, he realised, and nudged Eames. "What… oh yeah, I've still got mine. Shoved it in my jacket pocket and forgot to take it out."

"Me too. Guess we should leave them with Tanya afterwards. I don't really want to see him again."

"No, me neither. Do you want a programme?"

So far it was proving a fascinating experience, with the same electric atmosphere as at any major sporting event. Goren was fascinated by the different cultures on display, the insight into another country, and was eagerly listening to both sets of supporters, English and German. The atmosphere so far was largely good-humoured, with quite a few families inside the ground.

English soccer fans had a bad reputation, but so far they'd only seen one sign of that. As they queued outside to get in, a bunch of drunken young male English fans had starting singing: "Two World Wars and one World Cup, doo-dah, doo-dah!" Quite a few fans, English and German, had stared at them with expressions of well-mannered distaste, apart from Tanya, who had waved for a nearby pair of police officers to come over. She knew both of them, having trained them during their probationary period, and Goren guessed that the same must go for quite a few police officers in London. One of the singers had tried to grab Tanya's wrist, and promptly regretted it as she twisted it viciously and kneed him in the groin.

As the nearby crowd fell about laughing, the man's friends had scowled and muttered a few ugly phrases, but at that point the police arrived and dragged them off to have a severe word. They had been allowed in, unfortunately, and were seated some way above where they were. Goren could hear the occasional mutterings from above, combined with occasional shouted insults at the German supporters, but the three of them had decided to ignore it. Besides, between the two of them, Eames and Tanya could probably handle anything from Sherman tanks to outbreaks of Ebola, he thought amusedly. They seemed to have bonded.

He looked around at the glistening new stadium, packed to the rafters (or at least to the ugly temporary roof, which still had bits of scaffolding here and there) and couldn't help but allow himself a small feeling of pride. This was all thanks to him. Well, him, Eames, Tanya, Jack, Sienna, DS Hood and even Davenport, whose name he still couldn't think of without scowling. Nearby, Tanya returned from an errand to get them some drinks, puffing slightly. It was a warm day, still but slightly overcast. Good weather for the match; no sunlight to get in the players' eyes.

"Honestly, you've got to go all the way out down those steps and out of the ground to get to the drinks stall… guess they really didn't finish building this place in time," she complained, and looked at her watch. "I'll kill him if he doesn't show up soon."

Coming from her, Goren thought, that wasn't a threat that should be taken lightly. Around them, the crowd were singing and doing Mexican waves, and he could feel the stand vibrating with the thumping of several thousand people jumping up and down. In front of them, the pre-match entertainment was ending. Someone, rather unfortunately, had picked a band whose song featured the chorus: "I predict a riot! I predict a riot!"

Before they knew it, the announcer was announcing the teams to huge cheers from the fans. The stadium was packed out with nearly equal numbers of English and German supporters, and the noise rose to fever pitch as the two countries' national anthems boomed out across the ground. The referee blew his whistle, and the match kicked off.

Fifty minutes later, he was looking at his cellphone anxiously, willing it to ring. Still no message from Sienna, he was starting to feel his heart sinking. He'd made an effort again, white T-shirt and blue jeans, okay for a football match, but good enough to meet her in it and not show her up, he hoped.

It had been a thrilling forty-five minutes, though. Even without Jack there to commentate, he and Eames had enjoyed the match. Although it was a friendly, both teams had fielded some of their best players. The score stood at one-all, and the general consensus among the crowd seemed to be that it had been a good first half. Except for the increasingly drunken and yobbish gang of louts seated above them, whose behaviour had finally seen them dragged out of the ground by the stewards.

Suddenly, the cellphone beeped and a message appeared. He didn't recognise the number, but it was from Sienna. He read it eagerly: "Bobby, it's Sienna. I can meet you if you walk up to the top of the south stand. Meet you in corner nearest the east side of stand. Had to borrow phone, can't get reception with mine. Can't wait to c u, Sienna." He was a little surprised at her choice of location, but sent back a reply, and left so quickly that Tanya and Eames looked surprised, then thoughtful.

As he walked up the stairway, he caught a glimpse of a slightly sinister figure on a stairway opposite; a man in a black uniform, wearing a backpack and bulletproof armour, and carrying a gun. His heart leapt briefly, then he spotted the insignia. The man belonged to SO19, the Metropolitan Police armed response squad, probably carrying out a routine patrol. He relaxed and waved to the man, who lifted a hand in reply and continued to walk away from him, up and along the stadium in the opposite direction. As he reached the top of the stand, he looked around. No Sienna, perhaps she was still making her way round the stadium.

Up here, some of the rows of seats were empty, and it was quieter. Maybe that was why she'd chosen it as a meeting place for a discussion. There was a small gap between the stadium walls and the temporary roof here, and there was some breeze, but not much. It was a still day.

He looked around again, worriedly this time. Still no Sienna, but two men were walking towards him. The cellphone vibrated again, but he ignored it, trying to make out their faces. Suddenly, he recognised both of them, and he thought, What the hell's going on here? One was DS James Hood, who was almost sprinting toward him, looking so panicked Goren's heart rate shot up in response. The other, clad in jeans and leather jacket, with an expression of equal panic, was Andrew Davenport, who was a faster runner and gaining ground on Hood as they both hurtled towards Goren.

"What the hell's going on?" he greeted both of them, then a sudden intuition hit it. That unfamiliar number. "Davenport, did you send those messages? Where's Sienna? Is she okay?"

Another idea hit him. "Did you send her messages saying I'd find her, like you did to me?" That was it. Davenport had meddled in his life once too often. He stepped forward menacingly, and Davenport starting gabbling quickly. "Goren, listen. Sienna's fine, she's in the VIP box with her uncle. You can kick the shit out of me in a minute, if you like, but please just listen. There's a message on your cellphone, Jack sent it to me, I sent it to you."

Not once taking his eyes off Davenport, Goren reached carefully into his pocket and found the cellphone. It was still vibrating slightly, indicating it had a voicemail. He hit "Call Answerphone".

The voice that came out was familiar, but only just. It was Jack McAllister's, and he was shouting so loudly it was difficult to make out what he was saying. His voice had gone high, and Goren's pulse instantly began to race, adrenaline flooding his bloodstream, because a person's vocal cords only tightened like that if they were deeply, desperately afraid.

"Drew, we're fucked. We're totally fucked. I looked into those tests Goren and Eames told me about? Tracked down the contractor. That Ranjit Elahi asked his friend to run on the plans for the temporary roof, told him it was just a theoretical exercise – Cattley practically had a coronary when I told him it was the roof for the City of London stadium. You're not going to believe this. They built the temporary roof with only half the supports you need for steel that heavy. The supplier wasn't ripping them off; they were sending them the wrong kind."

Jack paused for breath, then continued: "Elahi found that out when he worked on the build site, but he didn't really understand what he was looking at. He didn't want to risk rocking the boat at work, he got the specifications of the steel being used direct from the build site, then got his friend to run a simulation with those details, not the ones sent by the supplier. That's why his cousin broke into his house."

Another breath. "Wasn't the plans he was after, they had those. It was whether he knew about the roof, and when they found the details he had about it, Andropov killed him to keep him quiet. Khaleel went along with it because this will kill far more people than even a suicide bomb. Drew, that thing will have barely stayed up with the stadium empty. The vibrations going through it with a full crowd will be about to bring it down any minute. Get everyone out of there!" McAllister's voice broke. "I can't get hold of Tanya, she's not answering her phone! I can't get near the fucking stadium. GET HER OUT!" The message abruptly cut off.

Author's Note: The song here is "I Predict A Riot" by the Kaiser Chiefs, album is "Employment".