Grand Slam (31 page)

On Friday morning, John Degraves wanted to see me in his office. I checked the time. Emilio's semifinal match was this afternoon. When I got to his office, JD asked me to close the door, which meant he wouldn't be discussing Dega Oil business. At least, not
all
Dega Oil business. Originally, when Jack had first recruited me to the Team, he told me that JD would never discuss Team business with me. But JD had broken that rule several times now, and I was getting used to having these secret conversations with him. I always thought about
Get Smart
and the cone of silence, imagining JD and me sitting under it and shouting at each other because the thing never worked, and that thought always made me smile.

‘You seem happy, Erica.'

‘Always happy to be at work, Mr Degraves.' Especially if Rosalind is sent to Sydney.

JD indicated for me to sit opposite. ‘I've spoken to our mutual friend about his visit to Western Australia.' He leaned in, glanced at the door.

I thought about the cone of silence.

‘The police have confirmed,' he said in a low voice, ‘that the three men killed did, in fact, cause the explosion.'

‘How?'

‘It was a deliberate attack.'

‘Suicide bombers?'

‘We assume not. Their boat was thrown onto the rig by the rough seas, and that caused the explosion.' He explained, ‘They had explosives on board the boat.'

‘But how do you know it wasn't a suicide mission?' I shifted further forward in my chair.

‘Because we found evidence on the remains of the boat of another planned attack. We don't believe they intended to die.'

‘Where?'

‘Bass Strait. I'll be sending our friend and his team to investigate.'

I nodded but didn't say I already knew that.

‘Of course you should just go about your business with Emilio for the remainder of the tournament. He's very fond of you.'

‘He thinks he is.'

‘And there's been no further harassment, I assume?'

‘Death threats, you mean?'

‘If you like.'

‘No.'

‘Very good. Carry on. You're doing a fine job.' And I was dismissed.

Later that morning, I was trying to get out of the office to go to Emilio, who'd been calling me every twenty minutes, when Jack called my mobile.

I answered with, ‘I can't talk.' Quite apart from the fact I was still pissed off with him, I really couldn't.

‘I need to see you.'

You should have thought of that yesterday when you were dismissing my safety, I didn't say. I rifled through the stuff on my desk, trying to find my tennis pass. Charlotte stood in front of me, hands on hips. Rosalind called my name without using the phone. If Jack was calling about Bass Strait or any other Team stuff, I couldn't discuss it here.

‘I really can't talk.'

‘Can we meet?'

‘
Erica!
' The vampire again.

Marcus was there now, flapping his arms.
Now!

‘I've gotta go. I'll call you later.' I hung up before he could speak again, and I hated that, but it was just such bad timing.

In the car, on the way to Emilio's hotel, Andrew said, ‘Jack's going away for a couple of days. He wants me with you, twenty-four-seven.'

‘You already are.'

‘No, he means
with
you.'

‘What about when I go to bed?''

‘On the floor in your room.'

‘You can't! What if my mother finds you there?'

He smiled. ‘I'm sneaky. And quiet.'

Gawd. I imagined my mother, hair in rollers, barging into my room with the latest edition of the
Herald Sun –
me doing something weird and embarrassing on the front page – and coming face to face with Andrew and his gun.

‘I think I'd feel a bit . . . funny.'

‘It's cool, Erica. Just work, that's all.'

Just work. I remembered being in a tree in the jungle with Joe once, evading the enemy, snuggled up to keep safe, feeling funny about having his arms tight around me and he'd said something like, ‘It's survival, that's all.' But being in my own small bedroom with a bodyguard asleep on the floor isn't exactly about evasion and survival.

‘Maybe I'll take a room at the hotel.'

‘Whatever.'

‘I'll get a suite with a separate bedroom. Jack can pay.'

Andrew laughed.

‘When's Jack leaving?'

‘Tomorrow.'

‘And until then?'

‘Busy.'

Mr Busy. Mr Too Busy For Me. That's probably why he was calling. To say he was busy and couldn't see me for a few days but he wanted me to stick with Andrew. Why? In case those pathetic criminals come back with their empty guns?

The hotel had an executive suite available on the same floor as Emilio's. I booked it for three nights: that night, Saturday and Sunday after the finals. I thought briefly about Emilio winning the finals and wanting to rush back to the hotel so we could finally consummate our love. Maybe I would. Bugger Jack. Mr Too Busy. At least it would finally end Emilio's infatuation with me.

Andrew and I arrived at Emilio's room.

‘Will you wait outside?' I certainly didn't want Andrew witnessing Emilio's passion and reporting back to Jack.

‘I'll check the room first.'

Teresa opened the door, gave me an exasperated look, pushed past me and left.

I walked in. ‘I'm here!'

Andrew followed me, looked around, left.

Emilio was pacing the bedroom, pulling at his hair. ‘I don't know what to wear! I can't think!'

‘It's all right. Calm down and we'll find something for you to wear.'

‘I do not know what is wrong with me!'

I stopped his pacing, took his hands in mine. ‘Guess what?'

‘What?'

‘I'm moving into the hotel.'

His eyes lit up. ‘
Conmigo
? With me?'

I wagged a finger at him. ‘Oh, no, naughty!'

He laughed, relaxed. Better.

‘Guess what else?'

‘What?'

I leaned in close, so our noses were almost touching. ‘I found it.'

‘
Mi amuleto
?'

I nodded.

He let out a mighty whoop, picked me up and spun me around. ‘Where? Where is it? I want to see it!'

‘I don't have it yet, but I know where it is.'

‘When? When will you have it?'

‘Well, I know where the, ah, men who stole it have put it. I just have to get in there and get it.'

‘The police, they will get it!'

‘Um . . . no, they won't. They can't.'

‘
Por que
?'

‘Why? Because, um, because if the bad men know the police are coming, they might do something to it. They might throw it in the river! No, I need to sneak in there.'

Emilio huffed. ‘I want it now.'

‘I'll have it for the finals, I promise. But in the meantime, I want you to do something.'

‘
Que
?'

‘Close your eyes.' He did it. ‘Now I want you to imagine your precious amulet around my neck. Can you see it?'

‘
Si
, I can.'

‘And that's all you have to do.'

‘That is all?'

‘Yes, it will keep you going until I have it in my hand. Can you do that?'

He gave me a suspicious look. ‘Maybe, Emily. But it is not the same.'

Emilio Méndez walked onto centre court for the men's semifinal match of the Australian Open tennis tournament to a standing ovation. Goosebumps sprouted all over my body and I'd never felt more proud in my life. Anyone watching Emilio would never have guessed he wasn't the most confident, coolest guy on the planet. And everyone wanted him to win. Vladimir Vavilov was already through to the final, so the winner of this match would play Vavilov on Sunday evening.

Andrew sat to my right, protecting me from a potential pathetic attack from the aisle. Teresa was on my left, protecting me from a potential lethal attack from John the coach. Below me, where Joe would usually be standing, was some guy I'd seen around but never met. One of Jack's Team guys. I wondered where Jack, Joe and Sharon were. Behind and above me, in the Dega Oil corporate box, were Charlotte Johnson and my mother.

I watched Emilio warm up with his opponent, American John Connor. I wished I could see it all in super-slo-mo, especially when Emilio served and his shirt rode up exposing his tanned, muscled belly. Not that I couldn't see that gorgeous tum any time I wanted, but it was titillating to watch him like this, knowing I could have him if I wanted. I leaned forward, elbows on knees and chin on my palms. I patted my face discreetly because slapping it would have looked strange.

Emilio's habit was to wear his hair out during warm up and tie it back for the match. But not before changing his shirt, which caused every woman in the stadium to cheer. Usually he'd laugh and wave, but not today. Today he was fully serious. He sat, took a drink, put his hands together prayer style and pressed his fingers to his mouth. Eyes closed. It looked like he was praying, but I wondered if he was trying my suggestion of visualisation. When he looked up at me, I patted my chest.
I'm here and I'm wearing your precious amulet, Emilio. Believe it.

He nodded once.

After two hours, Emilio and Connor were one set each. Connor was good but I thought Emilio played well. Emilio was younger and it was a hot day. Emilio was good in the heat. I thought about the smell of Emilio when he was sweaty. Emilio in the shower. I did another of those face-patting things.

At the start of the third set, Emilio serving, someone let out a mighty sneeze as he threw the ball into the air. Emilio let the ball drop. Everyone had a little laugh, including Emilio. He started again. This time, someone had a huge coughing fit – it sounded like the same person. Emilio let the ball fall and he turned, peered into the crowd with hands on hips, making a joke of it. Fewer people laughed. Next go at serving, the guy waited until Emilio was a millisecond off hitting the ball before he shouted something. Emilio served a fault. The umpire said, ‘Quiet, please!' Emilio's next serve was done without distraction, but he double-faulted. His first for the tournament. A murmur started up in the crowd. Emilio shook his head and nodded to the ball boy for his towel, which he used to wipe the sweat from his face, hands and racquet, then he served the ball. It was a fault. Emilio lost that game. John Connor held serve in the next. At the start of the third game of the third set, with Emilio serving again, the same man shouted out as Emilio served.

People were getting pissed off. Emilio threw his racquet. John the coach shouted abuse at whoever. Security would look for the guy now, ask him to leave. I scanned the crowd, seeking the offender. I saw someone I recognised. I didn't know if it was the shouting guy, but it was certainly the fat man from the boat. I nudged Andrew and pointed. ‘That's the guy from the boat. The one I reckon nicked my charm at the lunch heist.'

‘You think he's the one making all the noise?'

‘It's coming from there.'

Security staff were patrolling the back of that section of seating, waiting to spot the disrupting man. Why didn't someone give him up? I said to Andrew, ‘Will you go over there? Shoot him or something?'

‘I'm not leaving you.'

‘But —'

He held up his hand. ‘No.'

‘Maybe I'll go.'

He put a firm hand on my leg. ‘You'll stay.'

‘Geez, bossy. You sound like Jack.'

Andrew smiled.

Emilio attempted another serve. Fat man stood fully upright, hollered something nasty, in English but with a very strong accent, about Emilio's mother. Security were all over him then, dragging him away. Teresa sighed loudly next to me. John the coach quietly threatened to do horrible things to anyone who stood in Emilio's way. Emilio lost that set.

There was nothing I could do but send hand signals and loving, positive vibes. I blew a kiss, patted my chest, nodded my head in the hope he'd interpret it all as
You can do it!
He bowed his head, shaking it, running his hands through his hair. I wished I could have a few minutes with him to give him a motivational talk. Remind him how brilliant he is. But the fact was his confidence was in pieces, all over the court. Emilio was down two sets to one. If John Connor won the next set, he'd be playing Vavilov in the men's final.

The fourth set started. John Connor won the first three games. It was terrible to watch. I needed the toilet, couldn't wait longer, but didn't bother to explain to Teresa or John the coach what I was doing.

Andrew came with me.

‘We have to hurry,' I said.

We arrived at the loos and Andrew said he'd wait for me.

‘Don't you ever need to go?'

‘Never.' He smiled. ‘I'll be right back.' He jogged off to find the men's.

The queue wasn't too long because no-one wanted to miss a second of the match. I stood there pondering my ruined life, wondering about public lynchings, knowing Emilio would ultimately be okay . . . I mean, as devastated as he'd be, he was only twenty-three and there were plenty more Australian Opens to win, but still, it was awful to watch him throw away this match simply because of that idiot upsetting him.

A woman walked past me and I saw she was wearing a fake Emilio Méndez amulet. I didn't hesitate to leap from the line and grab her arm. She looked at me, horrified, and jerked her arm away. ‘What are you doing?'

‘Can I borrow your lucky charm?'

‘No way!' She backed away.

‘I'll pay you for it.'

‘No!' She tried to walk away and I followed.

‘Please? I'll give you five hundred dollars!'

She started running. I went after her.

‘Get away!'

‘I need it to help Emilio win this match!'

She stopped and looked at me. ‘You're his girlfriend.'

‘Yeah.' I nodded.

‘What are you going to do with it?'

‘Just show it to him. He'll think it's the real one and it might help.'

She hesitated, lifted it and gave it a kiss. ‘God, you're so lucky.'

‘Yep. Luckiest girl alive.'

‘Here, take it.'

‘I don't have money with me.'

‘Will you give it back?'

‘Of course.'

‘Okay. We'll meet at the ladies' loo after the match. Go help him win!'

I gave her a quick hug. ‘Thank you.' And as I headed back to the toilets, I saw Andrew running through the crowd, panicking, head swivelling.

I waved, ‘Here!'

He jogged up to me. ‘Sweet Jesus, I swear you'll be the death of me, Erica.'

‘That's what Jack always says.'

Someone else jogged up to us. Sharon Stone.

I frowned at her. ‘What are
you
doing here?'

Andrew said, ‘She'll stay with you for a couple of hours. I need to go pack a bag.'

Don't be long, Andrew, or I might do something I could be arrested for. ‘Okay, well, I still need the loo, then I need to hurry back. Look what I've got!'

By the time Sharon and I reached our seats, Emilio was down five games to nil. This next game was the decider. If Connor won it, that was it. If Emilio won it, he'd then have to win the next six to take this set. It was hopeless, but I needed to try.

Connor served an ace. Barely anyone in the crowd cheered. But, how to get Emilio's attention? He was so forlorn, the match lost, I could see it in his body language. I showed Teresa what I had.

‘It is not the real thing.' She shrugged.

I stared at Emilio, willing him to look up at me. Connor won the next two points. Emilio stood in the middle of the court, face to the sky, racquet hanging by his side.
Why, God?
I could almost hear him. I stood, holding the amulet out. I wasn't allowed to call out to him. And then, someone in the crowd shouted ‘Yeah!' and started a slow clap. More people joined the clapping. The ump called for quiet. The clapping got louder. The clapping people were looking at me. The television cameras were on me. Emilio looked up and saw me standing there, holding the fake lucky charm by the chain, letting it swing in front of my face. I gave Emilio my biggest smile and he was transfixed. His eyes grew wide, and a huge smile spread across his face. Suddenly puffed up, seemingly taller, Emilio jogged to the end of the court and waited to receive Connor's serve, which he returned with a fast forehand across court. Connor couldn't reach it. The crowd roared. The ump called for quiet, Connor served a fault. His second was a weaker serve, and Emilio returned it down the line. Connor was shocked.

Emilio won that game. He was so pumped, so fantastic, and his sudden burst of fight infected the entire stadium. The crowd buzzed and the ump found it hard to keep them quiet.

When Emilio served the next game, Connor didn't score a point.

I said to Sharon, ‘Not bad, hey?'

She smirked, like she knew something I didn't, and I wanted to slap that smirk right off her face.