Diary of a Football Detective: week six

This week, 14 year-old football detective Danny Harte gets summoned… to Russia

Monday 9 October

Anton Holt collected me at 4.30 a.m. on the dot. It took an hour to drive to Manchester airport. The roads were really busy with loads of lorries and cars zipping in between them like it was a race track.

We checked in for our flight to Moscow. Hand luggage only. Then we went for something to eat. Anton refused to go to Burger King. I refused to go to his posh coffee bar. So we ate in different places. Fine.

I read this amazing library book on the flight to Moscow. It was called Culture Shock: Russia. If you ever go to a new country I recommend you read a book about it before you go. It had lots of stuff about why Russians like eating meat jelly and why people behind counters and the police are supposed to be really rude. Sounds like a crazy country. I can’t believe we land there in half an hour.

Arrived at hotel. It’s posh. And we have an armed guard. Or our own private army. I’m not sure which. Four men and three women with guns, ear pieces and mics up their sleeves. But why?

Tuesday 10 October

Anton was in the bar of our hotel interviewing people, so I went out. Anton made two of the bodyguards come too. They walked a few paces behind me. With their guns. That felt weird. They didn’t speak English and my Russian is er… not good. So I just walked. I saw an amazing coloured cathedral called St Basils. I went inside. Then Red Square. Then the Kremlin, where Putin lives. Moscow is a beautiful city.

One tip if you’re going to there. Be careful crossing roads. Most cars stop on the crossings, but there’s a middle lane where only very fast very black posh cars can go. And they don’t stop at crossings. Not sure who is in the posh black cars.

A woman came up to me as I stood gazing at the Kremlin.

‘You are here on a special day,’ she said. ‘Today one hundred years ago the Russian Revolution began. And here you are.’ Then she walked away.

I went back to the hotel. I read online about the Russian Revolution. This. Read it. It’s amazing.

Fancy killing your royal family and taking everything off everyone with money.

Wednesday 11 October

We went to the Luzhniki Stadium today. The stadium where the World Cup final is taking place. A man in a really flash suit arrived with six more body guards. Now we had 12 armed bodyguards with us.

The man? It was the British ambassador!

‘Mr Holt,’ he said. ‘Mr Harte. If you’d like to join me.’

We got into a large black shiny car. We drove fast. Like… fast! In the middle lane. So now you know who goes in the middle lanes.

I have to admit it felt good. Really good. I liked it. I liked being surrounded by guards with guns. And going in a special lane.

Anton says I can’t write down what happened in the stadium. It’s too dangerous, he says. All I can say was there was a grinning man who said it would be a good idea if I stopped sniffing around. That’s what he said. That’s it. How frightening does that sound?

Well, to be honest it terrified me. But I can’t tell you the rest.

Thursday 12 October

Flew home. It’s funny, even though we were really safe in Russia, it was good to get away. I read a book Anton gave me on the way back. Football Dynamo by Marc Bennetts. About what Russian football club owners will do to make sure their team win. Threat. Bribery. Intimidation. Murder.

Nice. Like I say, it was good to get away.

Though I expect there’s a bit of that sort of thing in the UK too. Where there’s money, there’s crime.

After a couple of hours flying I tried to sleep.

The grinning man had got to me. Even when I closed my eyes on the flight back, I could see him.

Friday 13 October

School. Tired. Everyone asking me what Moscow was like. We all filed into assembly. I kept my head down, hoping our head teacher had forgotten he’d asked me to talk about Moscow.

‘Danny Harte! To the front.’

Paul and Charlotte started sniggering. I stood up, walked to the front.

‘Go on, then, Danny,’ Theo Gibbs shouted from the back row. The head didn’t tell him off.

I told them I’d eaten meat jelly. That shut some of them up. Then I described the private armies I’d seen. And the black cars racing in their special lanes. And the guns and the man in my room. That was when the head teacher stopped me.

‘Thank you, Danny. Er… very interesting.’

Three hundred year tens clapped. I went back to my chair.

Saturday 14 October

Sat with Dad watching Liverpool v Man U in the lunchtime game on Sky. Me watching. Him listening. I was 8–2 down with my predictions before the game. Shall I describe the game. I won’t. No. It was dire. And a draw. That meant Dad was 9–2 up. I checked the BBC website for the scores in the European leagues. It’s amazing — you can see every score.

Not amazing today. Dad got it bang on 2–0. I said it’d be a draw. 10–2. OMG. I’m supposed to the expert.

I was just wondering how I was going to make myself feel better, when my phone rang.

And — I’ll be honest — I felt better. Thinking it might be Charlotte.

I checked. Not Charlotte. Unrecognised number. You’re not supposed to answer them, are you? I did. But I didn’t speak. I listened.

‘You were safe in Russia,’ a voice muttered. Russian accent. ‘But you and that girl are not safe in your country.’

Then the line went dead.

Sunday 15 October

Met Charlotte in Roundhay Park. By the bandstand that looks over the lake.

‘Why did you want to meet here?’ she asked.

‘I’ve got a problem and it’s to do with you,’ I said. I had to speak loudly because there was a loud noise. Like heavy traffic.

Charlotte glanced into the clouds above the trees on the far hill. ‘Is that a helicopter?’ she said.

I was about to get annoyed that she wasn’t listening to me. Then I realised the loud noise wasn’t heavy traffic. And that Charlotte was right. It was a helicopter. And it was coming straight for us, it’s side doorway open, a figure leaning out of it with what looked like a gun.

This week’s predictions. For what it’s worth…

Tuesday: Man City v Napoli. Me 3–1; Dad 6–2.

Real Madrid v Spurs. Me 3–1; Dad 4–2.

Sunday: Rangers v Motherwell. Me 3–;1 Dad 2–0.

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Russian research

Tom went to Russia in 2008 while he was researching his Foul Play book, Dead Ball. He was lucky to be able to watch Russian billionaires and their private armies, so he can describe it with authenticity in his stories. If you’d like to read a short five-part adventure about Tom being hunted down by a Russian hitman, it’s here. And some of it… is true.

Look out for next week’s episode on Tuesday 24th October. Thanks for reading.