The Edge by Nick Hale Page A

of Tan getting in his face in the dorm sprang to mind. The guy had erupted like a volcano. This was the friend who up till then had done everything he could to avoid getting into fights.
    ‘Jake . . .’ his dad was saying.
    ‘Wait a minute,’ Jake said, picking up the busted bottle. Tan had guzzled the stuff, hadn’t he? And Veronika had snapped at him that very morning, right after drinking it. Most of the people at the camp seemed to like it – and with Phillips pressing it into every empty hand, it was hard to avoid. And, come to think of it, the other footballers had become more aggressive too.
    Jake’s mind raced through the possibilities. Could there be something in the drink that messed with the chemical balance in your body? Something that drove normal people to violence? Garcia’s car had been full of empty bottles, but the police had focused on the alcohol. What if they’d got it wrong? What if it was the Olympic Edge that had literally driven him over the edge and made him crash into the swamp?
    ‘It all adds up,’ he muttered, half to himself.
    ‘What does?’ asked his dad.
    ‘And Otto too,’ Jake continued. ‘He drank bottles of this stuff right before he dropped the barbell.’
    ‘What are you talking about, Jake?’
    ‘Dad, I think there’s something wrong with the drink.’ He went through his suspicions. The only one that didn’t add up was BeBe, but perhaps that was a genuine accident.He expected his dad to dismiss it out of hand, but instead he said, ‘It might be worth investigating.’
    ‘We’ve got to tell Dr Chow,’ Jake said. ‘Get her to tell people to stop drinking the stuff.’
    ‘Not yet,’ his dad said. ‘We don’t want to go ringing alarm bells.’
    ‘Well, we’d better find out pretty quick,’ said Jake.
    His dad nodded. ‘I know just the place. Let me make a call.’

14
    J ake and his dad waited at the back of the service buildings as the laundry truck pulled in. With police still interviewing everyone and security patrols tighter than normal, there was only one way out.
    ‘If we get caught now, it’s going to look really bad,’ his dad said.
    ‘You’re not prime suspect number one,’ Jake said. ‘Can’t you call someone at MI6 and sort something out?’
    ‘That’s not how it works, Jake,’ his dad said. ‘I’m not sure the Americans even know MI6 has someone here. We can’t jeopardise my cover for a hunch.’
    Jake gave him a hard glare.
    ‘OK, an educated hunch, but still a hunch.’ Jake’s dad looked around again. ‘You ready?’
    Jake nodded.
    A Hispanic guy in a brown uniform jumped out of the truckand went to open the back doors. He waved to two maids, who were already wheeling out tall cage trolleys full of dirty laundry.
    ‘What’s going on?’ the truck driver asked the maids. ‘They asked to see my ID at the gate. I said, “Carl, it’s me, Roberto!” but he said there’s been another accident. The police are here . . .’
    One maid explained the situation as Roberto lowered the platform at the back of the van and loaded in the trolleys. Another maid gave her version of events, and the trio headed into the service building still chattering away.
    ‘Come on,’ said Jake, leading the way. He and his dad hopped up into the back of the van and crept to the far end. They positioned themselves behind the trolleys, and pressed up against the front of the van. It was a tight squeeze. Jake had a rucksack containing three bottles of Olympic Advantage.
    Roberto loaded on several more trolleys, and seconds later the engine rumbled to life. Jake gripped the edge of a trolley to stop himself being thrown around the van as it lurched round corners. As they pulled to a halt, Jake guessed they’d reached the front gates of the complex.
    A voice rose above the hum of the truck: ‘Boss says we need to check the back.’
    Jake’s gut tightened as he held his breath.
    ‘You’re kidding me,’ said the driver.
    ‘’Fraid not,