Striker Boy Kicks Out (17 page)

In the training session, Nat stuck to the high standards he'd set himself after the first day's poor start. He was mindful of the gaffer's words about breaking up Lazio attacks quickly, and he ran, chased and harried. At the end of the first half of the session, the starting eleven went through some moves against the remaining seven and Nat managed to get in a perfectly-timed sliding tackle on Paulo Carigio and to steal the ball from Adilson with a strong challenge. The Brazilian went down but got up quickly and slapped Nat's palm. Stan Evans nodded his approval at Nat.

Just give me a chance, Mr Evans! Put in a good word for me with the boss!

Dean Jobson hung back as Ian Fox had ordered, though
you could see the dismay on his face when Paulo Carigio swapped a one-two with Jermaine Clifton and smashed the ball home past Jack Bell.

Nat and Emi stayed out on the pitch when the others had gone in, with Nat running at his friend. Emi didn't hold back on his tackles, but a couple of times Nat skinned him. Emi wasn't best pleased by this, but he had to acknowledge Nat's speed and movement. When they were finished, they sat down on the grass for a breather.

“What do you think of the gaffer giving Dean the defensive role tonight?” asked Nat.

“Disaster,” huffed Emi with concern. “Can you really see him hanging back while Paulo is hurtling up the pitch? If it was up to me I'd definitely drop one of them, probably Dean.”

“Me too,” nodded Nat.

“But that's Fox for you,” said Emi. “He has his set ideas and thinks that by sheer force of personality he can take everyone with him. And he's wrong on something else too.”

“Go on,” said Nat.

“You've been playing far better than Robbie and you should start,” said Emi. “I'm not just saying that because we're mates. You're fitter than him, you're faster than him and your finishing's way above his at the minute.”

“You reckon?”

“I know,” grinned Emi, “but I can see it from the boss's point of view. Robbie's much more experienced than you
and it would be hard for Fox to drop him. But if we want to beat Lazio we'd be in a much better position with you out there rather than Robbie.”

Nat felt a shot of pride. In his heart of hearts, he knew he'd been playing a notch above Robbie Clarke, but it would have sounded arrogant coming from him; Emi saying it, however, was a great confidence booster.

“Pass me the big box,” said Carlos, looking up from the table when Rudy entered the unit. There were two boxes on the floor. Rudy picked up the larger one and walked over to Carlos with it. They'd dropped off the boxes, tables, chairs and a large holdall of equipment first thing that morning.

“I've got some news,” said Rudy.

“What kind of news?”

“I just saw Daskov. He was showing the space at the other end of this floor to a big bald guy.”

Carlos frowned.

“They were just inside the front door so I hung back and listened,” said Rudy. “The guy said he wanted to take it now. I heard Daskov counting off the notes. Don't you think it's a bit weird that someone's taken it so soon after we took this one and is also paying in cash?”

“Maybe the bald guy just phoned him this morning,” suggested Carlos.

“Maybe,” said Rudy, walking over to the window and looking out across the field. “But what happens if it's not like
that? What happens if it's connected to your break-out?”

“What – you think the bald guy is a cop and he's staking us out?”

“Could be,” answered Rudy nervously. “He might be taking the unit to spy on us and make sure it's you.”

“There's no way they'll have traced us here,” said Carlos calmly. “I haven't been seen in public and Daskov doesn't know who I am.”

“What if he does?” said Rudy urgently. “What if he did recognise you and immediately informed the police? If that's what happened, we're in big trouble.”

“You've been watching too many crime movies,” smiled Carlos reassuringly. “We're safe here. The bald guy and Daskov and anyone else who may rent a unit here haven't got a clue what we're doing. If we keep ourselves to ourselves we'll be fine, OK?”

“I don't like it,” muttered Rudy.

“Well, get over it,” ordered Carlos, his voice suddenly commanding. “Until anyone knocks on the door brandishing handcuffs we're safe. Now pass me the small box and let's get on with it.”

Rudy stepped away from the window and went to pick up the other box. Carlos's words made sense but Rudy was still on edge – it would only take one snooper and they'd be blown out of the water. He'd keep a close eye on the bald man so that if anything were afoot he'd be the first to know.

He handed the second box to Carlos and they pressed on.

As the Hatton Rangers team bus drove past the front of the stadium, Nat, Emi and Kelvin looked out of the window.

“Check out how many Lazio fans there are!” exclaimed Emi.

He was right. There'd been plenty of them at the Lazio v Celtic game, but their numbers had massively swelled for this one.

Nat and the others had spent the afternoon at the team hotel, Nat trying not to think about Swinton's lost notebooks and to focus on the game.

“Don't worry about it,” called Stan Evans, who was checking out the Lazio fans too. “Our supporters will be fantastic. They'll give as good as they get. All you lot have to do is win the game!”

“It's as easy as that, is it?” shouted Emi.

“Absolutely!” replied Evans.

The coach left the main road, turned left down a narrow side road and pulled into the players' car park.
Several officials from El Mar were there to greet the Rangers squad and led them into the building.

“Same changing room as before!” shouted Andy Young, who was easily the most superstitious member of the squad. “It's a good omen!”

“OK, listen in, everyone!” shouted Stan Evans. “The gaffer has a thing or two to say.”

All eyes switched to Fox. “I've already told you how important this game is and we've talked about our tactics. Dean, I know you're not enamoured by your defensive role but I need you to be there for us tonight – I'm relying on you.”

Jobson nodded at the boss, but Nat saw the hangdog look of dejection that Jobson couldn't quite remove from his face.

“As I said in training, we attack. There's no point in just defending.”

“Press them,” chipped in the Wildman, “and we'll score.”

With twenty minutes to go before kick off, Stan Evans led the players onto the pitch for some stretches and runs. The stadium was already buzzing with excitement. Nat lined up with Jensen, Clarke and Sinclair, taking shots against Graham Dalston. He got a couple of sweet strikes in the net. Then it was back inside. The first eleven got changed and the two teams filed out onto the pitch to great applause and some boos – although who these were for wasn't clear. The Wildman had won the toss earlier in
the evening so Hatton Rangers got to play in their home strip – white and green vertical stripes, white shorts and green socks. Lazio wore their second away kit of dark blue shirts, blue shorts and half blue, half black socks.

Nat took up his place on the bench next to a very sour-looking Pierre Sacrois, who was still livid about not making the starting eleven. He was muttering under his breath in French. Nat caught Ian Fox's name a couple of times.

In the middle of the field, doing runs and stretches by himself, was genius playmaker Arturo Tassi, who had so impressed against Celtic.

Tassi is already a big player, but there's no question – he's going to be huge.

The first ten minutes of the game went brilliantly for Rangers. Adilson was all over the place, dragging defenders out of position and spraying balls to Jensen and Clarke. They both managed decent shots and this put the Lazio defence on a rather startled, high-alert footing. Lazio's Tassi hardly touched the ball.

Then, on fourteen minutes, Rangers – or, more specifically, Dean Jobson – messed up. He had just received a pass from left-back Andy Young, but instead of threading it across to Jermaine Clifton, he hesitated, and Laurent Breton stole it from him. Lazio broke at breakneck pace, Breton's exquisite pass splitting the Rangers back four, who weren't expecting Jobson's error. Tassi ran onto the pass and charged towards the Rangers
goal. The Wildman sprang forward to try and prise the ball off him, but Tassi quickly squared it to Luigi Fellini, who smashed a curling shot into the bottom right-hand corner of Dalston's goal.

The Lazio players mobbed Fellini and Tassi.

“NO!” yelled Fox.

Jobson looked distraught.

“Head up, Dean!” screamed Fox. “Press up and hit them back!”

For a while, Rangers did exactly this – running at the Lazio defence and mopping up at the back to ensure they didn't concede again. Dennis Jensen went on an excellent run, but he was forced out towards the left corner flag. In the battle to escape the attentions of two Lazio defenders, he took a knock on his right calf muscle and went down. The Rangers physiotherapist Colin Dempsey jumped up from the bench, grabbed his bag and ran over to Jensen. With his help, Jensen stood, but he only managed to limp across to the touchline. Nat's heart rose up in expectation, but a spray from one of Dempsey's healing canisters eased the pain, and thirty seconds later the referee waved Jensen back on.

It looked like Rangers would go in at half-time one-nil down, but three minutes before the forty-five were up, Lazio struck again. Tassi went on a mesmerising run that left several Rangers players in his wake. When he burst into the penalty area, Emi and Kelvin rushed in to block him, but he lifted the ball over them both, ran
onto it and volleyed home with a wonder strike. It was an absolutely supreme goal, but unfortunately it went to the wrong team.

Tassi was pounced on by his teammates, while Ian Fox jumped up and down at the edge of the technical area, like a toddler who's just been told he can't have the last piece of chocolate.

“Why didn't anyone pick Tassi up?” he shrieked in rage.

Soon after, the referee blew for half-time. The Rangers manager was off down the tunnel in a blur of speed. Nat knew Fox's half-time talk would be brutal, but it was even worse than he'd imagined.

“That performance was a bloody disgrace!” he shouted, when everyone had congregated back in the changing room. “Dean – I don't know what the HELL you were doing when you gave the ball away for the first goal. I just don't get it. Lazio must have thought it was all of their birthdays, bank holidays and Christmases come at the same time! It was a gift! And you're
all
to blame for the second goal. Talk about ball-watching! We know Tassi can run and score, so what did you do? You gave him acres of space! Unbelievable!”

“You're right, boss – it was rubbish,” nodded the Wildman. “But we all take responsibility for
both
goals.”

Dean Jobson gave the Wildman a grateful nod.

“OK, let's put the first half to bed” said Fox, easing the anger out of his voice. “We need a new game plan
for the second half, because I cannot stand another forty-five minutes like that. We're two-nil down. As long as we don't concede again, we can get back into it. There's no point in just defending, we have to score, so from now on, Dean, you can forget about your defensive responsibilities and join up with Carigio to support the forwards.”

Jobson smiled in relief.

And then Fox sprang a surprise. “Dennis I'm taking you off. You took a nasty knock on your calf – I don't want to make it any worse.”

“It's nothing, boss,” insisted Jensen. “Colin said it's fine. Honestly, I can't feel it. I'm fine.”