CHAPTER 3

The Man From FOOFA

The Empire Stadium at Wembley opened to the public in 1923. It hosted a wide range of sporting extravaganzas. Every season’s FA Cup Final took place on the Wembley pitch, the World Speedway Championships were decided there, and in 1948 the stadium was the main venue for the London Olympic Games.

Rory, looking up at the famous Twin Towers, knew that the impressive list of Wembley events would run on into the stadium’s future too: in thirty years’ time, the final of Euro ’96 would be decided there, and perhaps the most famous rock concert in history, Live Aid, would take place there in 1985, just before Rory was born. Right now, on 30 July 1966, Wembley was staging the event that would secure its place in football folklore forever; even though the grand old stadium would be demolished in 2003 to make way for a bigger, bolder Wembley, thanks to this day it would never be forgotten.

The forecourt was bustling with excited fans and full of the cries of opportunistic salespeople. Rory noticed a stand selling England rosettes, along with ones in the colours of the top teams of the elite First Division.

Another yelling vendor moved through the crowd not far off. ‘Getcha match programmes ’ere! Only two ’n’ six!’

‘Two what and six what, though?’ the Doctor mumbled to himself, frowning. ‘Or are we supposed to add the two and six together? Eight pounds, perhaps?’ He turned to Rory and Amy. ‘Is that a lot for a programme? Or not enough?’ He dug around in his trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, displaying them on the flat of his palm. ‘We should be able to pay for one out of that little lot, don’t you think?’ He peered at the assortment of bronze, copper, silver and gold coins. ‘Oooh – hang on!’ he said, plucking a thin blue-tinged disc from the pile. ‘That’s a two hundred thousand Drooble Piece. Only worth anything if you’re on Tartac Beta. Barely get you a cup of tea there.’ He thrust the remaining coins at Rory. ‘Two and six, the man said. If I were you, I’d try two of one sort and six of another. The little twelve-sided ones are rather nice.’

Rory took the money with a wry look. ‘Thanks. That’s a big help,’ he said, and hurried away to accost the programme seller.

It wasn’t long before he rejoined them, proudly waving a light blue match programme. ‘Remind me to take this home with us,’ he told Amy. ‘They sell for a fortune on eBay.’

‘I reckon our tickets would fetch a fair bit, too,’ she agreed.

‘Ah. Tickets. Yes.’ The Doctor frowned again. ‘Now, how much do you think they’ll cost? A lot of bobs?’

Rory looked aghast. ‘We don’t have tickets? But there’ll be none left! Not for a game like this!’

‘Good point,’ said the Doctor calmly. ‘Simpler to do without, anyway.’

‘But they’ll not let us through the barriers!’ said Rory.

The Doctor looked over at the main spectator entrance, through which the fans were steadily flowing.

‘Then we’ll not go in through the barriers.’ He quickly cast his gaze across the rest of the stadium building. ‘We’ll go in … there!’ He pointed to a small grey door in the stadium wall, some distance from the main ticket barriers. A uniformed security guard stood beside it.

‘You sure?’ said Rory. ‘What about the guard? He’s hardly going to let us just stroll past. I reckon that entrance is for staff only or something. Doesn’t look like we’re supposed to use it.’

‘Which is exactly why we’re going to,’ said the Doctor brightly. ‘All the best doors are meant for other people. As for getting past the guard – you forget, Rory, we have something much better than tickets.’ He thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, then withdrew it, holding up a small, blank notepad.

‘One access-all-areas stadium pass …’

The security guard took a good long look, first at the Doctor, then at his psychic paper. Then he looked back at the Doctor again.

‘You’ll have to excuse me, Mr –’ the guard glanced back at the paper – ‘Lineker. I’m afraid I’ve not heard of this Fair Organisation of Football Agency before. What exactly is it you do, sir?’

‘Not heard of FOOFA?’ The Doctor looked surprised. ‘Why, my good man, we’re one of the most important regulatory bodies in international sport! As the name suggests, it’s our job to make sure that all major soccer competitions are organised in a fair, unbiased way.’ He gestured to Rory, beside him. ‘Herr Wilhelm here is from the West German Football Association. I have invited him to visit the team changing rooms to approve the facilities provided for the German squad. To assure him that there is no evidence of favouritism – cheap, shiny toilet tissue in one team’s changing rooms, luxury four-ply in the other, that sort of thing.’

The guard raised his eyebrows.

‘And the young lady?’ he asked.

‘I’m an interpreter,’ Amy told the guard curtly. ‘Herr Wilhelm doesn’t speak any English.’

The guard checked the Doctor’s credentials again.

‘Very well, sir,’ he said, with a nod. ‘Your pass-card clearly states that you are authorised to visit all areas of the stadium.’ He turned to Amy. ‘Please tell the foreign gentleman that I trust he’ll find everything above board. We English are very proud of our reputation for fair play.’

Amy turned to Rory. ‘Eins zwei drei vier fünf!’ she barked at him, in her best German accent. ‘Sechs sieben acht neun zehn!’

Rory nodded first to her, then to the security guard, as though acknowledging his good wishes.

The guard unlocked the grey door, held it open for the ‘FOOFA’ visitors to pass through, then closed it behind them.

They found themselves in a narrow corridor. Its walls were hung with black-and-white photographs of famous Wembley winners.

The Doctor nudged Amy with one patched elbow, grinning. ‘Good job our guard friend didn’t know any German himself, eh, Pond?’ he whispered. ‘He might have wondered why you were reciting the numbers one to ten!’

‘It’s the only German I can remember!’ Amy hissed back. ‘I only did one term of it at school.’

Rory was already engrossed in looking at the old team photographs, but the Doctor bundled him along the corridor. ‘Come on! Let’s take a look around! We still have a little while before the match is due to start – plenty of time to find a good spot in the stands. I bet you’d like a peek at some of the bits that are usually off limits first, eh, Rory?’

The Doctor strode ahead to where the corridor met another, and turned left. Rory and Amy hurried along behind him. They hadn’t gone far when the passageway’s right wall became glass. There was a door labelled PRESS ROOM 1. The Doctor stopped and peered through the transparent partition. He turned and smiled at Rory. ‘There you go, young man – how about that for starters!’

Rory and Amy, intrigued, peered through the window. The press room appeared to have been commandeered for other purposes. Its furniture had been completely rearranged. Chairs were stacked neatly against the walls. In the centre of the cleared floor was a square table. The only people in the room were four uniformed police officers. They were stationed at each of the table’s corners, looking outwards. At the centre of the table stood a glass case. Something golden sparkled within it.

‘Wow!’ hissed Rory. ‘That’s the cup! The actual World Cup!’

‘Are you sure?’ said Amy. ‘It doesn’t look much like the pictures I’ve seen. I thought it was a globe? Like a little world, with a bunch of guys holding it up?’

‘You’re thinking of the current trophy,’ said Rory. ‘This one’s the original. The Jules Rimet Trophy. It was replaced in 1970 with the one you’re talking about, after Brazil won it for the third time and got to keep it.’

Amy looked at him and shook her head. ‘Sometimes it frightens me how much of your brain is occupied with footy facts, Williams. You’ll never get a girlfriend, you know.’

Rory grinned. ‘It’s named after the French FIFA president who had the idea for the World Cup in the first place,’ he went on – he was enjoying having the chance to show off his knowledge. ‘It’s made out of solid gold, on a lapis lazuli base. It’s meant to be Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. You can see her wings – look.’

Amy looked back at the trophy – and at the four burly police officers standing guard over it. ‘They’re not taking any chances with it, are they?’ she said.

‘You can’t blame them,’ said Rory. ‘It’s been stolen once already, just a few months back. They put it on display at this fancy stamp exhibition and someone walked off with it. They never found the thief, but the trophy turned up again a week later. A dog called Pickles sniffed it out, in the bottom of a hedge, when he was out for his morning walk.’

‘Clever pooch!’ said Amy.

‘It gets stolen again later on, too. In 1983, from a bulletproof glass display cabinet in Brazil. That time, they never got it back.’

One of the police guards was now looking directly at them. His expression suggested that he found three faces pressed up against the window rather suspicious.

‘Shall we move along?’ suggested the Doctor.

They hastily drew away from the press room window and set off along the corridor once more. They passed several other side rooms, but the Doctor strolled purposefully ahead.

‘I for one want to see the players’ area,’ he told them. ‘That’s right over at the east end.’

As they passed another door, Rory came to a halt. There was a sign on it saying GENTLEMEN. A smaller one underneath read OFFICIALS ONLY.

‘Er, guys,’ said Rory a little awkwardly. ‘If the match is going to last two hours, I could do with popping in here beforehand.’

‘Go on then,’ said Amy. ‘We’ll wait.’

‘I might be a couple of minutes,’ said Rory. ‘It’s a Gary Neville.’

Amy gave him a blank look.

‘Number two,’ Rory explained with a smirk, before ducking through the changing-room door.

‘Ew!’ Amy grimaced. ‘Like I needed to know that!’

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you think there’s anything he can’t put a soccer spin on?’

A few seconds later, they were both surprised to see Rory reappear.

‘That was quick!’ said Amy.

Rory didn’t reply for a moment. His cheery expression had vanished. He looked like he had just had a nasty shock.

‘There’s something in the toilet,’ he told them gravely.

Amy pulled another face. ‘Again, way more information than we need, Rory!’

‘No, not like that!’ said Rory. ‘In one of the cubicles.’ He looked from Amy to the Doctor, stony-faced. ‘It’s a body.’