Next morning, Gareth was about to leave the changing room before the start of the training session when Blackbeard blocked his way.
‘You’ve got a visitor, Davies,’ the coach told him. ‘Wait here.’
Puzzled, Gareth sat down on a bench, thinking Gramps must have arrived early and somehow bluffed his way in. When the door opened, he found Old Taffy staring at him with his piercing blue eyes, which were exactly the same as those of his young clone.
Gareth stood up and backed away nervously. ‘What do you want with me?’
Taffy grinned. ‘I want to make you a star!’
‘A star?’
‘That’s right, boyo. Reckon that’s the least I can do for the grandson of my old pal Davy.’
‘And how are you going to do that?’
‘Full of questions, ain’t you? Just like Davy.’
‘Well, for a start, we’re going to take you away from here and…’
Gareth cut him off. ‘I’m not going to that A.C.E. place so you can jab needles into me, if that’s what you think.’
‘That’s exactly what I think,’ Taffy said, making a move towards him. ‘And you’re going there right now.’
‘I can’t. Gramps is coming to see me today.’
Taffy was taken by surprise. ‘Davy? He’s coming back here?’
‘You’ve got it. He wants to watch me in the high jump – and speak to you about things, too.’
‘Things?’
‘Yes, things,’ Gareth stressed. ‘You’ve got some explaining to do, Taffy Jones – and not just to Gramps…’
Taffy stared at him for a few moments, then turned and left the room.
The vintage Bentley purred past the chapel and pulled into a clump of trees, not far from the statue, letting the team bus disappear up the driveway. The automatic gates had closed so swiftly that they’d scraped the rear of the car as it squeezed through them after the bus.
Gramps had decided that it would be better not to park in the courtyard as he had done on Open Day, suspecting that they might not welcome such an early return visit – even if he wasn’t quite sure who they might be.
He climbed out of the car to inspect the damage to its paintwork, shook his head, and then walked towards the lake to take another look at Taffy’s statue.
‘Had himself made to look like a Greek God,’ he murmured. ‘Typical!’
Gramps could not resist stepping on the stone discus, as he’d seen Adam do, and the front panel of the base rumbled forwards to reveal the open space beneath the statue.
‘Huh!’ he grunted. ‘Perhaps just as well it’s been flooded.’
He was about to close the gap when a movement among the trees caught his eye. His first instinct, perhaps a guilty echo from the past, was to hide somewhere, but then he recognised the figure slouching towards him.
‘Fancy seeing you here again, Davy,’ Taffy greeted him, but there was no offer of a handshake this time.
‘Hello, Taffy,’ said Gramps warily. ‘Weren’t expecting me, were you?’
‘Well, young Gareth did let out that you might be back,’ he admitted. ‘I just wasn’t sure if you’d be able to get in.’
‘Get past them gates, you mean? Yes, they are a wee bit sharp.’
‘Helps to keep out people who are not wanted,’ Taffy told him.
‘You including me in that?’
‘’Fraid so, Davy, old pal. It’s a pity you were nosy enough to sneak back in.’
‘Why? What’s going on here that you want to keep such a secret?’
‘More than you’ll ever know.’
Gramps nodded. ‘Including this cloning business, no doubt,’ he said. ‘Trying to play God. What did you hope to gain by that?’
‘Immortality!’ Taffy replied, grinning inanely. ‘Taffy Jones will live on for ever!’
‘You’ve gone mad.’
The grin faded and Taffy took a step forward, bunched his fist and then hit Gramps full in the face. The blow sent Gramps toppling backwards and, as he fell, his head struck the side of the stone plinth and he lay still.
Taffy looked at the crumpled body and gave a little sigh of regret. Then he took hold of the man’s legs and began to drag him towards the yawning black hole.
‘Goodbye, Davy,’ he grunted with the effort. ‘Sorry it had to end this way…’
‘No sign of your grandad yet?’ asked Tom.
Gareth shook his head. ‘He was supposed to get here at the same time as this lot.’
As they watched the visiting athletes cross the courtyard towards the changing rooms, half a dozen burly men in blue tracksuits also left the bus and followed them.
‘They’ve got more coaches than us,’ muttered Adam. ‘Speakin’ of which, have you seen Petit Pierre today?’
‘You mean D.I. Robins,’ Eddie corrected.
‘Yeah, right – have to start callin’ him Robbo now instead!’ Adam grinned. ‘Still ain’t sure Doubtin’ Thomas here really believes it.’
Tom scowled. ‘Not till he proves he’s on our side.’
‘Pity Old Taffy got warned about Gramps coming,’ said Eddie. ‘Wonder if he’s done a runner and Robbo’s gone after him?’
Gareth sighed. ‘I just hope Gramps is OK.’
‘Well, if you’re worried,’ said Adam, ‘let’s go and see if his car’s somewhere. We’ve still got time.’
‘The statue!’ exclaimed Gareth. ‘I bet he’s gone there to have another look at it.’
The boys jogged off down the drive and reached the clearing near the statue just in time to see Taffy dragging a body along the ground.
‘Hey!’ shouted Adam, breaking into a sprint. ‘Stop!’
‘That’s Gramps!’ cried Gareth.
Startled by the boys’ arrival, Taffy let go of his burden and drew a knife from his belt. ‘Stay right where you are!’ he commanded.
Adam carried on running, yelling threats at the top of his voice. He took off as if he were doing the long jump and flew through the air, feet first.
At the last moment, Taffy tried to sidestep the human missile, like a matador dodging a bull’s charge, but he was too slow. The impact forced the breath from his body, sending the knife spiralling away, and Taffy crumpled to the ground, face down in the dirt.
Adam was winded, too, but Eddie arrived in time to jump on top of Taffy to try and stop him getting up again. Gareth had gone to attend to Gramps and was kneeling beside him, cradling the bleeding head in his lap.
‘He’s still alive!’ he cried in relief. ‘He’s breathing!’
‘Watch out!’
Tom’s warning was in vain. Eddie failed to see Young Taffy dash out from the trees near the chapel and he was knocked sideways by the unexpected assault. The two boys rolled across the grass, grappling with one another, just as a group of blue-tracksuited men came running towards them, led by a man in black.
‘Pierre’s here!’ cried Tom.
‘Yeah, but who’s this pair?’ muttered Adam as two more men appeared from the opposite direction.
‘About time you got here,’ Old Taffy yelled at the bodyguards, who had halted 50 metres from the statue when they found themselves outnumbered. ‘Do something!’
They did. They turned and fled, pursued by four of the armed police officers, who had been smuggled in on the local athletes’ bus.
‘Cowards!’ screamed Young Taffy, who had broken free from Eddie’s grip.
Old Taffy hauled himself stiffly to his feet in a last effort to assert his authority.
‘You’re just in the nick of time, Dubois,’ he said, addressing his ‘French’ coach. ‘These hooligans have attacked me. Take them away and lock them up somewhere till they can be dealt with.’
‘It’s you we’ve come to lock up, Jones,’ came the calm reply. ‘You’re under arrest!’
‘Arrest?’ repeated Old Taffy, shocked. ‘What on earth do you mean, Dubois?’
‘I’ll be asking the questions from now on, Jones. My name isn’t Dubois. I am Detective Inspector Robins.’
As Old Taffy sank to his knees, head in hands, his clone seemed to give up, too. He went and knelt by the man’s side, as if to comfort him, but then burst into tears. He suddenly seemed like an ordinary, frightened little boy.
‘Keep both Taffys under armed guard back at the house while I call up some transport,’ Robins told his two remaining officers. He bent over Gramps, who was beginning to stir. ‘And we’ll also need an ambulance for this poor chap.’