Philip Kerr - Hand of God

‘I assumed that Vik’s accountants would find a way around those. After all, everyone else’s accountants have done, so far.’

‘Until we’ve maximised the club’s commercial revenue with sponsorship deals,’ said Phil, ‘we’re going to need to make a profit of ten million pounds over the next two years, just to meet the UEFA guidelines. Or, put another way, those same guidelines will allow us to lose thirty-seven million pounds over the next three seasons.’

‘But we didn’t really need another striker; not with Ayrton and Christoph on the team; surely not buying Prometheus would have helped.’

‘You might think so. But under the terms of Vik’s arrangement with Kojo, Prometheus was free.’

‘What terms? I don’t understand. Either we bought him or we didn’t.’

‘We did and we didn’t, you might say. Officially yes, unofficially no. He’s what you might call a sale-or-return. A loan deal.’

‘It all sounds suspiciously like the kind of third-party ownership arrangement that was banned by the Premier League in 2008.’

‘Banned, yes; enforceable, no. Threepios are actually quite common in Europe and South America. And because they are it’s easy enough for a good accountant to get round them, even an English accountant. On paper Prometheus cost us £22 million from which Kojo might ordinarily have taken a fee of £11 million. But Kojo already owed Vik £10 million so his actual fee was just £1 million; and because the balance of the transfer fee is actually performance-related then all Vik has to pay is a hundred grand a week to Prometheus, from which Kojo takes fifty per cent. In fact we pay the boy even less than that because a quarter of Kojo’s cut comes back to Vik anyway.’ Phil shrugged. ‘So you see Prometheus costs us hardly anything at all. It’s actually a little more complicated than that, but in essence that’s how it works. The real reason Vik bought Prometheus was because he was as cheap as chips.’

‘So, that’s how we beat Barcelona to his signature.’

‘Precisely.’

I swallowed uncomfortably. The temptation to tell Vik and Phil to fuck off was strong, and getting stronger by the day. Somewhere in my ears I could hear Bastian Hoehling back in Berlin: ‘In a year or two’s time, when Scott here has been fired by his current master, he’ll be managing a German club.’ I was beginning to think it might not take that long.

‘What’s up?’ asked Phil. ‘You look a bit sick.’

‘The beautiful game,’ I grunted, bitterly. ‘Christ, that’s a laugh. Sometimes it seems like the only thing that’s straight in the game are the fucking lines on the pitch. Everything else seems as bent as Pakistani cricket.’

‘Football is a business, like any other, Scott, especially off the field. And in the boardroom there’s nothing beautiful about it.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a game, but it’s a zero-sum game, with buyers and sellers, supply and demand, and profits and losses.’

‘Just don’t tell the fans,’ I said. ‘Look, Phil, I can just about forgive you for being a slippery fucking bastard. But they certainly won’t.’

‘Peter,’ said Bekim. ‘After Peter the Great. As a child he had red hair, too.’

‘He’s another red devil, all right,’ I said. ‘Just like his father.’

I was staring at a picture on an iPhone of a very small baby with red hair.

‘Yes, Peter is very lovely,’ I added quickly, for fear that the Russian might take offence at my calling him a devil. ‘You must be very proud, Bekim.’

‘Very proud,’ he said. ‘To be a father is to be blessed, I think. Perhaps one day, Scott, you too will have children. I hope so. I’d like you to feel the way I feel now.’

I nodded. ‘Perhaps I will. But at the present moment I’ve got my hands full looking out for my players. I really don’t know where I’d find the time to be a father.’

‘It’s true,’ he said. ‘You are a bit like our father. Only not as old.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ I said.

‘Sometimes we’re like little children. This stupid business between me and Prometheus. You must think we’re idiots.’

‘I don’t think you’re an idiot, Bekim. Let me make that quite clear. I don’t hold you responsible for what happened at all.’

Bekim nodded.

‘And now the German boy is leaving,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s such a pity. Because I think Christoph’s one of the most talented players at this football club.’

‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘I was very much opposed to selling him; and told Vik and Phil that a sale would be over my dead body. But now he’s asked for a transfer.’

‘Can’t you talk him out of it?’

‘Believe me, I’ve tried. But his mind is made up.’

‘You know why he wants to go, of course.’

‘Yes.’

‘Because of that stupid gay-hating bastard, Prometheus.’

‘Yes. I know.’

‘My agent has asked me to make the peace with him. To shake his hand.’

‘I know. And will you?’

‘I suppose so. If Christoph is determined to leave the club then I can see no reason not to. For the good of the club, you understand. Not because I like this man. I don’t like him at all. Or what’s in his heart. But I think the feeling is mutual, don’t you? He hates me, too.’

I let that one go. There seemed little point in discussing an enmity I hoped was now over.

‘Prometheus has tweeted his regrets about offending gay people,’ I said. ‘Which is helpful to this whole affair, don’t you agree?’

‘I just wish that it would make Christoph change his mind.’

‘It doesn’t look like it, though. Anyway, we’re not short of offers for the boy so far. Barcelona has offered thirty million quid.’

‘Then he should take it. Barca is a great club. And Gerardo Martino is a great manager. Although it’s still difficult to be a maricón in some parts of Spain.’

We were at my flat in Chelsea. Bekim lived not very far away, in St Leonard’s Terrace, in a beautiful, seven-million-pound nineteenth-century Grade II listed building set back behind a private carriage drive with fine views over the rolling lawns of Burton’s Court. Inside there were red walls and red furniture as might have been expected from a man nicknamed the red devil; even the flowers in the vases were red.

‘Did you come by to talk about Christoph, Bekim? Or was there something else?’

‘There was something else, yes. I hear you’re going to Greece. To check out Olympiacos, in Piraeus.’

‘Yes. The Berlin side Hertha FC has a pre-season friendly with them. They’ve invited me along to see them play. I’m also going to check out their number two goalkeeper, Willie Nixon. Now that Didier Cassell is out of the game we’re going to need to buy a reserve goalkeeper, and soon. If Kenny Traynor gets injured we’re screwed.’

Didier Cassell had been City’s first choice goalkeeper until an accident had forced him to quit the game; he’d hit his head on the post in a match against Tottenham the previous January. He wasn’t long out of hospital after making an only partial recovery.

‘You know I have a house in Greece,’ said Bekim. ‘On the island of Paros. As a matter of fact it’s not so very far from the place in Turkey where I’m originally from. Before we moved to Russia.’

I shook my head. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘I bought it when I was playing for Olympiacos. It’s just a thirty-minute hop on a plane from Athens. Very quiet. When I’m there the local people leave me alone — in fact, I think they really don’t know who I am at all — you can’t imagine how wonderful that is. I go there several times a year. By the way, you must stay at the Grande Bretagne Hotel; it’s the best hotel in Athens. And while you’re there — yes, this is the reason I came here today — you must meet this woman I know and take her to dinner. Her name is Valentina and she is the most beautiful woman in all Athens, although originally she’s from Russia. I’ll text you her number and email. Seriously, Scott. You won’t be disappointed. She makes every other woman look quite ordinary and she’s great company. You should take her to Spondi, the best restaurant in Athens. I know she likes it there.’