Hand of God by Philip Kerr Read Free Book Online

his KSA clients. He had an easy laugh and hands as big as shovels; once a goalkeeper for Inter Milan and an African Footballer of the Year it was easy to see why players had confidence in him. It was said there was nothing he wouldn’t do for some of his bigger-name clients on the grounds that if they couldn’t play they couldn’t pay. Rumour was he’d once taken the rap for a very famous striker in the English Premier League who’d almost been caught in possession of cocaine.
    It wasn’t long before he’d introduced the subject of the developing feud between Bekim Develi and his own client, Prometheus.
    ‘Why don’t you sort those two out?’ he asked Vik. ‘Speak to your friend, Bekim. They ought to shake hands and make up, don’t you agree? For the sake of the team.’
    ‘Certainly they should. But I leave that kind of thing to Scott here. He is the manager, after all.’
    ‘I should have thought the solution to the problem was obvious,’ said Kojo. ‘I mean how you can get them to shake hands.’
    ‘I’m glad you think so,’ I said. ‘Right now they just want to shake each other by the throat. But I welcome any suggestions you might have for how we might establish diplomatic relations.’
    ‘Easy. Sell Christoph Bündchen. Buy another striker.’
    I smiled and shook my head. ‘I don’t think so, Mr Ironsi. Christoph is a very talented young footballer. One of our best players. With an extremely bright future.’
    Kojo was a tall man with a bald head and an easy smile. He shrugged. ‘Well then, can you speak to Bekim Develi? Reason with him so that good sense can prevail.’
    ‘I’ll reason with Bekim if you can reason with Prometheus. To be honest with you, that’s not so easy. What’s more, the boy’s attitude to gay people is going to make him very unpopular with the media, if it hasn’t done so already. I think it would be best if he was to make some sort of statement expressing regret for any offence caused to the LGBT community.’
    ‘I agree,’ said Kojo. ‘I’ll call him this afternoon, before I fly to Russia. See what I can do.’
    ‘I’m very glad to hear it. If all that happens I’m sure I can get those two to shake hands.’
    ‘I’m glad that’s settled,’ said Kojo.
    I wasn’t so sure it was but I was willing to give Kojo’s talents as a fixer the benefit of the doubt.
    ‘You’re going to Russia?’ asked Vik.
    ‘Yes. It’s possible that someone there might want to take a stake in King Shark, if you don’t.’
    If Kojo thought this was a way of sharpening Vik’s interest, then Vik certainly didn’t show it.
    ‘If you’re going into partnership with Russians then you’d best be careful,’ was all the Ukrainian said. ‘Some of those redfellas are pretty tough customers.’
    ‘Not particularly ethical, eh?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘Thanks for the tip. I certainly appreciate it.’
    ‘Since you mentioned ethics,’ said Vik, ‘Scott has got some reservations about the very existence of African football academies. Isn’t that right, Scott?’
    I shrugged. ‘I suppose I do, really. I think we both know that there are many unlicensed football academies in Africa.’
    ‘In Accra alone there are at least five hundred such places,’ said Kojo, ‘most of them run by unscrupulous men with no experience of the game. Nearly all demand fees from the children’s parents who take them out of school to enable them to concentrate on football full time. The idea being that having a professional footballer in the family – at least one who plays in Europe – is the equivalent of winning the lottery. Some even sell their family homes in order to pay these fees. Or to pay for boys to come to Europe for a trial with a big club. Which of course never transpires. Yes, it’s very sad what happens.’
    ‘I don’t say that yours is one of these unlicensed academies,’ I said carefully. ‘But I do ask myself about the way KSA players are contractually tied to you for