The Edge Read Free Page A

my dad,’ he said.
    Dr Chow gave him a cotton ball to stem the blood, and dropped the syringe into a transparent bag. ‘Your father was a famous soccer player, wasn’t he?’ she asked.
    ‘He was,’ Jake said. ‘But he was a defender.’
    ‘And you’re not?’
    ‘I’m a striker,’ Jake said. ‘Completely different.’
    Dr Chow nodded, but didn’t look interested any more. ‘Can you take your top off, please?’
    Jake pulled his T-shirt over his head, feeling the cool air on his skin.
    ‘Hmm,’ the doctor said, placing a stethoscope to his chest. ‘Very good. Your resting heartbeat’s about sixty a minute.’
    A mobile phone rang across the room, and Dr Chow walked over to pick it up.
    Jake had been at the medical centre for nearly an hour now, answering questions and having tests run. Fat ratios, grip tests, lung capacity, flexibility, vision. It all seemed a bit over the top, but Dr Chow had assured him it was all necessary. Jake just wanted to get out and kick a football around in the Florida sun.
    Over in the corner of the room, a fridge hummed. Through the glass panel, he saw it was filled with bottles of Olympic Edge. In Bruce Krantz’s introductory speech, he’d been clear that part of the testing was to ascertain if the drink had any physiological benefits. That was the price of sponsorship, Jake supposed.
    Dr Chow giggled, and Jake tried not to listen to her conversation ‘. . . I can’t . . . Not now, sweetie . . .’ She smiled as her eyes caught Jake’s. ‘. . . I can’t
wait
. . .’
    The doctor blew a kiss down the phone and hung up. Jake tried not to show his irritation at being held in this clinic while she acted like a sappy schoolgirl.
    ‘Sorry about the interruption,’ she said, suddenly businesslike again. She scribbled a few notes on a pad, and told Jake he could put his top back on. ‘You’re in exceptional shape.’
    Jake thought straight away of Otto Kahn. He’d seemed fine – until he’d dropped dead.
    ‘Dr Chow,’ he said, hopping off the bed, ‘what do you think happened to Otto?’
    Dr Chow looked up from her pad with an expression of concern. ‘It could be any number of things,’ she said. ‘Maybe the climate . . . Maybe he had a hidden heart difficulty. It sometimes happens in those who show unusual growth. But it might just have been an accident. The autopsy should tell us more.’
    She opened the fridge, and offered Jake a bottle of Olympic Edge. It was the green version – ‘Evolution’. He shook his head. ‘I don’t like the taste.’
    ‘Take it anyway,’ she said. ‘It’s much better than water for hydration.’
    Jake took it, but dropped it in the first bin he passed as he exited the medical centre.
I’ll stick with water
, he thought.
    Jake was heading to the dormitories when he heard a noise he’d recognise anywhere. Leather on leather.
Football.
    He followed the sounds and came out at the artificial hockey pitch. A dozen or so guys were knocking a ball among themselves on the AstroTurf. One guy stood in the hockey goal, playing keeper.
    There were several footballers at the camp, but Jake hadn’t had time to meet any yet. It would be good to check out the competition. He pushed open the gate and jogged towards the group.
    One of the highlights of the camp was a game at the end of the fortnight. The footballers would play a full ninety-minute friendly against the US soccer team. There were twenty potentials at the camp – a good size for a squad but, of course, there were just eleven starting places. Competition would be fierce – especially since the audience would befilled with scouts from some of the world’s biggest clubs.
    ‘Over here!’ he called, holding up his arm. The guy with the ball looked up, and directed a pass along the ground to Jake.
    Another player intercepted the ball with his foot when it was halfway. He flicked it into his arms. Jake recognised him from the Australian under-19 squad who’d got to the semis in the