the stadium, painting walls and making cups of tea to show how loyal you were to the cause. I must say, I haven’t cringed so hard in years.’
‘How do you know about that?’ I asked, flushing red in embarrassment.
‘There was a DVD copy in that bribery gift basket.’
Oh yeah.
‘Well, anyway,’ I said, puffing myself up, ‘I am loyal. But like I just said, it’s all finished now. Thanks to you.’
‘So defeatist,’ Leigh said. ‘I didn’t expect this from you. Why, I may catch this damned spy tomorrow and then, who knows, the Council may very well be foolish enough to vote to restore your funding.’
‘Fat chance of that,’ I said dismissively.
‘I’m disappointed that you’re so sceptical of my efforts to weed out this L’zuhl informer, Keegan,’ Leigh said in a tone that I really did not care for one bit. ‘As it turns out, I think this whole affair might be resolved far more quickly than anyone dared hope.’
Leigh clicked his fingers loudly (which was quite impressive given that he was wearing leather gloves, you have to hand it to the man) and I was unceremoniously seized by two visored guards who had appeared as though from nowhere.
‘Hey, hey!’ I cried in panic. ‘What’s this in aid of? I was just about to get off home!’
‘Au contraire,’ Leigh said with a relishing grin. ‘You’re staying right here where I can see you. I mean, I’d have to be pretty stupid to catch the L’zuhl spy only to let him go again, now, wouldn’t I?’
And, like the day I advised Mike Ashley that Newcastle needed more flair and told him to ‘go and get a Brazilian’, I felt utterly sick.
LOCKED UP
I paced up and down, my mind working overtime. How had I managed to get myself into this mess?
General Leigh told me he’d make sure I got ‘one of the finest suites’ in the Mark Aspinall Prison at the far end of the base (named after one of the most fearsome barristers in the Alliance who had famously prosecuted the Great Betrayer himself, Richard Madeley, in absentia the previous summer for crimes against humanity) but it turned out that by this he simply meant the toilet might flush now and then. The running water from the tap was barely more than a trickle and the mattress was stained with… well, I tried not to think about it.
‘Hello?’ I called through the bars of my cell door, the iron cool against my face. ‘Lunch is meant to be at one and it’s now twenty past! You’re treating me like a prisoner here. It’s not on.’
But of course, I was a prisoner. Worse than that, in the eyes of Leigh and his soldiers – no doubt by now, four days down the line from my arrest – and to the wider Compound, I was the evil turncoat spy who had been turfing over military secrets to the L’zuhl.
My heart sank at the prospect of my lads seeing the front page of the Compound Chronicle. BELOVED FOOTBALL MANAGER ACCUSED OF SPYING would no doubt be the headline plastered everywhere. The fact that Gerry had not come in to visit was worrying me. Oh, sure, I could well expect it of Gillian – she was no doubt thrilled to discover that someone had taken me out of the equation, putting a stop to my pleas for greater investment in the playing squad. But Gerry? Surely he wouldn’t just accept the accusation at face value like that? His support was all I had to cling on to as I spent my days staring hopelessly at the four grey stone walls around me. The only indication that anyone else had ever been held here before me (aside from the stain on the mattress) was a few bits of graffiti on the wall – one read ‘Eff Palangonia!’ Except it didn’t say ‘Eff’. I mean, what kind of sick mind writes something like that? What if a kid had seen it? Well, all right, probably unlikely, but still. The idea of my being kept in a ten-foot cell like the sort of dangerous deviant who’d write something so disgusting made my stomach turn. I led my country to an international tournament for goodness’ sake! And we’d ultimately finished a respectable third. In Group A. Look, let’s not get bogged down in that, it was ages ago. The other bit of graffiti was about the General himself, referring to him as a ‘L’zuhl shagger’ which at least made me smirk slightly despite my disapproval of the act and, frankly, the language.
‘Hey!’ I shouted into the empty corridor beyond my cell. ‘I’m starving!’
No response. What was this, a bank holiday? I sat down on the bed and rested my chin in my hands. Obviously it wasn’t enough for Leigh to destroy my football club, oh no – he also had to ruin me as well.
‘Did you think I wouldn’t put two and two together?’ he had taunted as his two goons dragged me aggressively down the steps from the top of the Compound walls. ‘It was painfully transparent! I put the Compound in lockdown so we can hunt for a spy, and then, suddenly, Kevin Keegan cannot wait to leave! How very convenient.’
Certainly didn’t feel that convenient to me as I sat there, bored rigid, in my cell for four days, being fed nothing but beans on toast thrice daily (though at least for the evening meal they gave me those beans with the little sausages in). In a way, this was all Gerry’s fault. Look, I’m not one to pass the buck, I’ll own all my mistakes, but if he hadn’t planted the seed of our moving on and taking Moyesie’s job, I’d never have ended up in this situation. I’d have probably fought harder for Palangonia FC, too. Thanks a bunch, Gerry.
Suddenly, a wave of despair washed over me. Why hadn’t I fought harder? I’d mouthed off to Gillian and complained in the loudest terms but I hadn’t really done anything. I’d just accepted Gerry’s suggestion that we might have a better time of it elsewhere. I’d taken the easy way out – and that is not the Kevin Keegan way. Palangonia FC was mine. And I had to stand up for it.
‘Oi,’ came a voice from outside – I hadn’t even heard the masked guard approach.
‘Oh, finally,’ I grumbled, getting to my feet, arms outstretched. But the guard held no tray of beans.
‘Forgotten something, son?’ I asked, eyebrow raised.
‘Come with me,’ he said darkly. ‘You’re to be interrogated. The General wants answers.’
‘So do I,’ I said, and waited for the cell door to slide open.
*
The interrogation room was every bit as dingy as my cell – I was baffled as to why, given that Fort Emmeline had only been built little more than a year ago. They had plenty of opportunity to give the place a bit of character, a colourful paint job, a skylight – a conservatory would have been ideal to catch the sunshine from the twin suns setting in the late afternoon. Instead, it was grey brickwork and a cold stone floor, with a wooden table in the middle of the room and a mirror on the wall. I initially assumed, on walking inside, that this was the obligatory two-way thing for people to watch the interrogation but actually, it was more likely to be pure vanity from Leigh. And sure enough, he was already sitting there at the side of the table facing the mirror. Pathetic.
‘Keegan,’ he said gruffly without getting off his arse. ‘Take a seat. You look well.’
‘I look how I feel,’ I snapped, sitting down opposite the General. Beside him, a young woman in a smart suit was scribbling on a sheet of paper. There was an empty seat next to me.
‘Well, you brought this on yourself,’ Leigh said.
‘You honestly cannot believe that,’ I said, shaking my head in exasperation. ‘I’m a pure football man, not a secret agent.’
‘Perhaps we should hold fire until we begin,’ the woman said, looking up. She wasn’t wearing a military uniform but looked very officious. I had a bad feeling about this.
‘Mr Keegan’s