Finally, she used the seam ripper to pick apart a small section of the jersey’s hem. She slipped the micro SD card inside and, using the hand sewer, closed the opening. When she was finished, she fingered the card through the fabric. It felt like the one in Jandro’s game jersey. If anyone saw it, they’d know it wasn’t a microchip. But that wouldn’t happen unless the jersey’s hem was ripped open. Highly unlikely.
Finn took the altered jersey into the bathroom and held it up in front of the mirror. It was a dead ringer for the three hanging in Jandro’s locker-room cubby.
Which was where this one would be tomorrow, if her plan worked.
Finn showed her ID for the third time. The security guard, one of the independent contractors hired by Croom, matched the photo to her face, apparently unimpressed it was SIA issued.
“Open your bag, please.”
Finn unzipped the duffel.
“What are those?” the guard asked as he peered at the stack of binders.
“Security plans for the stadium.”
“Let’s see.”
“Sorry, they’re classified.” Finn indicated the SIA CONFIDENTIAL stamp on the top binder. “You can call the office if you want.”
Above their heads came the muted roar of the crowd. It was the beginning of the second half. Jandro’s team was up by a goal. Or not, depending on what that roar meant.
“Nah, that’s okay. Go on in,” the guard said, already pulling his phone out of his pocket to check what had happened on the field.
Finn zipped up the duffel and used her ID card to open the door to the locker room, making a mental note to tell Croom he might want to reevaluate his contractor-hiring sources.
The press area was empty and looked pretty much as it had yesterday, except the chairs were now rearranged out of their neat rows, and empty coffee cups and bottles of water dotted the floor. She made a show for the overhead cameras of doing a security check of the room. The same outside contractor that provided the security guard had also provided the crew for the camera room. Finn wondered if they were even watching the cameras instead of the game.
She walked casually to the metal double doors and swiped her card. Once inside, she took a small electronic device from her pocket and turned it on. When it emitted no sounds after thirty seconds, she switched it off and put it away. There would have been a beep if it had detected a camera or other electronic feed.
She swiftly moved to Jandro’s dressing area, where she unzipped the duffel and removed the binders. She reached into the hidden pocket and pulled out the counterfeit jersey. Two jerseys hung in the small closet. One looked pristine while the other was sweat- and grass-stained. Jandro must have donned it for the first half and was now wearing a second jersey.
Finn hesitated. Which would have more value — the pristine or the game-worn? She guessed the latter, but didn’t want to take a chance someone would notice only one jersey was dirty instead of two at the end of the game.
She took down the clean original and hung the counterfeit in its place. She’d folded up the original jersey and was about to stuff it into the duffel’s hidden pocket when she heard voices in the outer room.
“Did someone call the orthopedist?”
“He’s on his way.”
“Make way for the Medicart!”
Crap! They’re bringing in an injured player. Finn tried to cram the jersey into the hidden pocket.
It wouldn’t go in.
Her fingers found a snarl of strands. The edges of the nylon tarp had unraveled and knotted into a spider’s web across the pocket opening.
Finn considered hiding the jersey under her T-shirt, but knew it would be too noticeable. And she couldn’t just put it into her duffel but outside the hidden compartment. She’d been asked to open the bag three times already.
Her eyes raked the area for somewhere she could hide the jersey. Her gaze caught on the team duffel bag on the closet floor.
Two minutes later, the injured player was wheeled into the room on a gurney. Broken leg, from what Finn could tell as she passed.
“All secure,” she called to the men surrounding the player.
“Yeah. Thanks,” one of them said without looking up.
No, thank you, Finn thought as she made for the stadium exit.
Amantha pushed her Coke around the tabletop of a small Mexican restaurant a block from SIA’s offices. It was a week after the World Cup, which Jando’s team had won by two goals, both scored by El Rey himself.
“I did try to talk to him about you. Twice,” Finn said. “But he wasn’t having it. Maybe he’ll change his mind later in life, after his career is over. Age has a way of getting you to see what’s important.”
Finn thought about her own father. She also knew at some point you had to say screw the past and play the hand you were dealt. Otherwise... well, there was no otherwise. But she wasn’t going to tell Amantha this. It was something the girl would have to figure out on her own.
“So my dad might get a conscience someday. That doesn’t help my mom now,” Amantha said, giving her glass an extra-hard shove.
Finn took an envelope from her bag. “But this will. There’s a fund for pro athletes’ kids who don’t receive support. I applied for you.”
Amantha shrugged. “So? I won’t get anything. I can’t prove Jandro’s my dad. No way will he take a DNA test.”
“The fund knows that’s a common situation. They said the photos I sent of you two were enough.” Finn handed Amantha the envelope. “Here’s your check.”
“What?” Amantha stared at Finn and then at the envelope. “Is it... is it enough to help my mom?”
“Open it and see,” Finn said.
Amantha ran a trembling Finger under the flap and pulled out the check. She gasped.
“This is for over a mil—”
“Yeah, it is. More than enough to cover your mom’s treatment, plus pay for someone to take care of her while you’re away at school.”
Amantha was crying again, happy tears for a change.
“Thank you,” she managed to say between sobs. “Thank you.”
“I told you my job was boring,” Finn said. “Here’s a perfect example. All it took to solve your problem was a little paperwork.”
“Croom tells me you got on him about his independent contractors,” McAuliffe said.
Finn ran a hand through her hair. “Not the most diligent crew I’ve seen.”
“Well, there were no incidents, that’s the important thing. Good job in the locker room. Nothing got taken.”
“That isn’t exactly true,” Finn said. She held up a small paper bag. “This is for you. Your piece of World Cup memorabilia.”
“What did you—” McAuliffe took the bag and looked inside. “Is this what I think it is?”
“A jockstrap? Yep. Belonged to the king himself. But you’re on your own if you want it autographed.”
“How did you get ahold of this?”
“Let’s just say it was a necessary part of the job.”
Finn wasn’t going to tell her boss she’d wadded the stolen jersey into the cup of the jockstrap and then slipped it on under her baggy pants, a trick she’d learned from busting a shoplifting ring.
Or that she’d sold the jersey on the dark web, with the proceeds funding the seven-figure check she’d given Amantha.
“I think I’ll pass on hanging it on my wall.” McAuliffe dropped it into his bottom desk drawer. “Where are you on the piracy thing?”
“I’ve got some leads. Getting on a plane for China in four hours.”
“Good.” McAuliffe passed a hand over his face. “Man, I could really use a coffee. What’s the name of that dive you’re always raving about?”