‘I’m in,’ I whispered, holding the Champagne flute up to hide my lips as I positioned myself by the huge potted palm in the Hotel Victor’s assembly room.

My heart had raced the first time I’d entered this vast space and stood beneath the crystal chandeliers, taking in the tuxedos and daring gowns while trying not to look like an imposter. It’d been all too real then. I’d acted out this role repeatedly since, getting better during each attempt, but this time we had to get everything right. This was our last chance.

I took a deep breath. Visualise, Callie. See your success. I’d done exactly that just before the mixed 4 x 400-meter relay. Olympic gold had almost been ours. It should have been ours.  

Linus’s voice came from the diamond barrette holding my hair back by my left ear. ‘Roger that, Red.’

Linus had chosen our codenames: Blue, Yellow, Black, Green and Red. ‘Hey, we have to be the five rings,’ he’d said. ‘It’s symbolic. Poetic.’

If we pulled this job off, it would be poetic justice: You stole from us. Now we steal from you. But even so, my team, livid over the injustice done to us, had taken some convincing. Seb, Ariana and Theo were used to assessing people by their athleticism and had been unimpressed by Linus with his Matrix t-shirt stretched over his beer gut, and the junk food littering his apartment. But they’d liked his array of computers and VR headsets. 

My teammates reported in.   

‘Yellow, roving.’

Seb expertly wove through the crowd. Dressed as a waiter, he topped up Champagne glasses, his golden hair dyed dark to avoid recognition. He was our starting runner in relays, and he was used to being cool but ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

‘Blue, set.’

Ariana stood across the room from me by the medal display case. She wore the burgundy uniform of hotel security, her cornrows hidden beneath a black wig. The dark glasses indoors were a bit OTT, but that was Ariana. She was twitchy, the same as on the track, ready for the first hand-off.

‘Green in hell’s kitchen.’

I imagined Theo holding a cook’s knife as tightly as a runner’s baton, with chefs shouting and gas burners flaming. ‘Third leg’ in our relays, he excelled at being in the thick of the action. He would be our exit guy.

‘Black in the security suite,’ Linus declared, completing the team. ‘Let’s begin.’

Seb sidled over to me and said loudly, ‘A top-up, madam?’

‘I would if I could really drink it and taste it,’ I said.  

‘We’ll get blind drunk later on that jet, Callie. We’ll get it right this time.’ He leaned in, eyeing my figure-hugging dress, my armour of ruby sequins. ‘You look gorgeous, by the way. For real.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Ariana cut in, her hand with its silver pinkie ring transceiver close to her mouth. ‘Put it away, Seb. You’re straying off script.’

Seb dipped his chin to address his tie pin. ‘I’m not. I’m supposed to be a louche waiter flirting with guests. Excuse me for staying in character.’

Theo chortled. He always egged Seb on.  

A pot clanged and an angry voice spoke, too distant to hear.

Theo’s laugh cut short. ‘No, Chef. I don’t find you funny.’

The faraway voice hollered again, and Theo said in a defeated tone, ‘Yes, Chef. I’d love to be on garbage duty.’

Shit. Theo wasn’t supposed to leave the kitchen.

‘The plan!’ I blurted.

‘I know,’ Seb shot back, then his eyes shifted, and he nudged me.

‘Here she comes. The Ice Queen herself.’

Diane Kemp-Siegel of Team GB wove through the crowd squeezing hands, accepting embraces and posing triumphantly for pictures with her guests. She wore a full-length gown of ivory silk that matched her pale, wavy hair.

‘Let’s bring home what’s rightfully ours,’ Seb said, then he winked and moved off, positioning himself opposite Ariana by the secure display case.

Fighting down panic, I drew myself up taller and approached my nemesis, teetering on my high heels.

Diane noticed me and beamed just as she had at the end of the relay, waving her team’s baton in the air after crossing the finish line. She’d jogged back to offer me a sporting hand up from where I’d fallen on the track, my hands and knees scraped and bloody.

‘Callie Wilson, Olympic silver medallist! You’re here! I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

‘I was surprised to be invited,’ I said, though Diane would never pass up an opportunity to gloat and would want to be seen with the athlete she’d beaten.

‘It’s time to put the past behind us,’ she said, spreading her arms wide, drawing the people around us closer. ‘Who would like a picture of us?’

Guests called out from all sides, so we shuffled closer together. Perfect. All eyes on us, please. The people were incredibly detailed and the background sounds were amazing.

As we grinned and phones flashed, I said, ‘So where are your teammates tonight? I don’t see them anywhere.’

Diane shrugged. ‘They couldn’t make it.’

There had been rumours of a huge fight within the team after their Olympic victory.

‘So how did you convince them to let you borrow their medals for tonight?’ I asked.

‘They knew it was my birthday. And they’re a greedy lot.’ Money. The Kemp-Siegels were loaded. No doubt, they’d bought the silence of Team GB over the ‘incident’. Diane’s smile widened. ‘I can be very persuasive.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ I answered. None of the cameras had caught the fateful moment near the finish line. It’d been a close race with runners jostling each other. In the end, it had been her word against mine.

‘I win every game I play,’ she whispered. ‘Including the Olympic Games.’

Through my barrette, I heard Seb flirting outrageously with a matronly cougar. It was time. I stepped away from Diane and raised my voice.

‘The truth is you never were a team player.’

Diane recoiled from me, her face pinching.

‘How dare you,’ she hissed.  

I drew in a deep breath and declared, ‘You stole Team USA’s gold medals. You’re a liar, Diane! You tripped me!’

Before she could shout me down, I snatched a whisky glass from a man nearby and threw the drink in her face. The crowd gasped.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the cougar slap Seb’s face and his Champagne bottle spill all over the plug in the wall by the display case. I thrust the empty whisky glass into the stunned man’s hand as the lights in the case – and its security circuitry – failed with a pop and sparks. Ariana jumped back in mock surprise, giving the signal for Linus to disrupt the security cameras. And then somehow, an alarm blared, right on cue.

‘A kitchen fire!’ Ariana shouted. ‘Everyone, exit by the main door!’

Diane elbowed her guests out of the way, starting the stampede. As I dodged the chaos, Ariana lifted the display case’s hinged lid. Yes! Seb grabbed my arm and we ran out through an emergency exit with Ariana behind us. We arrived in an alley near the kitchen, where Theo stood next to a burning dumpster, waving a flattened cardboard box to send smoke into the kitchen through an open back door.

‘Better than a pan fire, right?’ he said with a laugh.

‘Great improv, Green,’ Linus’s disembodied voice declared. ‘Game over.’

‘Not so fast!’ Ariana said. ‘Let’s enjoy this moment.’

She plucked four Olympic gold medals from her suit pocket, having substituted our gold-painted silver medals in the display case. They would fool people long enough for us to complete our getaway. We high-fived and hugged each other.

‘Sorry to poop on your party,’ Linus said. ‘But it’s time. Headsets off.’

Reluctantly, I closed my eyes as I removed mine, then blinked, back in the gloom of Linus’s apartment. Seb, Ariana, Theo and I stood facing a bank of computers. Linus rose from his desk chair and retrieved the headsets from us.

Seb was dressed as a waiter. Theo, as a cook. Ariana and Linus both wore the burgundy suit of Hotel Victor security. I smoothed down my ruby dress, then picked up my clutch bag containing the invitation to Diane’s birthday party and slotted the diamond barrette into my hair.

‘You nailed it just in time,’ Linus said. ‘Think you can pull it off for real?’

I was under no illusions. The reality would be different to this game we’d played over and over. Making mistakes, refining skills, repetition. Practice – it’s what athletes did and thieves did too. But win or lose tonight, I couldn’t be prouder of this team.

‘Do you know the Olympic motto?’ I asked him.

Linus, who’d signed up as our mastermind to stretch his skills in VR simulation, shook his head.

Seb, Ariana, Theo and I chanted: ‘Citius, Altius, Fortius – Communiter.’

Faster, Higher, Stronger.

Together.