Lucy Zeezou's Goal (14 page)

The game came to an end at last. I could hear cheering and booing fill the stadium. The fans would be starting to leave. The victors continued to sing their team song and it was the familiar sound of the AC Milan chant. At least one good thing had come out of today … Papa's team had won.

I strained to hear the commentators. ‘Let's take a look at the highlights. Inter snatched the lead in the opening five minutes but their glory was short-lived. Goals by Kaká and Inzaghi gave Milan a 2–1 lead at the break. Inter fought back late in the second half to equalise and then the brilliant Paolo Zoffi took everyone in his path by surprise, attacking and running up the pitch until he reached the 18-yard box. A few seconds from full-time, with the score locked at 2–2, he took an unexpected shot on goal … the crowd was stunned into silence. The ball found its target, giving Milan a dramatic 3–2 victory.'

Papa had scored! Even though I was terrified about my predicament, I felt a thrill of victory.

I listened to more of the commentary: ‘Sensational scenes followed and the fans went into hysterics. The
famous number 23 is celebrating by lifting his jersey to reveal a black singlet with a large red heart. Ah yes, it has his daughter Lucy's name and the words “Defy Gravity” across the back. The captain knows how to work the crowd and they are
loving
it. He's blowing kisses to them and the players' box. The
rossoneri
are filling the stadium with their hero's famous name: ZOFFI, ZOFFI, ZOFFI!'

He was my hero, too, and that spectacular win inspired me, giving me extra incentive to take control. I had to act now, as the commentators would be leaving shortly for the press conference and interviews with players and managers. I had an idea. I squatted as though I was on the toilet. They looked at me like I was crazy. The woman ripped off my tape. ‘What you doing?'

‘Please, I have to go to the bathroom urgently,' I pleaded.

‘You hold on,' the woman shrieked. ‘Shut her mouth up,' she ordered.

‘Wait! Please … I can't … I have to poo,' I claimed. How embarrassing.

‘Ahh. Okay. I take you, but if you try to run or scream, you'll be very, very sorry,' she said as she flashed her gun at me.

She put a jacket over my shoulders and hooked her arm tightly around mine. We moved past unsuspecting fans as they celebrated AC Milan's victory. The commentary box and television studio was to my left. I'd been there many
times before with Papa. The windows faced the pitch, so we couldn't be seen as we walked past.

She took me down the corridor and made a sharp left turn to the toilets. I knew this area well … all I needed now was to get loose.

Surprisingly, the toilets were vacant. The woman poked the gun into my back and commanded, ‘Don't be long.'

‘I can't go to the toilet with my hands tied,' I urged, still terrified.

She looked at me with darting eyes, pulled out a knife and cut me loose. ‘Okay, but don't try anything. I use my gun if you try and escape.'

I nervously nodded, but I knew that this was my only chance. I locked the door behind me and tried to think of a way out.

‘Hurry! If you not out in two minutes, I come get you,' she said. I could see the backs of her dirty men's boots under the door.

She fell silent and relaxed her stance when a couple of fans entered the toilets, talking about the game. Their presence gave me hope. I looked under the partition and noticed that one of them was in the cubicle next to me.

It was now or never. I searched through my pockets and found the pink lipstick Mama had given me earlier. Luckily it was hot-pink – not my colour, but bright enough to be useful now. On a bit of toilet paper I quickly scribbled:

HELP! Woman at door has gun!

I'm being held hostage next to media box.

This is not a joke. Please get help.

Lucia Zoffi No. 23

So, there was a use for lipstick after all – today I was grateful for girly stuff … thank you, Mama! I wrapped the note around the lipstick and passed it under the toilet partition, hoping the fan would grab it. She did. I breathed a sigh of relief. Now I could only hope that she would raise the alarm and not just keep the lippy.

I focused on my next move as I heard her open her door. She didn't even wash her hands. It sounded as though she whisked her friend away quickly. Now I had to act before my captor became suspicious. She was still standing in front of my cubicle's door.

‘Okay, enough. I come in,' she said impatiently.

‘Please, I'm just wiping my bottom,' I lied frantically.

I closed my eyes and pretended I was on the football pitch, prowling in front of the goal. I imagined booting the ball into the back of the net … I struck and the door miraculously came tumbling down, knocking her to the ground. Although my foot was killing me, I jumped over her and ran for my life. She screamed, ‘Stop or I shoot!' But I didn't care. I took a risk and kept running as she fired.

The team would celebrate with a victory lap, thanking their fans for their unwavering support.

The crowd would continue to applaud their heroes with more chanting, singing and cheering which reverberates throughout the iconic stadium.

Then the players would disappear into the tunnel, heading to their change rooms for a well-deserved rest. A massage and ice bath awaited them.

I knew the drill. The press conference would be starting right now.

Papa and the coach would face a packed media conference. As captain, Papa would encounter a barrage of questions about the spectacular win and his unexpected goal.

From my vantage point – crouched in an alcove and half-hidden by a row of seats – I had a good view of the big screen at one end of the stadium. The press conference was being beamed out to a live television audience. The crowd of journalists, hungry for a story, started yelling out their questions.

‘Paolo, how does it feel for a world class defender to score the winning goal?'

Papa didn't get a chance to answer. The club's president barged in, surrounded by a throng of bodyguards. The room was abuzz.

‘Apologies everyone,' he said in a sombre tone, ‘but Paolo Zoffiis needed for a pressing matter. He won't be taking any further questions. His team mates and fellow goal-scorers Kaká and Inzaghi are more than happy to oblige. Thank you.'

The gallery erupted as interest switched to Papa's sensational departure, and more pressing questions exploded from the confused media.

‘This is unprecedented, what could be so pressing?'

‘But what is this urgent matter?'

‘Is there a problem with the players?'

It was a relief to know that someone must have been alerted to my abduction. Papa would make sure I was rescued, and in the meantime I had to work out a strategy to stay free and alive.

Then the screen dramatically went black, before showing a man wearing black clothes and a balaclava. This was bizarre! The image was being transmitted throughout the stadium on the big screens. They must have hacked their way into the system somehow. I could see fans frozen to the spot, just as I was in my little hideout.

The man made his demand slowly in accented tones. ‘We are holding Paolo Zoffi's daughter Lucia captive.' There was something utterly chilling about the way he spoke and his presence on the screen. It was even more frightening when I realised this meant there was at least a third lunatic out to get me.

The man held up a photograph of me, the camera zooming in on my terrified, shocked face. A chill ripped along my spine as I watched. This must have been their back-up plan. The remaining fans still haven't moved, riveted to the spot as they witnessed the calculating delivery. I needed to get to safety, but I couldn't look away until he was finished.

‘As you can see, we have your lovely Lucia. If you want to see your daughter alive you must organise a helicopter to take us to Malpensa airport, where we expect you to hand over twenty million US dollars in cash in exchange for your precious girl.' His tone became even more intense. ‘Come alone, Signor Zoffi … if we see any police presence, you'll never see your daughter again.'

He ripped the photograph in half, while staring at the camera. ‘You will receive further instructions when you arrive
alone
at the airport. You have three hours.'

And then the screen went blank.

They were bluffing … I wished I could tell Papa, I wished the police would find me. My legs were shaking as
I contemplated the crazy situation. I was terrified, but my poor parents! They must have been going through hell.

I tried to pull myself together. I had to. Remember, I told myself, you're Lucy Zeezou. I'd escaped and they were
not
going to recapture me. I was the elusive striker, manoeuvring with precision and outwitting my rivals until I reached my goal.

The San Siro was in a state of pandemonium … fans were either frozen in their seats or running to collect their children and escape the horrible situation.

A voice over the loudspeaker called for order. ‘Attention everyone … please remain calm. For your own safety you are advised to make your way to an exit turnstile. No one can leave the stadium until they have undertaken a police check. Please proceed with caution. Thank you for your cooperation.'

Amid the chaos, I carefully slipped out of my hiding spot, hoping to blend into the crowd but then the female abductor suddenly came into view. There were hundreds of shocked people between us, but that didn't make me feel safe. Where were the police?

I quickly made my way back to the media box in the hope someone would be there to help me, but it had been roped off. Two armed men dressed in some sort of dark combat gear with a red stripe stopped me.

One of them shouted, ‘Signorina Zoffi … don't move. We're part of the rescue squad.'

But I was terrified … I wasn't sure who I could trust, and I had to make a split-second decision as the woman with the gun was drawing nearer.

Then I heard a familiar voice among the madness. ‘Lucia! It's Papa.' I turned and saw him at the top of the stairs, still in his football gear and surrounded by the police.

In that instant, my legs were taken from under me.

‘Papa, help me,' I screamed as I was tackled to the ground by the other abductor, the young man who'd tried to kiss me. He dragged me to my feet and pushed something into my back. It must have been his gun. He bellowed, ‘Nobody move or she gets it.'

‘Please don't hurt her, take me instead. Please, you can have anything you want. Let her go,' called Papa, as the police held him back.

It was horrifying, unbelievable. The abductor had me in a tight grip, but I could feel that he was shaking nearly as much as I was.

He whispered in my ear, ‘I am sorry, Lucia.'

But he didn't harm me. Instead, he fired at the police.

Suddenly there was an eerie silence, promptly interrupted by the female abductor screeching like a wounded cat somewhere off to my side.

The man's grip loosened, and then he was no longer behind me.

I turned to see him slumped on the ground, with blood flowing from his leg. His face was blank with
shock. I screamed once, like I've never screamed before, then I stared at him, feeling numb and terrified.

Someone shouted, ‘Lucia, drop to the floor, now!'

Instinctively I took the orders as if my coach had yelled them from the sidelines.

I looked up and saw the woman now just a few metres away from me, still screaming, and with a gun in her hand. Before she could get any closer, the police pounced on her. They got into a tussle and she was subdued … she burst into tears.

I was completely exhausted. This had to be the worst experience of my life, almost surreal, like a scary movie. Papa ran over to me. He picked me up and cradled me like a baby.

‘My beautiful girl, thank goodness you're okay. Did they hurt you?' he asked with tears in his eyes.

‘No Papa, I'm just so tired. I want to go home.' I quivered.

‘Let's get out of here. Mama is waiting for us in the president's office,' he said, his voice shaky.

‘Signor Zoffi, your daughter must come with me to make a statement,' a policeman said.

‘She is not going anywhere. She's been through a terrifying ordeal and needs to rest. You can see her when she's ready,' Papa argued, hugging me tighter and walking towards the office.

The policeman attempted to keep up, determined to
have his way. ‘But Signor Zoffi, we must find out what happened. A major crime has just been committed and we need answers. Signorina Zoffi must be examined,' he blustered.

‘You need to examine security first and find out how these lunatics were able to enter the stadium with guns and abduct my daughter. Were they napping? Now leave us alone,' Papa fired back angrily.

The policeman stormed off.

Papa walked into the president's office and gently put me down, and Mama wrapped her arms around us. I was enveloped in one big, warm family embrace. I'm so lucky to have such loving parents … My thoughts shifted to Max. How awful not to have a loving family, people who really cared about you, especially at times like this. I started to cry again. I was more fortunate than I'd ever realised – I wouldn't trade this for the world.

‘Lucia, thank goodness you're safe! We were so worried about you, my angel. Did they hurt you?' cried Mama.

I tried to pull myself together, although I was still trembling. ‘I'm all right, Mama, I'm fine … really.' I wiped away my tears. ‘I just want to go home. Oh and Papa, congratulations!'

They both looked at me. Papa asked, ‘What do you mean, Lucia?'

‘Your goal, Papa. I heard that you sealed the winner,' I said, forcing a smile.

‘Lucy, you amaze me. I can't believe your bravery. It's not the time to be thinking about football.' He looked at me and laughed. ‘How on earth did you manage to find out about the result while being held captive?'

‘I could faintly hear the action from the commentary box, and I focused on it. It made me feel closer to you and it inspired me to escape. I'm so happy you scored that goal.' I began to feel better just talking about the game.

While I was swept up in the moment, I decided that it was time to come clean. I was sick of all these lies. I was just about to tell my parents about my football life when the club president entered from an adjoining room.

‘Lucia, I'm so glad to see that you are safe. We were so worried about you.'

‘Thanks. No need to worry, I'm back in one piece and ready to go home.' I was kind of relieved he'd stepped in. Maybe it wasn't the right moment to reveal all.

The president addressed Papa. ‘Paolo, the media are sniffing around for interviews with Lucia about the incident. I've sorted them out. I've also organised for bodyguards to escort you to my helicopter, which will take you home. I told the police the doctor would have to examine Lucia at your home and he can talk to her when she's feeling up to it.'

‘No, I want to get it over with now and put it all behind me! I want to go back to Australia. I don't want to stay
here any more!' I surprised them all with my outburst and I even surprised myself.

Papa's response was reassuring. ‘Lucia, you need to rest now. Let's go home and think about it. Don't worry, we're going to Sydney soon … we'll work it out.'

‘Paolo, why don't you take some extra time off? Enjoy an extended holiday with the family in Australia and come back to prepare for the Champions League. The manager and players will support you on this. It's more important for you to be there for Frida and Lucia. I'll organise security for you and the family, here and for your stay in Australia.'

Papa didn't hesitate, ‘Yes, you're right. My family is more important to me than anything else – this time football will just have to wait. Princess, your wish is my command.'