The rules were simple and direct from team management. No going out, no one leaves the hotel until the event is done. And to ensure compliance, team administration policed the exit with black-ops intent. Watching, waiting for someone to try and spring the trap. Steffen Burrows gives no fucks. He contemplates the effectiveness of his makeshift mannequin, constructed from a wetsuit stuffed with clothes. Lying on the bed, it seems to be positioned naturally, as if he’s in a deep sleep. Resting quietly with the other athletes in the team dorm. He pulls the blanket higher up, covering the mannequin entirely, steps back, and with a tilt of the head, he’s gone. Over the back wall, into the darkness, running fast through dangerous townships toward the Australians, and a party.…
