She emphasized the word everywhere. Nancy’s eyes darkened. “Teresa?” she asked soundlessly.

George nodded imperceptibly.

The same thought was in both girls’ minds. If the San Carlos dictator-the big guy-had ordered killings, there was no guarantee that hit men like El Morro would obey his decree that they should be carried out at sunrise. El Morro might not feel like waiting!

And by posing as Teresa in the doubles match, Nancy was putting herself in terrible danger!

Chapter Fourteen

El Morro, or another hit man, could be in the grandstand crowd at that very moment! For an instant that was all Nancy could think of. Then a man wearing the uniform and badge of a tournament official opened the door.

“Two minutes to six. To the courts, please, players.”

George gave Nancy a swift, tight hug and hurried off. The young Canadian woman came out of the locker room and shook hands with Nancy, murmuring, “Good luck.”

The two male players left their locker room. Nancy’s partner was a cheerful-looking man in his early thirties, with sandy hair. “Sorry I didn’t have the time to practice with you earlier,” he apologized. “I was tied up with some last-minute coaching.”

Nancy smiled and shrugged.

Escorted by tournament officials-and by security men disguised as officials-the two couples marched across the road and out onto the court. There was a burst of applause as they entered. Nancy smiled and nodded like the others, but involuntarily her eyes searched the crowd.

I have to stop that, she told herself. The best way to protect Teresa is to make people believe I’m Teresa!

The other couple won the toss and chose to serve.

The Canadian woman’s first serve was deep and hard. Nancy’s partner returned it well, but the Canadian coach hit a great shot down the line. Nancy missed it.

“Fifteen-love,” called the referee.

Nancy knew within five minutes that the deception was going to be even more difficult than she’d feared. She was in a double bind. To play well, she would have to use her own style, and the masquerade would be exposed. But if she forced herself to play like Teresa, her reflexes were slowed, and she missed shots Teresa would have hit.

Once, after she’d netted one of Teresa’s characteristic backhand shots, Nancy caught her partner looking at her strangely. But the game was too fast for him to focus on anything other than his own playing.

The Canadian team took the first set easily.

George was at the rail when Nancy wearily went to her seat for the few minutes between sets. She was not allowed to enter the court, but her eyes spoke plainly to Nancy. Calm down. Don’t force so much! Zen. Her lips framed the last word.

Nancy frowned. Then her face cleared. George was referring to the zen of a sport, a phrase Nancy had heard her use often. It meant concentrate on the objective, on the target, not on the technique you hope will get you there.

Nancy and her partner won the next game. A faint murmur reached her from the bleachers, and Nancy resolutely put away the fear that her own tennis style might be creeping in. Concentrate on where the ball should go, as George had said. Rely on the earlier practice for the style-

A gleam of light from somewhere in the stands danced into Nancy’s eyes, and she missed a high volley, not even getting her racket on the ball.

There was a disappointed murmur from the crowd, followed by a ripple of appreciation as Nancy’s partner ran in to save the shot, catching the ball on its first bounce. He slammed it back, and the momentum of the game picked up again.

The ball came toward Nancy, and she moved forward to meet it. But as she swung, the glint of light bounced into her eyes again. The glare was just great enough to throw her off-balance. She tripped and fell, scarcely hearing the referee’s voice announcing the point for the other side above the groans of the crowd.

Pretending dizziness, Nancy knelt for a moment on one knee. But her eyes were busily sweeping the stadium.

The light had come from the far end-from the east. So it couldn’t be rays from the dying sun. None of the tournament floodlights had been lit yet. Where was it coming from, and why couldn’t she see it now?

Nancy’s partner strode toward her, concerned about her delay. Nancy nodded at him and began to rise. Then she saw the glint again.

As if he knew she needed his help, Nancy’s partner caught the next few balls with some dazzling maneuvers. There was no repeat of the flash of light, and Nancy was able to return some shots successfully. Her mind was racing.

If the glint was not from electricity or the sunset, what had caused it? Sunlight from behind her? Binoculars? A camera lens? A telescope?

Then the truth crashed down on Nancy. It was a telescope of sorts-the telescopic sight of a sniper’s rifle!

Nancy froze. A ball smashed past her, and the glint came again. Instinctively, Nancy ducked.

She made it look like a stumble, and murmurs rose from the crowd. Nancy’s partner strode toward her. Nancy shook her head. And then, with sharp clarity, she knew there was only one thing to do.

It was the Canadian woman’s turn to serve. As the ball came toward her Nancy completely abandoned her attempt to imitate Teresa’s style. She rushed forward to meet it with a wild forehand slam that sent the ball soaring over the crowd-directly toward the sniper.

There were gasps from the crowd. They must have assumed Teresa was cracking beneath the pressure. But one person knew better. George’s eyes had been on Nancy. They followed the ball. Then they swung back to meet Nancy’s for a shocked instant, and the next moment George was grabbing the nearest security guard and pointing.

From all over the stadium, officials began to dash toward the sniper.

I did my best, Nancy thought. All I can do now is hope.

She rushed back into the game, and she did not see the telltale glint again.

Nancy played hard after that, with all her skill. She knew the best thing she could do was to prolong the game and keep the Canadian pair from winning easily. She had to give Teresa as much time on the loose as she could.

“Game. Set to San Carlos,” the referee called. The announcement was made over the loudspeaker. “The match is now a tie.”

During the third set, Nancy and her partner played well. When it ended, they had lost the match by only two heartbreaking points in the last set!

The players shook hands. Exhausted, Nancy walked slowly from the court amid a flurry of whispers. The Canadian woman came over to put a companionable arm around her shoulders.

“You made a great comeback,” she said. “Too bad you lost when the game was so close. That would have killed me!”

Nancy gave a tight grin. “You don’t know how close it came,” she murmured in her best attempt at a San Carlos accent.