At ten minutes to nine Nancy made her way to Hollins Gymnasium and used her pass to get in. Fluorescent lights glowed in the corridors, but the place seemed deserted. Nancy’s running shoes squeaked spookily on the stone floors.
Cautiously Nancy entered the locker room. She was glad she’d been there earlier for that stolen shower. She knew her way around, knew the hiding places to watch out for-or to take refuge in.
The locker room was like all locker rooms-dim, full of discarded clothing, the smell of disinfectant and athletic equipment, the sound of water dripping from a faucet somewhere.
Nancy sat down on a gray wooden bench that gave a good view of all the doors and waited.
The overhead clock, obeying some class-session programming, rang noisily at 9:10 and again at 9:15.
No one came.
At twenty-five after nine, a door squeaked distantly. Nancy stiffened. Then she relaxed. It was no courier-apparently a match was over, and players and their chaperons were returning. They went directly to the shower room, ignoring Nancy.
Casually Nancy left the locker room and hung around for a few more minutes in the light directly outside the entrance of the gym.
I’d better get back to the box before Bess sends out the Marines, she decided.
Clearly something had interfered with the scheduled meet. And Senator Kilpatrick would have found a way to notify me here if she’d known, Nancy thought. She found Bess, and they headed for the parking lot.
It was a good half-hour before they were able to get out of a traffic jam.
“If we don’t get there soon, that pizza’s going to be stone cold,” Bess grumbled as they barreled toward Alexandria.
“That will ruin your appetite?” Nancy asked absently. Instead of rising to the bait, Bess looked at Nancy’s anxious face and remained silent.
When they entered the suite, George made the same comment. “It’s ten-forty-five. The pizza’s going to taste like wallpaper paste by now. And I ordered all the good stuff-turns out there’s a Neapolitan pizza place nearby.” She stopped abruptly. “Something’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?”
“I hope not,” Nancy said soberly. “Whoever was supposed to meet me didn’t. I don’t know what scared him off. Any word from the senator or Teresa?”
“Nope,” George responded. She went to the phone and ordered another pizza.
They were still eating, sitting cross-legged on Nancy’s king-size bed, when midnight came.
“The senator won’t call now.” Nancy’s shoulders sagged.
“Be glad. Under these circumstances no news is good news,” George pointed out. She sank her teeth into onions and pepperoni. “What I’d like to know,” she went on around a mouthful of cheese, “is why somebody snatched Teresa’s guy. Just to have a reason to lure her to the garage? Or did they really want to get her to the river?”
“It could have been a fail-safe setup,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “If the first guy didn’t run her down in the garage, he or a buddy would have a second chance over there. Believe me, nobody’d have known till morning. That neighborhood was dead.” Nancy shuddered at her own choice of words. “What I’d like to know is why the police aren’t doing anything.”
The others stared at her.
“Think about it,” Nancy insisted. “They don’t know that I got snatched. But they do know Roberto got snatched. With bullets bouncing around! And that somebody tried to run Teresa down in the garage.”
George whistled. “I see your point. Have we ever known a situation like that when the place wasn’t immediately crawling with cops? Especially considering the protests, the bomb threat, and the fact that a foreign sports figure’s involved.”
Especially considering there are top-secret talks involving the San Carlos dictatorship going on, Nancy added silently to herself. She had a lot of questions to ask Senator Marilyn Kilpatrick!
At last Nancy and her friends fell asleep. Before Nancy knew it, she was awakened by a brisk knocking at the main entrance to the suite. Nancy propped herself up on one elbow, noting that the hands of her clock stood at ten minutes to six.
Nancy jumped out of bed and ran to the door in her blue nightshirt. “Who’s there?” she called softly.
“Marilyn Kilpatrick,” a distinctive, familiar voice replied.
Quickly Nancy manipulated the chain and dead-bolt lock, and Senator Kilpatrick slipped inside. Nancy beckoned her into her bedroom.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I also didn’t want to be seen coming here.” Senator Kilpatrick’s auburn hair was as smartly styled as always, but there were circles under her dark eyes. For once she looked every bit of her forty-eight years. “What happened last night? Why didn’t you get the packet for me? Tell me quickly.”
“A lot happened. And no, the courier didn’t meet me.” Nancy pulled on a robe as the senator sank down in a chair. In a few accurate sentences Nancy briefed the politician on the events that had occurred. Then she looked squarely into the dark eyes.
“You brought me into this. I think I’ve earned the right to be told more. Otherwise I could make a wrong move.”
“You’re right.” The senator walked to the window and stood looking between the cracks of the blinds that Nancy had lowered. Then she turned.
“There ought not to have been any danger-to you or anyone else. But the-information exchange-is far more important than I’ve been free to tell you. What I’m going to tell you now I should not be saying to anyone who doesn’t have top security clearance. I’m trusting you because I trust your father.”
“It has to do with a possible revolution in San Carlos, doesn’t it?” Nancy guessed.
Senator Kilpatrick nodded. “My committee is mediating between representatives of all the different political groups in San Carlos. We’re hoping to avert a bloodbath. Someone-we’re not sure whether from San Carlos or an outsider-does want one. I’ve been able to arrange for some very dangerous information to be smuggled to me. That’s why I needed you.”
“Not just because I’m Carson Drew’s daughter. Because I look like Teresa Montenegro,” Nancy said.
“Yes. Truly, I didn’t think either of you would be in danger. I thought that the fact that you resemble Teresa would give you easy access to the gym, and if anyone saw you and the courier together no one would think anything of it.”
The pieces started to fall together. “Roberto was the courier, wasn’t he?” she said.
The senator nodded again. “And now we don’t know where either he or his smuggled information is. If it falls into the wrong hands-” She didn’t finish.
“Who is Roberto, really?”
“He’s Teresa Montenegro’s tennis coach. Also her boyfriend-or at least he has been for the past three months. He was the one who persuaded her to sign up for this tournament. He’s also a leader in the underground freedom movement in San Carlos. I don’t know whether she’s aware of that. He may have felt she’d be safer if she wasn’t.”
Senator Kilpatrick paused. “I’m sure you know about the bomb threat and the protests. What you don’t know is that the San Carlos dictatorship has drawn up a hit list. On it are the names of six people now in the United States who are actively working to overthrow the current government. Unless I get that list, and get it to the FBI within the next few days, those people will start to die!”