Deadly Doubles (2 page)

Then the limousine was jerked abruptly onto a much smoother road. Although the windows were shut and the air conditioning was on, Nancy was able to hear the sound of air rushing past the windows and the zoom of other cars shooting by. That must mean they were on the interstate. They had turned left at the end of the lane. That meant they were heading toward Alexandria.

Nancy concentrated hard, counting in her head. How long was the ride taking compared to her drive to the college? Could she estimate the car’s speed and therefore the mileage?

The limousine came to an abrupt stop, then made another left turn. It was heading toward the Potomac—toward Washington.

It made another turn, this time to the right, and was caught up in the roar of commuter traffic. Nancy thought they might be on Route 7 or the Belt Parkway.

Then, with a rush of terror, Nancy heard the roar of jet engines close at hand.

The airport! They’re going to take me on a plane! Nancy thought with panic. But the jet sounds receded. A metallic rumble underneath the wheels seemed to indicate that the limousine was crossing a bridge. Into the capital itself?

The limousine rattled over cobblestones and drew to a stop. A rush of fresh air and the lightening of weight on the seat told Nancy that a back door had opened and her seatmate had climbed out.

The next thing she knew, she was being dragged out and stood up. Something cold touched her ankles, and then the ropes around them were removed. Still gagged and blindfolded, her arms bound, Nancy was half pulled, half pushed, across an expanse of gravel and through a door. Footsteps echoed hollowly on cement.

There was an ammonia smell in the air, and once, when Nancy stumbled, her face brushed against something that felt like a cardboard carton. Were they in a warehouse?

A hand knocked on a metal door. The door was opened, and Nancy was dragged inside.

The voices of Nancy’s captors, speaking in Spanish, became deferential. They’re speaking to their boss, Nancy realized. But what are they saying? The Spanish was so rapid, so staccato, that she could only understand one word in ten.

Suddenly she was dragged over to a window. Nancy knew it was a window because she could feel the warmth of sunlight against her cheek. Hands grasped her face roughly, turned it this way and that. Fingers ran through her hair.

Abruptly she was released—so abruptly that she lost her balance and fell painfully to the concrete floor.

Before Nancy could scramble away, a new set of hands grabbed her. Somebody’s knees pinned her down as her ankles were tied again, this time with something cold and harsh. After that, Nancy was ignored.

Something was wrong, she realized instantly. With a cold fury, her captors’ boss was yelling at them in rapid Spanish. Nancy recognized one or two insults that brought hot color to her face. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice. She was virtually forgotten until suddenly she was picked up and swung like a carpet roll over somebody’s shoulder again.

The thugs rushed Nancy back outside and dumped her in the car.

Again the car jerked to life. Nancy forced herself to remain alert and clearheaded, but she could hear only an occasional word from her abductors. At least there was no gun at her head this time! Or could that be because there was something worse in store?

How long the second ride was, Nancy couldn’t guess. She wasn’t concentrating as hard as she had the first time, and it seemed that the driver was retracing his route. There were the sounds of traffic and the sounds of gravel.

Then the limousine lurched off the road into—what? A field? The car slowed. A back door was opened, although the car was still moving. Nancy’s bound hands were pulled away from her body roughly. Something hard and cold touched them. Something stung her flesh. A knife. But it wasn’t meant to hurt her. It was cutting her bonds.

Suddenly, with brutal force, Nancy was pulled up and then pushed toward the open door. She fought back with her freed hands, bracing her feet against the back of the front seat.

Voices were raised in Spanish. One phrase leaped out, “They could be twins!” Then a hand pushed the hollow of Nancy’s back with professional accuracy. She fell, rolling and jouncing, onto hard ground that seemed to leap up to meet her.

Doors slammed and the car roared away.

Nancy was rolling and rolling, over rocks and grass. At least she wasn’t on a road. She didn’t try to stop herself until she was sure the limousine was far away. Then, shaking, she sat up as best she could and pulled the blindfold off her eyes.

She was sitting in the middle of a field, and above a rim of evergreens rose the banner of Loudon College!

Nancy’s heart, which had been pounding, began to calm down. At least her captors had had the decency to return her to where she had been snatched from. Clearly, it had been a case of mistaken identity, but who could the intended victim have been?

It was not the time to think about that. The sun was already low in the sky. With stiff fingers Nancy worked the handkerchief free from her mouth and spat out the gag that had been thrust inside. Her mouth was dry and raw, and she could hardly swallow. Then she attacked the bonds around her ankles. No wonder they had hurt! They were made of thick wire, the ends twisted around each other, and were so tight that her ankles had already swollen slightly around them.

At last Nancy was able to pull the wires free. She folded them carefully and looked around. Her purse! What had become of her purse?

The dark blue pouch with its shoulder strap lay only a few yards away. So it, too, had been thrown out of the car. Nancy tried to scramble to her feet, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. The welts where the wires had been throbbed agonizingly. She crawled over to the small duffel bag and zipped it open. Her eyes narrowed.

The bag had been searched! Nancy knew very well she had put her car keys in her change purse, but she pawed through her bag and found them loose on the bottom.

Those men seemed like pros, but they were either new at this or careless, she thought.

Nothing inside the purse had been taken. Nancy stowed the wires, gags, and blindfold inside and zipped the bag carefully. Then, with difficulty, she pulled herself up by holding on to a nearby tree.

I have to make sure I look all right before I see anybody, she decided.

If she walked slowly, she could manage. Gingerly, Nancy made her way out of the field and then along the lane and through the parking lots, leaning against cars for support. She checked her watch and was startled to see that it was only a quarter to five. The afternoon tennis matches were still going on.

A glance at her reflection in a glass door brought Nancy up short. She was a mess! She was looking in the same door she’d gone through an eternity earlier, and she saw what she’d missed before: steel letters on the wall beside the doors. Hollins Gymnasium. This must be where the players dress. And if there’s a locker room, there are showers, Nancy thought with relief.

She opened the door. The two security guards she saw scrutinized her government pass carefully before waving her on. Nancy made her way along the empty corridors until she found the locker room and the showers.

Safely in one of the stalls, Nancy pulled the heavy plastic curtain shut and stripped off her clothes. She showered quickly, trying to keep her hair dry, then bathed her injured ankles in cold water for several minutes. Afterward she dried off with a towel she’d grabbed from the supply table and dressed again. Fortunately, she’d been wearing cotton socks, and when she pulled them up the swelling in her ankles didn’t show much. After applying a dab of lip gloss, Nancy made her way outside.

Forcing herself to walk as normally as possible, Nancy went slowly toward the tennis courts. She followed some other spectators down a flagstone path to the entrance gate.

Then she saw something that made her stop abruptly. She was so startled that it took a few moments before she realized what the woman at the gate was asking. “What? Oh, yes . . . I have a box-seat ticket. It’s here somewhere.” Even as Nancy searched through her purse and handed over her ticket for the afternoon matches, she was staring at the large display board next to the entranceway.

It was covered with pictures of tournament players. One of them was an action shot of a player leaping into the air to return a lob.

Except for a difference in tennis style and slightly darker hair, the girl in the photograph could have been a mirror image of Nancy herself!

The realization struck Nancy all at once. She had been snatched coming out of the players’ dressing area, wearing clothes that could easily have been mistaken for a tennis outfit. She had been kidnapped in error, mistaken for someone else. And that person, very likely, was the young athlete pictured flying into the air to smash back her opponent’s shot!

“Nancy!”
The loud voice was unmistakably George’s, and right on top of it came Bess’s. “Nancy, where have you been? We were worried sick!”

Her two friends were hurrying toward her from the grandstand. “Bess has been having a fit,” George said anxiously. “Especially after we phoned the hotel and the woman at the desk said she thought you’d left a couple of hours ago. What happened?”

Around them, people were staring curiously. “Something came up. Tell you about it later,” Nancy said quickly. It wasn’t the place to share her experience, particularly if her suspicions were true. The best place for Nancy and her friends was in their box seats, where they’d be in full view of the crowd—and where Nancy would have a good view. She intended to keep a sharp eye out for the reappearance of her kidnappers.

“Let’s go watch the tournament,” she said brightly. “How much have I missed? Any cute guys around, Bess?” Nancy hoped the question would divert Bess from any probing questions of her own.

“Never mind that right now,” George interrupted. “Teresa Montenegro’s first game will start any minute. I don’t want to miss it.” She hurried the other two to a corner aisle and up the open wooden steps to their end box.

“Boy, was I glad to see you,” Bess chattered, settling into her seat. “With all the security guys prowling around this place, I was beginning to be afraid . . . which is pretty silly, isn’t it?” she finished, laughing.

“Shh!” someone in the box behind them hissed loudly.

Nancy turned toward the court. Her mind was racing. “All the security guys prowling around”—what did that mean? As everyone else watched a well-known American player walk briskly onto the court, Nancy caught George’s arm and whispered the question to her.

“Because of Teresa,” George whispered back. “Her country’s a dictatorship, you know. I overheard somebody say there’s been a bomb threat.”

“Here?” Nancy asked, shocked.

George nodded. “There even were people picketing in front of the tennis stadium. This is the first time San Carlos has ever sent an athlete to an international competition. Some big shot from her government’s coming to D.C. this week just to watch—and a lot of people don’t like it.”

With effort, Nancy kept her face from betraying anything. The San Carlos diplomat wasn’t just coming to watch Teresa play. He would be here to meet with Senator Kilpatrick’s top-secret committee—that was what the senator had told Nancy on the phone the night before.

All at once a roar went up from the crowd, followed by loud applause.

A slender figure of about Nancy’s height was walking onto the court. Nancy saw the girl’s eyes flick back and forth apprehensively as she moved past the rows of spectators. Her light brown shoulder-length hair caught the last rays of the sinking sun.

“That’s Teresa Montenegro!” George said excitedly. “Hey, she looks a little like you, Nan, don’t you think? Her mother was Irish, you know. That’s where Teresa got her light hair and blue eyes.”

As George chattered on, a chill ran down Nancy’s spine. She had never seen Teresa before, but somehow she knew what she was thinking, knew the way she would leap in the air to return a high-bouncing shot—and knew why she was afraid.

Teresa Montenegro was the girl in the photograph, the girl who was the image of Nancy Drew!

Chapter Three

“
N
ANCY, THIS IS
incredible,” Bess suddenly exclaimed, turning to Nancy. “Teresa Montenegro is almost your exact double!”

“Almost,
nothing
,” George said. “Now that I look closely, she could be your twin sister!”

Nancy’s gaze never left Teresa as she responded, “We look enough alike . . . to confuse anyone . . . even professional . . .”

Afterward, Nancy was able to remember very little of that first match she watched Teresa play. Her eyes were too busy scanning the crowd for possible threats. Her mind was too busy piecing things together.

First I’m abducted, and then I’m dumped because a mistake was made, Nancy thought. No, that’s not first. First there’s Senator Kilpatrick and her mysterious committee, and the senator’s calling me to do a secret errand. Then the snatching. Now here’s Teresa looking like me—and looking scared. And the bomb threat!

Teresa had to be the connecting link between the pieces. I have to see Teresa, and fast, Nancy decided.

As soon as the match ended, with Teresa winning, Nancy began pushing her way out of the box.

Before she was at the bottom of the wooden staircase, George and Bess had caught up with her. “What’s going on? Talk!” George ordered.

“Not here! Keep up with me till we find an open space.” Nancy started to run toward the gym with the other two close behind. “Find out if Teresa’s gone in there yet,” Nancy told George, who took one look at Nancy’s taut face and obeyed. Without being told, Bess slid the binoculars off Nancy’s arm and began to watch the approaching crowd.

“Teresa’s just leaving the field with a cute guy. They’re walking this way,” she reported just as George reappeared.

“Great. Then we have a few minutes.” Nancy led them a short way from the gym to a deserted patch of open lawn. In a low voice and with as few words as possible, she told them about her abduction and her suspicions.