Deadly Doubles (5 page)

She was talking about torture. Nancy felt sick. “Aren’t the police doing
anything
to trace Roberto?”

“This is a classified government matter,” Senator Kilpatrick said bluntly. “It’s not for the local police.” She rose. “However, the government agencies can call on them when necessary. I’m going to arrange for you to have a police bodyguard.”

Nancy groaned, and the senator’s lips curved slightly. “He won’t be obvious! I think you’ll like him. I’m going to request a plainclothes detective who’s been assigned special duty with me before. He’s a go-getter, just out of the police academy. He’ll fit right in with you and your friends.”

“Two things,” Nancy said resolutely. “I can’t keep my friends in the dark about this. They’ve been pulled into it—they’ve got to know what’s happening. They’re totally trustworthy, they’re smart, and they’re experienced at helping me. But they won’t be able to know how to help unless they have the whole picture.”

After a moment’s thought, the senator agreed. “What’s the other thing?” she asked.

“Just how much danger do you think I’m in?” Nancy wanted to know.

“Not much, I hope. You’re too visible now. Those goons who snatched you by mistake won’t try
that
again. If they’d wanted to kill you, they’d have done so then.”

“Which means,” Nancy said, thinking aloud, “that they’re not worried about my being able to identify them.”

“They’ve probably been imported from San Carlos, or from some other link in the terrorist network. I’ll find out whether it would be useful for you to look at mug shots or help a police artist make a composite drawing. Even if the men were imports, they may be known by the FBI or the CIA or Interpol, the international police organization.”

“What do you want me to do in the meantime?” Nancy asked.

“Do exactly what you’d be doing anyway. Go to the tournament. I have a box there myself. I’ll meet you there, and I’ll bring along a young ‘staff assistant’ I want to fix you up with. I’m sure you and Dan can make that look authentic if required.” The senator rose. “Any other questions?”

Nancy shook her head.

“Good.” Senator Kilpatrick slipped out of the suite, after carefully surveying the corridor for onlookers.

By that time George and Bess were quietly moving around in their own room. Nancy knocked on their door. “Phone down and order up breakfast, will you?” she asked. “I’ll come fill you in as soon as I’ve showered.”

Half an hour later they were once again having a mealtime conference, this time on George’s bed. Bess and George looked somber as Nancy reported her conversation with the senator. “Poor Teresa,” Bess said softly. “Think how she must feel—Roberto’s both her boyfriend and her coach.”

“Think how she’ll feel having to walk out there on that tennis court today,” George said realistically. “All it would take is a sniper up on top of the grandstand.”

Bess repressed a shudder.

Following instructions, the three girls drove out to the campus as if nothing unusual were going on. The United States flag, the flags of the players’ countries, and the Loudon College banner fluttered bravely against a robin’s-egg-blue sky. The souvenir stalls and food stands were selling their wares; people were laughing and talking and watching players warm up on the side courts. A few tired-looking protesters waved their signs in the background, under the watchful eyes of the campus cops. There didn’t seem to be any more security forces around than usual. Is the FBI here undercover? Nancy wondered.

While George strode off “to case the players,” as she put it, Nancy and Bess went to their box. To Nancy’s surprise, there were Marilyn Kilpatrick and a brawny, deeply tanned young man. “Nancy, hello!” Senator Kilpatrick said warmly. “Your father told me you were going to be here, so we stopped by to say hi. This is my staff assistant, Dan Prosky.”

Nancy performed introductions. Bess took one look at the handsome young undercover detective and turned on all her charm. Meeting Senator Kilpatrick’s suddenly dancing eyes, Nancy knew that the planned script was about to be rewritten. Apparently Bess was going to be the one Dan would fall for—and Nancy didn’t think either of them would have to do any pretending. Not that she minded.

George, returning from her survey, also sized up the situation promptly. “Superjock,” she muttered knowingly as Dan led Bess off for yogurt shakes.

Nancy grinned. “Since when have you looked down on athletes?” she teased.

“Only when they have such huge egos they think their muscles automatically make them supermen. Something tells me that’s the case here. How come he’s leaving you alone in the box?”

“In case somebody’s trying to meet me.” Nancy was wearing her meet-the-courier outfit with the identifying red belt, just in case. “Anyway,” she said, glancing around, “I’m not exactly alone.”

It was hard, in the atmosphere of cheerful excitement, to believe that a dangerous terrorist game was going on under cover of the tennis matches.

Dan and Bess came back, and the first match of the day—between Canadian and Japanese players—concluded. Nancy checked her program. Teresa wasn’t scheduled until the afternoon. “I think I’ll wander around awhile,” she said.

“Mind if Bess and I come along?” Dan asked promptly.

“Of course not,” Nancy replied. But once they were out of the area of the stands, Nancy turned to face them. “Look, the person who was supposed to meet me may find a way to show up—or someone else may come instead. But no one will come near me if I’m not alone. Can you keep up the surveillance from a distance?”

“Sure,” Dan said. There was a new note of respect in his voice.

For the rest of the morning, Nancy prowled the area behind the bleachers and around the gym. She carried a small camera and snapped pictures, both as a cover and in hopes of capturing clues.

The morning matches ended. The crowds streamed toward the parking lots and food stalls. Nothing had happened. Nancy, Bess, George, and Dan ate salads and drank iced tea in a pleasant outdoor restaurant. A few players and their coaches appeared there also. But not Teresa.

Afternoon came. It was time for Teresa’s second match. Nancy and her friends watched the action closely. “She’s good,” Dan said. “Wouldn’t know her mind was on anything but the game, would you?”

George’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not at top form. She was better yesterday. There aren’t so many slashing serves today.”

All the same, Teresa was able to maintain a slight margin over her opponent, a young German woman. What was remarkable was how she was able to do so with her distinctive style. Teresa seemed to thrive on difficult shots. She would miss easy returns and fall behind, then rescue herself just in time with a dazzling display of driving shots from the back corners of the court. And of course, there were her flashing leaps and powerful slams.

“Well, we may look alike, but our games are certainly different,” Nancy whispered to George. “She’s much, much better than I am—that’s for sure.”

“You do okay yourself,” George said consolingly.

The match had almost reached the end of the second set when Nancy became aware of three figures making their way up the wooden stairs to the row of boxes: A middle-aged woman with auburn hair—Senator Kilpatrick—followed by two men in dark suits, who Nancy assumed were from the Secret Service.

The senator stopped at the entrance to the box and spoke in a low voice. “Nancy, I need to speak to you. Alone.”

Without a word Nancy rose. At a signal from the senator, Dan, Bess, and George remained in the box.

The senator led the way straight to a small concrete building just inside the players’ restricted area. It was empty except for a file cabinet, a desk, and a few chairs. “The tournament committee uses this as an office,” Senator Kilpatrick said, noticing Nancy’s surprise.

After checking the room, the senator’s guards shut the door and took up posts outside, leaving Nancy and the senator together.

Nancy was beginning to feel uneasy. “Something’s happened.”

Senator Kilpatrick’s eyes were anguished. But when she spoke her voice was absolutely level and emotionless.

“I’ve just been over at the hotel where one of the San Carlos delegates to my committee’s conference is staying. Security people there found a body in the hotel garage. It was Roberto. He’s been murdered.”

Chapter Seven

F
OR A MOMENT
the closeness in the room made it hard to breathe. Distantly, applause and roars of approval came from the tennis courts. Somewhere near at hand a bird was singing.

Then a faint breeze came through the window and broke the spell.

Nancy wet her lips. “How was he killed? In the hotel gunfire?”

Senator Kilpatrick shook her head. “He was strangled—with a rope—sometime during the night.” She paused. “The medical examiner said there had been torture.”

“Then he might have given away the list.”

“It’s possible,” the senator said quietly.

All at once, despite the summer heat, the room was very cold. “Poor Teresa,” Nancy said at last. “Who’s going to tell her?”

Senator Kilpatrick looked at her directly. “
We
are. On behalf of our government, I’m going to assure Teresa that we’ll help her return home, or remain here for the rest of the tournament, as she wishes. You saved Teresa’s life. I believe she trusts you. Definitely more than she trusts anyone else around here. I want you with me when I tell her that she has to be questioned.”

“You don’t think
Teresa
had anything to do with Roberto’s murder!” Nancy exclaimed.

“I have no reason to think so. But she may be the only person who can give us clues that will prevent more murders. She doesn’t have diplomatic immunity to protect her from being questioned. If she’ll consent to it willingly, it will avoid a lot of . . . unpleasantness. For all of us.”

In other words, Nancy thought, the government wants me to persuade Teresa to spill the beans. Whatever they are!

If she did, it might save Teresa herself from further danger. Nancy stopped short. Had someone intended to kidnap Teresa as a lever to make Roberto talk? Or had it been the other way around? That was something she’d have to think about later. At the moment, Teresa was playing her heart out on the field, while United States government agents waited.

“I’ll help you tell her—if you wait till her match is finished,” Nancy said firmly.

“There’s no reason to spoil that,” Senator Kilpatrick agreed. “We don’t want to attract attention, anyway. You’ve met Teresa’s official chaperon, haven’t you? Point her out to me. I want to make sure she’s not around when I talk to Teresa.”

The request would have seemed unkind, but Nancy remembered the overprotectiveness she had seen yesterday in Seńora Ramirez’s behavior. She probably wouldn’t let Teresa say more than two words, Nancy thought.

Nancy and the senator went back to the playing area, escorted by the Secret Service agents. The match was nearing its close. “That’s the woman,” Nancy whispered, pointing with her program toward a black-dressed figure in the stands. Had Seńora Ramirez already heard about Roberta’s death, or did she always look as though she were in mourning?

Senator Kilpatrick spoke quietly to the nearest agent. Within seconds, two business-suited government men were edging their way toward Teresa’s chaperon.

As the match ended—another win for Teresa amid a roar of applause—Nancy saw the two close in around Seńora Ramirez and steer her toward an exit at the other end of the grandstand.

Teresa came striding toward the path to the gymnasium, shouldering her way almost obliviously through a throng of well-wishers. She was wiping her dripping face with a towel, and the look in her eyes was remote.

Nancy stepped in front of her. She had to speak twice before Teresa heard her.

“Oh, Nancy. Yes. Did you enjoy the match?” Teresa asked in Spanish.

That was not the real question she wanted to ask, and Nancy knew it. “No, I didn’t,” Nancy said directly, and she saw Teresa flinch. She tucked her arm through one of Teresa’s, as Senator Kilpatrick did the same on the other side. “This is one of our American senators, and a good friend,” Nancy said gently. “We need to talk to you.”

Secret Service men were deftly surrounding the three women and moving them in a unit toward the little concrete office.

As soon as the door was shut, Teresa looked at Nancy. Her eyes were dry. “
Muerto
. He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked.

Nancy nodded. “Yes, he is. I’m so sorry. Teresa, we need your help to catch Roberto’s killers. Senator Kilpatrick will explain about it.”

“First, I must know how he died,” Teresa said.

She listened stoically as the senator recited the story. “I do not know why it happened,” she insisted as the senator questioned her gently. “All the time, in my country, there is killing. I did not think that could happen here.”

“Could the other killings in your country have anything to do with your friend’s death?” Senator Kilpatrick pressed. “Could they be connected to Roberto’s murder?” The older woman repeated the question in Spanish to make sure it was understood.

Teresa’s eyes flashed. “
No!
All Roberto cares about is tennis—and me!”

She was speaking in the present tense, Nancy noted with a pang. The realization must have struck Teresa, too, for the girl suddenly froze. Her eyes widened. Then, abruptly, she bent over sobbing.

“Give me a few minutes with her,” Nancy whispered to Senator Kilpatrick. The senator nodded and slipped out. Nancy wrapped her arms around the slight, shaking figure and helped Teresa into a chair. She knelt beside her, holding her.

“I am sorry,” Teresa said at last, straightening up again.

“Don’t be. You have a right to cry,” Nancy said.

Teresa shook her head faintly. “What you ask about Roberto . . . He has been my tennis trainer for three years, but my—what do you American girls call it?”

“Boyfriend?” Nancy suggested.

“My boyfriend three months only. Three wonderful months. We talk about so much. Never about politics. Never about governments.” Teresa glanced at Nancy. “Since I am young, I have love for him. Why should we talk about politics?”