Deadly Doubles (9 page)

Nancy interrupted. “Teresa, listen to me! This could be a trap!”

Teresa shook her head violently. “No! He mentioned things no one not close to Roberto could know. The poetry book Roberto gave me—the message he wrote inside.” She grabbed Nancy’s arm. “This
amigo
, he wants to ask me questions. Questions that may give us a clue to some message Roberto could have left me!”

“I’ll go with you,” Nancy said at once.

“No, I must go alone, but that is not the problem.” Teresa drew herself up proudly. “With Roberto dead, I do not care about the risk! I must find that list, or his death will have no meaning.”

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

Teresa leaned forward. “There is only one time this man can meet me. At six o’clock tonight. But Nancy! At six o’clock I must be at the tennis tournament.”

Nancy frowned. “I thought your match today was earlier.” She looked at her watch. “Right now, in fact.”

Teresa cut her off. “It was postponed until tomorrow. One of my opponents took sick and must be replaced. The stadium will open again at five today, and at six I am to play a doubles match. Not part of the tournament. It is a benefit for the poor people in my country—an American man and I will play against the girl from Canada and her coach. Roberto was supposed to be my partner, but—” Teresa forced tears back sternly. “It has been advertised. How can I not show up there? How can I be in two places at one time? Nancy, help me!”

In two places at one time
—Nancy looked at the girl from San Carlos, almost unrecognizable in the baggy uniform and the cap that concealed her hair. Aside from the suntan, she could have been Nancy herself in disguise.

“I know how,” Nancy breathed. “
You
play the doubles match.
I’ll
go to your meeting.”

“Nancy, I told you you cannot—”

Now it was Nancy’s turn to interrupt. “Wait a minute! I play tennis—not as well as you, of course, but I’m good. You said yourself it’s a doubles match. I’ll play in it for you—as Teresa Montenegro. And you’ll go to your meeting—as Nancy Drew!”

Nancy tiptoed across the living room to the other bedroom. “Bess!” she hissed, opening the door. “Come to my room. We need you. You, too, George.”

“I don’t understand,” Teresa whispered, bewildered, when the three girls returned.

“You will. Just listen.”

Quickly Nancy outlined her brainstorm. It would require acting skill, but Nancy had that from many previous cases. And she was sure she could persuade Teresa to play
her
part. It also required alterations, not just of appearance but of mannerisms and of Nancy’s tennis game.

George grasped the possibilities first. “I can coach you, Nancy. I’ve learned lots of Teresa’s techniques, thanks to this morning’s workout. I’ll try to make your tennis look as much like Teresa’s as I can.”

“But what about little things like skin and hair color?” Bess objected.

“That’s where you come in,” Nancy said promptly. “You’re the fashion and beauty expert. Run out and buy whatever’s needed at a drugstore. Be prepared to give me a cut and blow-dry. Teresa, go back to your room before your chaperon pushes the panic button. I’ll arrange to have her receive a diplomatic invitation she won’t dare turn down. George, get on the phone to the senator. Tell her
we
”—she emphasized the word—“need the use of a tennis court that can provide
absolute privacy
. Tell her I’m testing out a theory, but don’t tell her anything else.”

As the other three sprang into action, Nancy sat down quietly. She felt as if the room were whirling.

Teresa’s meet was vitally important—and this was the only way it could take place without alerting the terrorists. Of that Nancy was absolutely sure.

She was absolutely sure of something else as well. She had only a few short hours to complete the transformation—not just of her appearance but of her tennis game.

She, Nancy Drew, expert detective but amateur athlete, was about to play before a thousand or more people. Play against people good enough to be professional. Play well enough to carry through a triple deception—of the United States government, of the public, and of the San Carlos agents assigned to keep Teresa Montenegro in line.

Could she do it?

Chapter Thirteen

T
HE NEXT FEW
hours were among the most frantic of Nancy’s life. Within ten minutes Senator Kilpatrick sent the “armored car,” as George called it, to take Nancy, George, and Teresa to a private home somewhere nearby. The girls never found out who lived there, and no one was in sight, but inside the high walls around the grounds was a magnificent tennis court.

For two hours Teresa drilled Nancy in the characteristics of her tennis style, with George acting as coach to see if Nancy followed Teresa’s moves precisely.

“It’ll do,” George said at last. “Nancy could never pull off the substitution in a regular tournament match, but people will probably think your playing looks different because this is mixed doubles.”

“Let’s hope so!” Nancy said fervently. “My game’s suffering because I’m concentrating so hard on copying Teresa’s style. And I’d never have the stamina for a full match!”

“I would,” George said regretfully. “I wish I could try it.”

“Perhaps when this is over, you and I will have a chance to play together in another meet,” Teresa told George gently. There was a moment’s silence. They were only too aware that some of them might not come out of the afternoon’s deadly games alive.

“We’d better get back so Bess can have her crack at us,” Nancy said briskly.

The limousine sped them back to the hotel. Again they were whisked carefully inside, under heavy guard. Bess was in the suite, surrounded by hair and makeup paraphernalia. “I shortened Nancy’s skirt so it’ll be the right length for Teresa,” she reported. “And I bought Nancy some tennis shoes like the ones Teresa wears. You guys should be able to fit into the rest of each other’s clothes.” She hurried them both into the showers to wash their hair.

The next hour was a hectic flurry of activity, with Bess presiding and George acting as her assistant. Bess and George applied bronzer to Nancy’s skin. “You’d better have it everywhere,” George insisted, “since you’ll have to change clothes in the locker room.” Fortunately Nancy had some tan already, so the deeper color was not too much of a change.

After that, Bess—who was good at it—trimmed Nancy’s hair, referring to Teresa constantly as a model. Then she began to apply colored hair gel lavishly.

When she finished, Bess had matched the girls’ hair coloring quite well. Next she worked over them both with brush and blower.

Last of all came makeup. Bess relied mostly on Nancy and Teresa’s own cosmetics, but she was also able to do some skillful work with light and shadow.

“Be glad of what I learned when I was in those school plays,” Bess muttered, blending brown and lavender under Nancy’s cheekbones. “Okay, take a look.”

Till then, she’d kept Nancy and Teresa away from mirrors. Now they stared at themselves, amazed. Somehow Nancy’s cheekbones had grown higher and broader, the bone structure above her eyes seeming a bit more full. On Teresa the effect was the reverse. Once dressed, each girl’s resemblance to the other’s normal appearance was uncanny.

“Now spritz your faces with this bottled water to set the makeup,” Bess commanded. “No, wait!
I’d
better do it.”

“You’re not afraid this bronzer will run off?” Nancy asked apprehensively.

“Not till you scrub hard with soap,” Bess said emphatically. “I tried it once. Believe me, I know! Once I was a South Sea islander for days!”

“It’s time you two were going,” George said, glancing at her watch. “Seńora Ramirez should just be leaving for that cocktail party. How’d you arrange that?”

“I told Dad that Seńora Ramirez could use an evening out after all that’s happened. He knew just the right people to—” Nancy gasped. “We’ve been rushing so much I forgot to arrange transportation. Teresa can’t drive into D.C. in our car—not in rush-hour traffic!”

“It’s taken care of,” Bess said. A troubled look crossed her eyes. “Dan thinks he’s driving Nancy and me into Georgetown to follow up one of Nancy’s hunches. After we drop Teresa off, we’re going to have dinner at a place he knows. Then we’ll pick Teresa up again.”

“Good thinking,” George said approvingly.

“I hate not being honest with Dan,” Bess said. “But it was the only thing that I could come up with.”

Nancy nodded sympathetically. “I know what you mean,” she said, thinking of Ned. “But if you’d told the truth, it would have been Dan’s job to stop us.”

“I’ll be able to keep Dan occupied so he won’t ask Teresa too many questions,” Bess went on. “And the senator’s sending some other bodyguards, who haven’t seen either of you two before, to drive Teresa . . . well, actually
you
, to the doubles match. The senator agreed with me that Teresa might be safer without her San Carlos guards than with them, so she’s arranged a way to spring her from custody.”

“You didn’t tell Senator Kilpatrick what we’re doing, did you?” Nancy exclaimed. Instinct warned her the deception should be secret even from the senator. Especially after the way Dad lit into her earlier about jeopardizing our lives, she added mentally.

“I didn’t tell
anybody
,” Bess emphasized. “But I’ll sure be glad when this is over.”

“I, also,” Teresa said somberly. “No matter how it ends.”

There was a momentary silence.

The phone rang. It was Dan reporting that he was ready for the trip into D.C.

Teresa rose. Then, resting her hands lightly on Nancy’s shoulders, she looked directly into her eyes.
“Vaya con Dios,”
she murmured. She picked up Nancy’s handbag and slipped out into the corridor. Bess followed.

Ten minutes later George and Nancy left too, carrying Teresa’s tennis rackets and gym bag. George sat in the front seat of the government car, beside the driver. “Teresa wants to be alone,” she told the other bodyguard. “She’s got to psych herself up for this match.”

They rode out to the Loudon campus in absolute silence. Nancy was grateful that this limousine, like the one that had kidnapped her, had tinted windows. No one could look in at her, and in the Washington area limos were too common to attract much notice.

They reached the campus. Nancy noticed that the parking lot was well filled. Apparently many people had come to watch Teresa play and help the refugees from her country.

The limousine pulled up by the gym. To Nancy’s relief, security police had made the place off-limits for all but the four players. In the women’s locker room Teresa’s Canadian opponent greeted her pleasantly but otherwise let her alone. Nancy changed into Teresa’s favorite tennis outfit and put on the new tennis shoes. Fortunately they fit well. She propped Teresa’s mascot, a small doll—a replica of a San Carlos Indian woman—beside her on the bench and gazed at it somberly.

Nancy was beginning to realize all too well just how easily the switch of identities could go wrong. I can’t think about it, she told herself. I’ve got to psych myself into the game—into
Teresa’s
game. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

All at once she heard a commotion in the hall. There were the sounds of a scuffle, and then George’s voice was raised wildly.

“You don’t understand! I’ve
got
to see Teresa Montenegro!”

Nancy ran to the door. George was struggling with two guards in the lobby of the gym building. She caught Nancy’s eye and signaled frantically.

It was a risk, but Nancy took it. She stepped out of the locker room and strode forward to reach out for George, her own eyes flashing imperiously as she’d once seen Teresa’s do. “Let go of her!” she commanded.

To her great relief, the guards let go of George and stepped back—but only a few feet. They would never let George follow Nancy into the locker room out of their sight.

George turned her head so that only Nancy could see her lips. They formed the words almost soundlessly.
“Trouble. Bess phoned. Teresa phoned her at the restaurant. The big guy down south has ordered the execution of traitors everywhere to begin at dawn!”

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

E
L
M
ORRO, 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.