Never Say Die (10 page)

The second time it worked. Magically, the dogs turned and walked off. One was still eyeing George suspiciously, but Debbi said, “Good dog. Stay now. Stay now. Okay, George. You can move.”

A minute later Nancy examined the area around the guard dogs' cages. George's wind-breaker was on the ground nearby. That explained how the dogs had been given her scent, but who had let them loose in the first place?

“It wasn't me, if that's what you're thinking,” Debbi said, reading Nancy's mind.

“No?”

“No. I don't have anything against George anymore,” she said.

Nancy couldn't believe her ears.

“Why should I? Now that she and Jon have
broken up, Jon and I will be getting back together. Just wait and see.”

From her talk with Jon, Nancy knew that Debbi was wrong. Still, she was grateful Debbi had appeared when she had. If she hadn't, George might have ended the morning hurt.

That still left the question of who had set the dogs free, however. Scanning the crowd, Nancy looked for familiar faces.

She spotted one right away—Tatyana's coach. The woman was standing on the fringe of the crowd, but it was obvious that she was very interested in the proceedings. Seeing that Nancy had spotted her, she walked over, smiling coldly.

“Once again, your friend is safe. She is very lucky.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Too lucky, I think. Someone with so much luck will get hurt sooner or later.”

“Really?”

“Perhaps. I hope Miss Fayne will avoid getting hurt, of course. We in the Soviet Union wish only happiness to our American friends.”

“How nice.”

Nancy didn't believe a word of it. To her, the woman's words sounded like a veiled threat. Wanting to learn more, she decided to ask the woman a dangerous question.

“How is Tatyana doing?”

“That is none of your concern,” the woman
barked. “Please tell Miss Fayne the same. We do not wish to see her interfering with Tatyana's cycling anymore.”

“Oh? Has George been ‘interfering' again?”

“No, but if she does—”

“Then what?” Nancy asked.

“Let us only say that her luck may not always be so good.”

That was all Nancy needed to hear. As far as she was concerned, the Russians were still active suspects on her list. Monique was number one, but Tatyana's coach was running a close second.

• • •

That afternoon the first of the Classic's road events was to be held on Route 133, a flat, straight state highway that ran through Summitville. In the event, the cyclists would race against the clock over a fixed distance.

The Women's Time Trial was won by a French rider, Sandrine Dubois. George placed third, but she wasn't too unhappy. “I'm still first in the overall standings,” she pointed out.

As they watched the men begin their time trial, Nancy wondered whether George was as lucky as she thought she was. Someone was still trying to kill her, and if Nancy was right about the would-be murderer's identity, as long as George held her lead in the standings she was only putting herself in greater danger.

• • •

Later the girls were standing in the velodrome parking lot, each balancing one of George's bikes.

“Nice bike,” a man said, nodding toward the disk-wheel bike.

“Thanks,” George answered.

The man put his hand in his pocket and nervously jingled some coins. “How much does a bike like that go for?”

George shrugged. “I'm not really sure. Several thousand, I think.”

“Yeah? How would you like to sell that one to me? I'll give you five thousand.”

George stared at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I said I'll give you five thousand dollars for your bike,” the man said, lowering his voice. “How does that sound?”

Nancy could hardly believe what she was hearing. Obviously, neither could George. For a second there was dead silence.

“That's a generous offer. Tell me, do you want the derailleurs and cranks with that, or do you have your own?” George asked.

“Huh?” The man looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't you know?”

“Uh—”

“I didn't think so. You don't know beans about bikes. So what's going on here? Why are you trying to buy my bike from me?”

“Look, I'll make it six—cash.” Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, the man pulled out a wad of crisp, new hundred-dollar bills.

George had had enough. “I'm sorry, the bike is not for sale.”

“Come on, this is a great deal. Six thousand, okay?”

“I said forget it.”

Defeated, the man quickly walked away. When he was gone, Nancy and George exchanged puzzled looks.

“That was
weird,”
Nancy said.

“You're telling me,” George said. “That guy didn't even know what a derailleur is! Everyone who knows anything about bikes knows that.”

Nancy was curious about the incident, too. But all conversation in the area came to a sudden halt as a piercing scream cut the air!

N
ANCY LOOKED AROUND
. She couldn't tell where the scream had come from. All she could see were rows of cars, cyclists, and spectators. Now everyone was glancing around.

Then the scream split the air again. That time Nancy could tell it was coming from somewhere to her right. Handing her bike to George, she jogged in that direction to search the rows of cars. A minute later she found the problem.

It was Monique. The Dutch cyclist, still wearing her orange jersey and black cycling shorts, was backed against the side of a car. She was hysterical with fear. A dog was barking ferociously at her. The look on Monique's face was exactly
the same as the one that had been on George's earlier, but this time Nancy wanted to laugh.

The dog that had cornered Monique was a poodle!

Within seconds Nancy was joined by a small crowd. At first, no one seemed to understand what the problem was. Then they got a demonstration.

“Yip! Yip! Yip!” the poodle barked.

“Aaah. G-get it away! H-help! Get it away from me!” Monique cried.

Moments later the poodle's owner, the mother of a cyclist, ran up. At the same time, a tall blond man wearing a cycling cap and a sweat suit that matched Monique's jersey ran over too. Her coach, Nancy guessed.

“Oh, I'm so very sorry,” the owner of the poodle said as she scooped the dog up in her arms. “Tiger here got away from me.”

“G-get it away from me! Please!” Monique gasped.

“Please remove the dog,” the girl's coach requested.

“Of course. I'm so very sorry,” the woman repeated. “Bad Tiger! Bad dog!” she scolded, hurrying away.

Nancy shook her head in bewilderment. The whole thing was ridiculous. How could a tough, aggressive competitor like Monique be frightened by a poodle?

Monique's coach put an arm around her and
said something to her in Dutch. Then, for the benefit of the bystanders, he explained in English, “Since she was a little girl, she has had a fear of dogs. Thank you for helping.”

Nancy turned away with the others and started back to George. That answered her question—and also eliminated another suspect. If Monique were afraid of dogs, she couldn't have been the one who turned the velodrome guard dogs on George. And that meant the culprit had to be the deadliest suspect of all—the KGB.

• • •

That evening Nancy was invited to dinner at the Faynes'. Bess and Ned were invited, too. Everyone lounged on the deck in the backyard while Mr. Fayne grilled hamburgers. As they waited, Nancy looked around.

It was a beautiful night. Still, she couldn't forget the danger George was in. It was quite possible that she was a target of the Soviet secret service. Even now, the KGB agents could be plotting their next attack.

Nancy knew she had to convince George of the danger. But how? Would George believe it?

Nancy's opportunity came after dinner as they carried the dishes into the kitchen. “George, do you have a minute?” she asked.

“Sure, Nan. What's up?”

“I feel like walking off some of that food. Want to go with me?”

“All right. I'm feeling pretty stuffed myself,” George said.

Together they walked around the side of the house, down the driveway, and out onto the sidewalk. They began to stroll down the street. It was growing dark, and lights were already coming on inside the houses.

“Is there something special on your mind, Nancy?” George asked.

Slowly, Nancy ran down the facts in the case. One by one she described the attacks and discussed the suspects. Finally, she laid out her conclusion: the KGB was after George.

When she was finished, George shrugged. “I kind of figured that was it. But so what? What can I do about it?”

“Drop out of the Classic.”

“Oh no. Not that again.”

“George, it's the only way. They're ruthless and they're gunning for you. Your good luck won't last forever.”

George walked in silence for a minute, her hands jammed in the back pockets of her jeans. When she spoke, her voice was full of disappointment. Her words were bitter. “You know, of all my friends I thought you were the one who'd understand. Bess—well, I expected her reaction. But not you. Nancy, you love sports as much as I do.”

“I also like being alive.”

Suddenly George stopped. “Do you think I don't?” she said explosively. “For the last five days I've been terrified!”

“You have?”

“Sure! Do you think I enjoy breathing smoke, swimming in electrified pools, and everything else? No way!”

Nancy was surprised. All week George had been so brave. Whenever she'd mentioned the attacks, it had been in a joking way. Not once had she showed her fear.

“Then quit the Classic,” Nancy said again.

“I can't. I don't want to.” George was adamant. “Anyway, there's only one event left—the 40-Kilometer Road Race tomorrow.”

Nancy put her hands on her hips. “I don't see why that's so important. What harm would it do to skip the last event?”

“You don't understand. You don't have any idea how important this is to me, do you?”

Nancy tried to calm down. “Look, if you won't drop out of the race, then at least stop talking to Tatyana. Stay away from her tomorrow. Brush her off.”

“No,” George insisted. “I won't do that either.”

“George, please!”

“It's a matter of principle. No government has the right to put limits on a friendship. What they're doing is wrong.”

Nancy threw up her hands. There was nothing
more she could say, nothing more to do. George was determined to keep going, and that was all there was to it.

“Oh, Nan, don't be like that,” George pleaded. “I need your help right now.”

“Why? So I can get Bess and your parents off your back about dropping out?”

“No, that's not it at all.”

“What do you mean?” Nancy asked. “What is it, then?”

Turning, George started walking back in the direction of her house. “It's—it's Jon. I miss him so much, Nancy.”

She wasn't surprised. “I can imagine. But what can
I
do?”

“Help me get my feelings straightened out. I'm so confused!”

All the way back to George's house, they talked. Gradually, Nancy's anger lessened. The more she heard, the more she realized that George was hurting badly. Finally, she said, “Why don't you just forgive him?”

“I'm trying,” George replied. “But it's hard.”

“Don't you believe his story about the night he was out with Debbi?”

“Sure. What bothers me is that he wasn't honest about it.”

That was true. He hadn't told her the whole truth at first. “Why don't you talk to him about it?” Nancy suggested.

“What for? There's nothing else to say!”

Biting her lower lip, Nancy thought back to her discussion with Jon. There was a lot more to say.

“Listen, George, I can't tell you how to handle this, but I can tell you one thing—Jon loves you as much as you love him. It's crazy for you to be apart.”

“So what should I do?”

“Talk. Work it out. No relationship is perfect.”

“But what if we can't work it out? Nancy, I'll die!”

“Seems to me you're in pretty bad shape already.”

“Yeah. If the KGB doesn't get me, a broken heart will.”

Nancy laughed, but the laughter didn't make her feel better. In a way, George's words were all too true.