Never Say Die (2 page)

No one else was thirsty. Shrugging, George walked toward the exit tunnel. A minute later she was out of the velodrome and out of sight.

Nancy turned back to watch the next heat. When it was over, the spectators applauded, and another heat began. Nancy was beginning to wonder what was keeping George. Surely it didn't take this long to get a drink.

Just then Ned grabbed her arm. “Nancy, where's that smoke coming from?”

“Smoke?” Glancing around, she saw the cloud of thick black smoke rising outside, just behind the stands. At the same moment she heard someone shout, “Fire! There's a fire!”

George! Was she all right? All at once a sick feeling hit Nancy in the stomach. Without a word, she broke into a run.

N
ANCY WAS THE
first person to reach the tent where refreshments were being sold. The tent had collapsed, and one side was in flames. From inside a hysterical voice was screaming for help.

George!

“Hold on, I'm coming!” Nancy shouted.

Wildly, she glanced around. Where was everyone? she wondered. What had happened to the security guards she'd noticed when they arrived? Why weren't they nearby?

But she didn't have time to worry. Lifting the canvas, she found the entrance flap, ducked under, and began to push toward George's voice.
looked around. George was sitting nearby with Jon. “What happened?” Nancy asked.

George shook her head and coughed. “I don't know. I was waiting for my drink, when all of a sudden the tent came down on top of me. Then I smelled smoke and started to yell.”

“Was anyone else in there?” Nancy asked, glancing back toward the fire.

“No. A couple of race officials were in there getting sandwiches, but they left. There was a woman handing out sodas, too, but she went out to get some ice.”

“Thank goodness,” Nancy said, wiping her forehead on the sleeve of her shirt. “At least no one was hurt.”

The tent was now completely wrapped in flames. People were tossing buckets of water on it, but Nancy could see that it was hopeless. Clouds of thick black smoke billowed up into the sunny summer sky.

For a moment she just watched the spectacle. A large crowd was forming as cyclists and coaches poured from the exit tunnel. Then she turned back to George. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine now,” George replied. She was on her feet and no longer coughing. “Thanks for going in to get me.”

“Yes, you saved her life,” Jon added.

“All in a day's work,” Nancy said, joking. Her tone was light, but her heart was not. That sure was a close one.

Suddenly a panicky look crossed George's face. “My bike!”

Ned shook his head in disbelief. “George, you're amazing. You almost got killed a minute ago.”

“I know,” she said, “but I just want to make sure the bike's all right.”

“Don't worry. Bess is inside guarding it,” he told her, shaking his head.

That's George, Nancy thought. Only George would worry more about a bike than about herself.

The sound of sirens interrupted her thoughts. The Summitville Fire Department had just arrived. Spotting the chief, she went over and reported all she had seen. When she was through, she suggested that he list the fire's cause as “suspicious.”

“Too soon to say what it was,” the chief barked in response. “Could have been anything. A cigarette, maybe.”

“I doubt that,” Nancy replied. “Cigarette fires smolder before they burn. This one spread very quickly.”

“Did you see it start?” the chief asked, studying her.

“No, but my friend was inside the tent. She said everything was fine until it collapsed.”

“The fire must have burned through the support ropes, causing the collapse,” the chief said.

“No, you don't understand. She said the tent fell down, and
then
the fire started.”

The chief glared at her. “Are you saying it was arson?”

“I don't know. But I believe the fire could have been set deliberately,” Nancy said.

“Young lady, arson is a serious crime,” the chief said, raising his eyebrows. “I wouldn't go around even speculating unless I were—”

“Excuse me, Chief.” A fireman wearing a grave expression broke in. “I thought you'd like to see this. We found it stashed in that garbage can over there.”

He held out a five-gallon gasoline can, the type motorists carry for emergencies. The chief shook it. It was empty.

“Hmm. Looks like you may have been right after all,” the chief told Nancy. “By the way, what's your name?”

“Nancy Drew.”

“Hmm. Mine's Mike McShane. Well, let's have a look around, shall we?”

Together Nancy and Chief McShane walked around the charred remains of the tent, which was lying soaked with water. At first Nancy saw nothing, but then suddenly she stopped.

“Chief, look at the support ropes. The ones on the other side of the tent are still tied to their stakes.”

“So?”

“The ones on the opposite side aren't. The knots are untied.”

The chief peered down at the stakes. “You're right,” he said. “Someone did untie them.”

“That explains how the tent collapsed.”

What it didn't explain, of course, was who had set the fire. Or why. Nancy examined the wreckage for any further clue but found none. She looked at the gas can, but it was made of rough plastic. Lifting fingerprints would be impossible. Nancy knew she was stuck. Anyone could be responsible for the fire, anyone at all.

After saying goodbye to the chief, she went back into the velodrome. George was pulling on her warm-up jacket, getting ready to go home.

“Any news?” Ned asked Nancy then.

Nancy told the group what she had discovered. “The question,” she said, concluding, “is why? Who would want to burn down the tent?”

“Someone trying to sabotage the Classic,” Bess said.

“Or maybe someone trying to hurt Steven Lloyd,” Ned said.

Jon looked grim. “Well, I don't agree. I think it was someone who was trying to hurt George. Maybe even kill her.”

“But why?” Nancy asked.

“To knock her out of the competition.”

“Another cyclist, you mean?” Nancy looked doubtful. “I don't know. Do you really think it's
possible that anyone could want to win that badly?”

“It's possible. Anything's possible,” Jon said.

“We'd better play it safe and keep a close eye on George,” Nancy said.

“It wouldn't hurt,” the others said.

“No, it wouldn't—look!” George exclaimed. In her hand was a note she had just pulled from the pocket of her windbreaker.

Nancy took it. The message was spelled out in letters cut from a magazine.

“What does it say?” Ned asked.

Nancy read it in a flat, steady voice:” “ ‘Quit the Classic, or else.' ”

• • •

A few minutes later George had loaded her new bike into the rear of her family's station wagon and left.

“I'm going to follow her in my car and make sure she gets home all right,” Nancy told the others.

“Want me to go with you?” Ned offered. “Or maybe Bess?”

“No, I can handle it alone,” Nancy said. “You stay and watch the racing.”

The others had driven to the velodrome in their own cars, so Nancy knew she would not have to return. As she was leaving, Jon pulled her aside. He had to stay behind to register George for a race later that evening, but he was still
concerned about the note she had found in her pocket.

“Don't worry,” Nancy told him. “It probably isn't connected to the fire.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can't. But if someone really intended for George to be asphyxiated in the tent, why would they bother to hide a warning note in her wind-breaker? She'd never see it!”

“Maybe it was put there after you rescued her.”

“Well, I suppose that's possible,” Nancy said slowly. “But we can't draw any conclusions. Not yet, anyway.”

“So what do we do—wait for something worse to happen?”

“At the moment it's our only option. But don't worry. I doubt anything worse will happen.”

Nancy's Mustang was parked in the lot reserved for competitors and their crews. As she started the engine and backed out of her space, she thought about Monique Vandervoort, the cyclist who had been glaring at George. Could she have set the fire? She had left the stadium right before George, Nancy remembered, but that proved nothing. How would she know George would follow?

Several minutes later Nancy pulled into the parking lot of a large motel called the Imperial. It was close to the velodrome, so most of the
cyclists from out of town were staying there. George had pulled in just a minute or two before Nancy. She had wanted to meet some of the other cyclists and cool off with a swim in the motel pool.

The motel's courtyard was all but deserted. Nancy looked around and spotted George walking up to the pool. She stopped to greet a girl with short dark hair, large dark eyes, and the unmistakable muscular legs of a trained cyclist.

Nancy didn't want to butt in on their conversation, so she slowly locked her car. As she started moving toward the pool, she noticed that two more people had joined George and the dark girl. One was a lean, powerful-looking man with curly black hair. The other was a tiny woman in her thirties who had a square-shaped face.

The woman was speaking sharply to George's companion. Nancy was still too far away to hear what she was saying, but it was obvious from the girl's expression that she was upset.

Suddenly the girl stood up, snatched her towel, and marched angrily into the motel. The older couple followed and were trailed in turn by George, who seemed to be speaking to them in a raised voice.

Curious, Nancy walked toward the group. Before she reached them, though, the girl had disappeared inside her room. George continued her argument with the adults, but they cut it
short by going inside, too. The door was slammed in George's face.

“What's going on?” Nancy asked, walking up to her friend. “Who was that girl?”

“Hi, Nancy. That was Tatyana Ivanova,” George replied. “She's from the Soviet Union.”

“What was all the fuss about?”

“Did you see those two people with her?”

“Uh-huh. Who are they?”

Taking Nancy by the elbow, George led her away from Tatyana's door. “They call themselves her chaperons, but Tatyana told me they're actually KGB!”

Just then, Tatyana's door snapped open. The muscular man walked out. Without looking at George or Nancy, he started back toward the pool. Nancy turned to George.

“The KGB!” she whispered. “Are you sure you heard right?”

“Yes. Tatyana told me they don't want her to have any contact with Westerners. Can you believe it?” George said.

“I suppose so. I think they treat all their visiting athletes and artists that way.”

“It's crazy,” George said hotly.

“I know. It's hard for us to understand, but they see us as a threat.”

George said nothing, but Nancy could see that she was fuming. She didn't really blame her. At the same time, though, she hoped that George
would accept the situation. Further contact might get Tatyana in trouble.

Slowly the two girls walked out, passing the pool. On the way, they saw the muscular man, who was returning to Tatyana's room with a pair of sunglasses in his hand.

“Did you see that?” George whispered when he was out of earshot. “She left her sunglasses by the pool, and they wouldn't even let her go back to get them herself.”

A minute later Nancy pushed open the gate to the pool. “Ready to go?”

“In a minute. I want to take a quick dip,” George said. “I hope the owners won't mind.”

“There's no one here. I don't think they'll care. I'll wait right here for you.”

Dropping into a chair, Nancy watched as George mounted the diving board and positioned herself for a dive. She slowly raised her arms as she began her approach.

Just then, Nancy noticed a cord trailing into the water. At the end of it was a radio—and it was plugged into an all-weather socket on the side of the cabana!

Nancy leaped up. “George, don't dive!” she screamed.

But it was too late. As she yelled, George bounced off the board and went soaring into the air!