Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics (21 page)

He mispronounced her name, calling her Kree-lova. Instinctively, Stevie corrected him. “It’s
Krylova
as in ‘cry like a baby,’ ” he said.

Brooks’s eyes narrowed. “You can pronounce it any way you like,” he said. “According to your request for access, you were to see”—he looked down at the paper again—“S. C. Anderson and Evelyn Rubin.”

“I saw Ms. Rubin earlier and I’m on my way to see Ms. Anderson,” Stevie said. Looking across the plaza, Stevie could see Susan Carol coming out the door. “Look, there’s Ms. Anderson right now.”

Brooks was shaking his head so emphatically Stevie thought it might fall off.

“No, no, you are missing the point,” he said. “You have broken
two
rules. One, you are walking around in here unaccompanied, which you know is forbidden. And two, you
were talking to an athlete you did
not
make a request to interview.”

“But I did,” Stevie said. “I asked her if I could interview her, and she said yes.”

He was going to play this as dumb as he possibly could. If he was going to go down, he might as well get to see Brooks’s head explode too. Even so, his heart was pounding. If he lost his credential, he was in big trouble.

Susan Carol arrived on the scene. “Is there a problem here, Mr. Brooks?” she said—somehow remembering his name. “I was just comin’ to meet Mr. Thomas for our interview and saw you talkin’ to him.”

She was in full Scarlett O’Hara, the drawl rolling off her lips, The Smile somehow brightening the already-sunny day. But if there was a human being on earth who might
not
be charmed by Scarlett, this was the guy.

And yet, when he looked at Susan Carol, smiling brightly, dressed in a USA T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, looking about as close to the ideal all-American girl as you could get, even Peter Brooks melted just a little.

“Ms. Anderson, I’m afraid there is a bit of a problem,” he said. “Mr. Thomas has been flouting the rules—interviewing another athlete without authorization, walking around the village unaccompanied—”

Susan Carol interrupted by shaking her head and putting her hand on Brooks’s arm. “Oh, Mr. Brooks, I do apologize,” she said. “It’s really my fault. I had to go to my room to do a couple of interviews back home that USA Swimming asked me to do? And Steve hadn’t eaten, so I asked
my friend Svetlana to take him over to the dinin’ hall while I finished up. I hope you’ll forgive me. He was just doin’ what I asked him to do.”

Brooks was clearly confused. On the one hand, he had Stevie dead to rights and was very much looking forward to taking him by the arm and escorting him to the gate and perhaps stripping him of his credential altogether. On the other hand, here was this charming girl—one of the athletes, no less—giving him this big smile and saying
she
was the one who had gotten it all wrong.

“All right, then, all right,” Brooks finally said, digging deep for his inner bureaucrat even as he continued to look dazzled by Susan Carol. “Since Ms. Anderson has vouched for you, Mr. Thomas, I will let you go with a warning
one
time. If there is a repeat of this sort of behavior, I promise you there will be repercussions regardless of explanation.”

“Oh, thank you for understandin’,” Susan Carol said, patting him effusively on the shoulder all the while giving Stevie a look that said, “Back me up here, pal.”

This was actually harder for Stevie than trying to be charming. But he managed to say, “Yes, thank you. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal, but I see now that it is. It won’t happen again.”

Brooks gave them both a curt nod and turned on his heel. Susan Carol had her hands on her hips.

“I declare, Steven Richman Thomas, you can find trouble—”

“I was carrying out
your
plan, remember?” he said.

She waved a hand. “Yes, well. Shall we find Evelyn so you can fill us in?”

“There’s one other person we need to find,” he said.

“Who’s that?”

“Chip Graber.”

She gave him a look, said nothing, and waved at him to follow her. The village had become crowded. They needed to find a quiet place to talk.

They met in the suite that Evelyn was “sharing” with Venus and Serena Williams. The two sisters were going to be staying at The Savoy when they got to London, so Evelyn had the entire place to herself.

The problem was getting Stevie into the building. Only athletes, coaches, and family were allowed in. Evelyn explained to the guard on her door that, even though Stevie had a media badge, he was her cousin. Another lie, and so soon after they’d promised Peter Brooks to be good … Oh, well.

Stevie filled the two girls in on what Krylova had told him about Brickley.

“So is Chip still with Brickley?” Susan Carol asked.

“Definitely,” Stevie said. “There was a story in the Minneapolis paper a few weeks ago that kind of went national. Apparently Brickley wanted him to pull a Michael Jordan and wrap himself in the American flag if the US wins, and he said he wouldn’t do it.”

He was surprised that he knew something Susan Carol didn’t. Then again, her life had been a bit hectic the past few months.

“What is pulling a Michael Jordan?” Evelyn asked.

“Back in ’92, the first year NBA players were allowed to play in the Olympics—the year of the original Dream Team—the USOC had a contract with Reebok that said all the American players had to wear Reebok sweats during medal ceremonies. But Jordan had his own contract with Nike and didn’t want to be seen wearing a Reebok logo. So Jordan accepted his medal with an American flag draped over his shoulders to cover it up. And he got the rest of the team to go along with him.”

“It was pretty cheesy,” Susan Carol said.

“We weren’t even born,” Stevie answered.

“I’ve seen tape,” she said.

Of course she had.

“The point is, Chip may be able to tell us more about
Robert
Maurice, as he now calls himself. He was the one who recruited Chip in the first place.”

“Yeah, I guess Bobby Mo doesn’t sound quite as international,” she said.

“So our next problem is finding Chip. I know the American basketball players aren’t staying in the village,” Stevie said.

“Probably they’re in the most expensive hotel London’s got,” Susan Carol said.

“That would be the Wyndham Grand,” said Evelyn, “I think it’s the only five-star hotel in London. It’s where all
the top players stay during Wimbledon. It’s elegant, right on the river, and near lots of good restaurants.”

“Then why aren’t Venus and Serena staying there?” Susan Carol asked a split second before Stevie did.

“Because they
never
do what everyone else is doing. They like to be different.”

Susan Carol was giving Stevie a look he had seen before. It was her “you have to do something that’s going to be hard” look.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You have a plan.”

“Not really. All I can think is that you need to talk to Maurice. And Chip could be your in. I mean, I don’t think calling a Brickley PR person is going to get you a meeting.”

“You think Maurice is going to tell me what he’s planning for Svetlana Krylova and whether your agent is in on it?”

“No. But if you imply you know that
something’s
going on, I think he might get upset enough to make a mistake and tell you something. But you’ll have to figure a way to rattle his cage without ratting out Svetlana …”

Right. This was going to be hard.

S
tevie managed to find his way back to the media center without getting into any more trouble and found Bobby Kelleher and Tamara Mearns banging away on their computers in the
Herald-Post
office area.

“Nice of you to check in with us,” Kelleher said when Stevie walked in.

“We were getting a little worried,” Mearns confessed. “But Susan Carol sent us a text saying you were en route back.”

Stevie apologized for forgetting to stay in touch but said he had lots to tell. So they walked through the maze that led to the dining area and had official Cokes in official cups.

They sat at a corner table, and Stevie told them everything—including his close call with Peter Brooks.

Kelleher leaned back in his chair when he was finished.

“Huh. That’s all very interesting. But, really, we’ve got
nothing,” he said. “An agent talks to a prospective client. A shoe company rep makes a pitch to the same athlete and asks her to keep it quiet. It’s nothing.”

“But, Bobby—” Stevie said, even as Kelleher put his hand up to tell him to wait.

“And yet, it
feels
like something. We all feel it, including Susan Carol, and she’s the one closest to it in a lot of ways.”

“Okay,” Tamara said. “But what is
it
?”

“Exactly,” Kelleher said. “Stevie, do you have Chip’s cell number?”

Stevie shook his head. “I had it, but he changed it about a year ago, and I’ve never gotten the new one. I haven’t talked to him in a while.”

“Well, that needs to change,” Kelleher said.

He pulled out his own phone and got the number for the Wyndham Grand hotel.

“Mr. Graber, please,” he said when someone answered.

Apparently the operator didn’t find anyone under the name Graber because Kelleher said, “He could be under a separate rooming list. He’s on the US Olympic basketball team.”

He listened for another minute, then nodded. “I understand,” he said. “Thank you.”

He snapped the phone shut. “They won’t even confirm that the team is staying there. But I know they are because Mike Krzyzewski told me that’s where they’re staying.”

“You’ve got
his
cell,” Tamara said. “Why not call him and tell him you need to get in touch with Chip?”

“That’s plan B,” Kelleher said. “Plan A is we talk to Chip in person tonight at the opening ceremony.”

“In that crowd? How?” Stevie asked.

“Each American team has been asked to make a couple of athletes available in the mixed zone after the ceremony is over,” Kelleher said. “The swimming media are going nuts because Phelps isn’t going to be one of the Americans. But Mike Moran from the USOC told me that the basketball players are going to be Kobe Bryant, Kevin Durant, and Chip.”

“Why did that even come up in conversation?” Tamara asked.

Kelleher smiled. “I was ninety-nine percent sure LeBron wouldn’t be one of the players because he would be worried about playing second fiddle to Kobe. So just to be a hundred percent sure, I asked Mike. Little did I know the answer would be so useful.”

“The mixed zone will be a zoo, though,” Tamara said.

“It will be,” Kelleher said. “But we’ve got a secret weapon when it comes to getting to Chip.”

“What’s that?” Stevie said.

Kelleher laughed. “You,” he said.

Deciding to take part in the opening ceremony over the objections of J. P. Scott and her father was the best decision that Susan Carol had ever made.

The security checks were a pain, beginning with being wanded and having everything they were carrying checked even before they got on the bus at the athletes’ village to
make the ride to the Olympic Stadium. The traffic was brutal even for so short a ride. Then there was more security before they were allowed to go to the area where they lined up. And then there was an hour wait before they marched in.

But the rest of it was magical. Putting on her official USA uniform had given Susan Carol chills. Everywhere she turned, she saw great athletes. She’d have to find the official count later, but there must have been close to five hundred athletes, just for the American team. She was surrounded by divers and fencers and rowers and cyclists. The women’s gymnasts looked so tiny standing next to the weight lifters. She recognized a lot of the sprinters and the beach volleyball players and all the swimmers, of course. But which were the sailors and which were the water polo players? There were wrestlers and badminton players and equestrians. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by it all. By all that talent and all that ambition and longing in one small space.

She ran into Mike Krzyzewski, who was coaching the men’s basketball team and who had written her a note when he found out she’d qualified. She was always happy to see him, but somehow here it was even better, and she gave him a big hug.

Then she heard a voice behind her say, “Well, if it isn’t the greatest girl reporter/swimmer in history.”

She turned and saw Chip Graber with a huge smile on his face.

“Oh, Chip, I’m so glad to see you!” she said as they hugged.

“My God, Susan Carol, will you please stop growing?” he said. “You’re making me look bad.”

She blushed. Chip was only five-foot-ten, easily the shortest member of the Olympic basketball team. Even in the low-heeled shoes all the women were wearing, she was a good three inches taller than he was. Still, he looked the same as ever: the floppy hair, the easy smile.

Stevie had texted her that he was going to try to talk to Chip later in the mixed zone and that if she saw him, to please give him a heads-up.

“Chip, I hear you’re going to the mixed zone tonight after the ceremony,” she said.

“Yeah, I’m the guy everyone who can’t get close to Kobe and Kevin will be talking to,” he said, grinning.

“Well, there’s one person I really need you to talk to,” she said.

“Who’s that?”

“Stevie.”

Chip gave her a look.

“Please don’t tell me the two of you have somehow found trouble
here
,” he said. “You’re here to swim, to win a gold medal, to be a star. For one week can’t you stop being a reporter?”

“This could involve my swimming,” she said. “I’m just not sure.”

His smile faded. “Are you in trouble somehow?”

“No,” she said. “Well, we don’t know. Maybe we’re all overreacting because Stevie and I always seem to find trouble.…”

She was about to tell him more when a USOC official came up and said, “We need everyone lined up with their teams right away. We’re getting ready to march in.”

“I’ll make sure to find Stevie,” Chip said to Susan Carol. “Don’t worry. Whatever it is, I’ll help.”