Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics (26 page)

Miller shrugged. “Sure.” He turned back to the young woman. “I’ll take it from here, Sabrina,” he said.

Stevie thanked her and the security guy, and he and Miller walked a few steps down the hall for privacy.

“Look, Mr. Miller, I know you don’t know me from Adam—”

“Sure I do,” Miller said. “You and Susan Carol Anderson are the kids who keep breaking big stories at big events. So why in the world do you need to talk to Andrea? I would think you’d be writing nothing but Susan Carol right now.”

Stevie took a deep breath.

“I don’t really need to talk to Andrea,” he said, causing Miller to raise an eyebrow, “but I do need a favor. I can’t really explain, but there
is
a story going on and Susan Carol can’t help me—”

“No kidding,” Miller said, smiling.

“So I’m working it alone. And I need very, very much to get into the Coke hospitality room right now.”

Miller looked at him as if making some kind of decision.

“Follow me.”

They walked up to the guards at the door of the Coca-Cola suite, and Miller turned and pointed Stevie out to the guard. For a split second Stevie’s heart jumped: Maybe he was just turning him in for lying to get his attention. Before he could contemplate that any further, he heard Miller say, “Young man is with me.”

The guard nodded. Stevie noticed that Miller’s pass had every possible letter on it, meaning he could go, he guessed, just about anywhere.

He followed Miller into the room. Miller led him through the crowd a bit and then stopped.

“Okay, you’re in,” he said. “But you’re on your own from here.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Stevie said.

“Thank me by getting the bad guys, whoever they are,” Miller said. “Your track record tells me you know when something is up and that you’re trying to do the right thing. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll give it my best,” Stevie said, shaking his hand.

Okay
, Stevie thought,
now to find the bad guys
.

He started circling the room slowly. He was dressed a lot less formally than most people, so he tried not to make eye contact with anyone. He moved slowly, not wanting to bump into anyone or draw too much attention to himself.

There was a bar at the midway point of the room, and he stopped to ask for a Coke. That gave him a chance to stand and take in the room without looking too suspicious. The bartender handed him his Coke, and he moved to the side of the bar so he could keep looking and get out of the way at the same time.

And then he saw them.

They were standing in a corner with drinks in their hands. Stevie wondered why they had come in here to talk but then decided this was the place they were least likely to run into someone from a competing company. How they had gotten in was another question—but not his problem.

His problem was different: how to get some clue what they were up to. He sipped his Coke as if that would somehow inspire him.

Remarkably, it did.

“Mr. Maurice?” he said, clearly startling both men when
he approached. They were so intent on their conversation they didn’t even notice him until he opened his mouth.

“Huh? Yeah?” Maurice said, giving Stevie a “Who are you and why are you bothering me?” look. The look on Arnold’s face wasn’t nearly as friendly. Susan Carol would have called it withering.

He plowed ahead, trying to channel Susan Carol’s charm.

“Steve Thomas,” he said, sticking his hand out. “We met a couple years ago in New Orleans at the Final Four. You were helping Chip Graber out by loaning him a car.…”

Recognition finally flashed in Maurice’s dark eyes. “Oh yeah. You’re the kid who was with Susan Carol Anderson, right? The two of you were running around with Grabes because of that blackmail thing.”

“Yeah,” Stevie said. “The blackmail thing.”

The urge to say “The blackmail thing we got Chip
out
of” was almost overwhelming, but he resisted.

“Mr. Arnold, how are you?” Stevie said, turning toward Bill’s withering glare.

“How’d you get in here?” Arnold said in response.

Stevie remembered Susan Carol saying that the reason J. P. Scott was the out-front guy for Lightning Fast was that he was better with people. Arnold was the deal maker, the numbers guy. He could see why.

“Probably the same way you did,” Stevie said, choosing to brush off the challenge. “Some race, huh?”

“You aren’t disappointed your girlfriend lost?” Maurice said.

Stevie tried to look shocked. “My girlfriend’s an Olympic silver medalist. I think that’s amazing! And how can you feel bad after a race like that? And Elizabeth is
so
nice. What a great story she is, huh? You can’t help but feel happy for her.”

Maurice grunted in disgust.

“If you feel happy for her that she might be costing your girlfriend millions, that’s fine.”

“I don’t think Susan Carol is worried about that,” Stevie said.

“Yeah, well, her father is,” Arnold put in. He shook his head. “Do you know how many deals we have that rise or fall based on her winning a gold?”

Stevie saw an opening. He turned to Maurice. “That true, Mr. Maurice? Brickley’s not interested in silver medalists?”

“No one is interested in silver medalists, kid,” Maurice said.

“So you might be going after Elizabeth Wentworth, then?”

Arnold had just taken a sip of his drink and almost coughed it up.

Maurice actually smiled—a sinister smile, but a smile nevertheless.

“You seem smart enough,” he said, “so I’m surprised you’d say something so dumb. Elizabeth Wentworth looks like a bodybuilder. Maybe she can get a commercial for one of those home gyms or something, but that’s about it.”

“So it’s looks
and
a gold medal.”

“You got it.”

“So Svetlana Krylova would work for you too then, right?”

Maurice’s eyes bugged out a bit as soon as Stevie brought up Krylova, but he recovered quickly. And he was looking at Bill Arnold pointedly when he said, “Krylova choked tonight. Blew it.”

“She went under the world record.”

“And didn’t even medal. Going under the world record and finishing fourth will get you a Coke in this room—if you ask nicely.”

“Well, she’s better in the 200. And so is Susan Carol. Maybe you’ll get the result you want in the next race,” Stevie said.

Bobby Maurice gave him a look that scared him.

“I feel sure I will,” he said.

S
usan Carol was on a roller-coaster ride.

After she and Elizabeth finished their poolside interview with Andrea Kremer, they were shuttled a few yards down the deck to a BBC interviewer. She and Elizabeth had been told they would be able to get back in the water to warm down once they had finished their TV bits and before they had to go to the interview room. But as soon as the BBC finished, an IOC official appeared and announced they were being taken to drug-testing.

“But,” Susan Carol said, “we were told we’d get to warm down first.”

“You can warm down after the medal ceremony,” said the official, whose name tag said
JEAN RENAUD
.

“That will be almost an hour after we finished swimming,” Elizabeth said. “You’ve got to give us five minutes or something.”

“No, we don’t,” Renaud said. “You both have to be drug-tested, or you will be considered to have tested positive for refusing the test.”

They looked at each other. It wasn’t as if either one of them had never skipped a warm-down; it was just that you didn’t want to get out of routine in the middle of the Olympics.

“Okay,” Susan Carol said, “of course.” But she was really annoyed.

She was looking around for Ed Brennan, but he was nowhere to be seen since they were in an area where only swimmers, TV personnel, and IOC officials were allowed. They followed Renaud under the stands to the drug-testing room.

Happily they’d been drinking enough water that giving samples didn’t take very long. They had just walked out of the room with an IOC official who was escorting them to the interview room when there was another brief snag. Trevor James, the USA Swimming official who had so thoroughly explained the rules to them that he’d become a joke, stopped short when he crossed their path. He was dressed not in a USA Swimming outfit but in a FINA uniform—specifically that of a meet official.

James was looking unpleasant as always. He didn’t bother to congratulate either swimmer.

Elizabeth, polite as always, said, “Can we help you, Mr. James?”

“No. But you can both help yourselves by watching your turns.”

Susan Carol was confused. “Mr. James, I’ve never had a problem with my turns,” she said.

“Me neither,” said Elizabeth.

“And I keep telling you, this is the Olympics. You’ll be under more scrutiny here.”

He turned and walked away. Susan Carol and Elizabeth just stared after him.

“What was that?” Susan Carol said.

“Another Olympic moment to treasure with Trevor James,” Elizabeth said wistfully.

Both girls dissolved in laughter.

They were both crying not long after. Susan Carol had almost felt like she was in a play when the medals were presented—it was hard to believe this was real. But with the weight of a medal around her neck, and “The Star-Spangled Banner” playing, and two American flags—one for her and one for Elizabeth—being raised to the rafters, it began to sink in. She’d actually done it.

From the podium she could clearly see her family about ten rows up in the stands. Her brothers and sister were all waving when she walked out, and she waved back, feeling chills down her spine. Her mom, the family crier, was awash in tears.

But the real surprise was her dad: He had tears streaming down his cheeks too. He was definitely
not
the family crier. He was always the calm one in good times and bad. That’s why it had been so hard to see him changed in the run-up to the Olympics. But this was a change Susan Carol
could feel good about. Those tears told her all she needed to know about how her father really felt. And you couldn’t mistake the pride on his face.

She spotted Stevie and Bobby and Tamara in the stands, waving and blowing kisses. And then she looked over at the other American swimmers, all of them facing the flags, hands on their hearts, singing. That was when she lost it completely. She thought back to all the times she had watched athletes stand at attention for their national anthems at the Olympics and imagined what an incredible moment that must be. Now she knew.

When the final notes died away, Elizabeth grabbed her and pulled her onto the gold medal podium. Then she reached down and pulled Sjöström up too. The three of them, arms around one another, medals around their necks, waved to everyone as the applause washed down.

Stevie had gotten back to the media seating area just as the three medalists walked back onto the deck.

“I know you’ve got something,” Bobby said as the three women marched toward the medal podiums.

“I’ll tell you when this is over,” Stevie said.

But when it was over, he was in no condition to tell anyone anything. He was just about as choked up as Susan Carol.

So it wasn’t until a couple of hours later that Stevie finally told Bobby and Tamara his tale. They had all gone downstairs to the media room in the Aquatics Centre to write their stories after the medal ceremony. Stevie was upset
because he hadn’t gotten to talk to Susan Carol, but she had texted him, asking if he could have lunch the next day since she had a light workout in the morning and nothing going on after that.

When they finished writing, they headed back to the Gloucester and had a late-night snack in the hotel. Stevie filled them in on his talk with Bill Arnold and Bobby Maurice as they ate.

Bobby sat back in his seat and tossed his napkin onto his plate.

“It’s this close,” he said, holding his thumb and forefinger about a half an inch apart. “But I have no idea what it is we’re close to.”

Tamara shrugged. “It may just be that they’re all waiting to see what happens before they pounce on their next star.”

They were all slumped in their seats, thinking. They still had only suspicions that something wasn’t right.

“So,” Kelleher finally said, leaning forward. “Bobby Mo likes to get what he wants, and he wants either Krylova or Susan Carol. What can you do to guarantee gold? Go out and break Elizabeth Wentworth’s leg? Have Liu Zige kidnapped?”

“We never really ruled out blackmail,” Tamara said.

“How does he blackmail a Chinese swimmer? With what?” Bobby said. “For that matter, how does he blackmail an American swimmer? There’s no NCAA around here to declare someone ineligible.”

“There is an IOC,” Stevie said. “They’ve certainly got lots of rules.”

“The only one that would matter would be a dirty drug test. I don’t think Bobby Mo or J. P. Scott can get a drug test falsified.”

Stevie thought for a minute. “If I was Bobby Mo or, for that matter, the Lightning Fast people, the person I’m most scared of is Elizabeth Wentworth. I know Liu’s a threat, but a lot of people think she’s a product of the rocket suits. She hasn’t been close to her record since they went out. Elizabeth just broke the world record in the 100 in a non-rocket suit.”

“I agree on all counts,” Bobby said. “What’s your point?”

“I’m back to bribery.”

“You were the one who said you didn’t think Elizabeth would go for something like that,” Tamara pointed out.

“And she clearly wasn’t being paid to lose tonight’s race,” added Bobby.

“I know,” Stevie said. “But I wonder if that changes things—she’s already won gold. How bad does she want two? Maybe one gold medal and a lot of cash would seem like an okay outcome to her?”

“It’s possible,” Bobby said.

“I suppose,” Tamara said.

“I know, I’m not convinced either,” Stevie confessed. “I still don’t think she’d do it.”

“So let’s get some sleep, then,” Bobby said. “And hope for better luck tomorrow.”

Stevie and Susan Carol met for lunch at a Chinese restaurant called the Good Earth, which was a few blocks from the Gloucester. She wanted to get away from the athletes’
village for a while, so they planned to walk around and see some of London after they ate.