Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics (28 page)

Tamara smiled. “That’s the kind of comment Susan Carol would normally make, with the historical reference and all.”

Stevie shrugged. Almost everyone alive knew the story about the figure skater Tanya Harding and her husband sending a thug to whack her arch-rival Nancy Kerrigan on the knee a few weeks before the 1994 Olympics.

Kelleher shook his head. “Well, it does seem pretty far-fetched, but it happened once.… And Chip made a good point: There is obviously a lot riding on this for Bobby Mo if he’s tossing around million-dollar bribes.”

“So what do we think it means, Elizabeth is ‘already taken care of’?” Stevie asked.

“Right now, that’s the 100-million-dollar question,” Bobby said.

Susan Carol was very happy when the semifinals were over on Tuesday night. Even though she hadn’t been at all
nervous about qualifying for the finals, the grind of swimming the 200 fly twice in the same day was enough to wear a swimmer out.

The heats and semis had gone predictably except for one thing: Liu Zige had finished eighth in the semifinals, barely squeezing into the final. Top swimmers often held back in prelims to save energy, but Liu had made the final by two-hundredths of a second. No one cut it that close on purpose.

Krylova had qualified first—again—coming within fourteen-hundredths of the world record in the semifinals. Elizabeth and Susan Carol had been second and third, meaning they would flank Krylova in lane four for the final. That was good for Susan Carol: Krylova would set the pace early in the race, so swimming right off her shoulder would work well.

She had felt bad about turning down Stevie’s invitation to join him and Bobby and Tamara for lunch between races and slightly less bad about turning down her family’s invitation. But all she’d wanted to do was eat and get off her feet. She also explained to Stevie that Ed had outlined a strict schedule for her to follow the next day. A brief warm-up swim and then rest, rest, rest. She was a little surprised when he said, “I know.” Ed hadn’t said anything about talking to Stevie, but maybe they had run into each other at the pool.

By now she and Elizabeth had become all but inseparable. There was an unspoken agreement between them to discuss everything
but
the impending race. Susan Carol felt
as if Elizabeth was the best friend she’d never had. It was almost as if both being swimmers and butterflyers, they spoke their own language.

“Worst set you ever had to swim?” Susan Carol would say.

“Easy. 100-200-300-400. All fly. Then do it again in reverse order.”

“Brutal.”

“Sickest you’ve ever been?” Elizabeth would then ask.

“First time I swam the 200 fly and it was
yards
. I went out way too fast. Got to the 150 wall and I was cooked. At the 175 I almost got out of the pool. On my last length I looked so bad that Ed said to the stroke-and-turn judge, ‘She’s still legal!’ The guy said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to DQ her. She’s already suffered enough!’ ”

Each story or memory would lead to another.

Now, though, as they sat in the back of the car taking them to the Aquatics Centre—Ed had insisted on meeting them at their apartment to escort them to the pool—Susan Carol could feel the tension building. The 200 fly was the toughest race in swimming. That alone would make any swimmer nervous. But there was more to it than that. Susan Carol knew a lot was at stake—the look on her dad’s face the previous night had told her all she needed to know. He was desperate for her to win. For her sake or for his, she wasn’t sure.

One more warm-up. One more trip to the ready room. One more march to the blocks. And then, a little more than two minutes after she heard the starter’s horn, it would
finally be over. One way or the other. That moment couldn’t come soon enough.

Stevie and Kelleher and Mearns had eventually agreed on a plan Monday night: Susan Carol and Elizabeth would be told nothing on the grounds that it wasn’t fair to have them jumping at shadows before the race. Instead, they would talk to Ed Brennan and to Chuck Wielgus from USA Swimming. Ed, who knew a lot already, would hear the whole story. Wielgus would just be told—by Kelleher since they knew one another well—that the two American butterflyers needed extra security, but the kind that wouldn’t be noticed. Chuck readily agreed.

Ed Brennan’s first instinct was to find Bobby Mo and punch him. He had been quickly talked off that ledge. “I already have a schedule for Susan Carol for the next two days that’s pretty tight,” he said. “I’ll talk to the other coaches to make sure Elizabeth has someone with her all the time too.”

Even still, Stevie felt a huge sense of relief when they walked into the pool for the finals and saw Ed on the deck talking to both girls, who were about to get in the water to warm up. They were both safely at the pool, the race was only a couple of hours away, and no one had made any attempt to get to either one of them.

At least as far as they knew.

There were six events before the 200-fly final: four semifinals and two finals. None of the events were longer than a 200, so they didn’t take all that long. Even so, Stevie
was squirming by the time the women’s 200-breaststroke semifinals—the race before the 200 fly—was called to the blocks.

Phil Knight was in the building again, easy to pick out in a white Nike shirt sitting in the Nike section of the corporate boxes. Bobby Maurice was also there—according to Chip Graber, who had texted Stevie to let him know he had an NBC pass and was sitting in the NBC VIP section.

“Saw him when I walked in,” Chip said. “Acted like he didn’t see me and walked the other way. I don’t like it.”

J. P. Scott had lost his access to the deck—another favor from Chuck Wielgus, who seemed surprised he’d gotten access in the first place. As consolation, unfortunately, J.P. had a media pass, so he was sitting a few rows up from Stevie, Bobby, and Tamara. When the first of the breaststroke semis was in the water, Scott appeared at their seats with a smirk on his face.

“I just thought the three of you should know since you consider yourself Susan Carol’s personal reporters that we have a press conference at The Savoy at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to announce a major deal for her,” he said. “You might want to be there.”

“What if she doesn’t win tonight?” Kelleher asked.

“She’ll win,” Scott said. “But either way, the deal is done.”

“Does
she
know about this deal?” Stevie said.

“It’s a surprise. We didn’t want to tell her anything about it until after her race.”

“Let me guess,” Stevie said. “Her dad signed off on it.”

“Of course,” Scott said. “She’s going to be making a lot of money.”

“If she wins,” Bobby said.

Scott shrugged. “She’ll make
more
if she wins. But second, in this case, will be extremely lucrative.”

“As long as it’s second to Krylova, right?” Stevie said, causing Bobby to give him a sharp look.

“Now why would you think that,” Scott said, but the smirk on his face had disappeared.

On that cheery note, he was gone.

Kelleher shook his head. “Stevie, how many times have I told you
not
to let the bad guys know what you know?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Stevie said—which he was. He should have kept his big mouth shut. “But what do you make of that?”

“It sounds like Maurice has the deal he wanted in place.…”

“But what about Elizabeth?” Stevie said. “If she beats them both, what happens then?”

“I guess we’ll find out soon,” Kelleher said. “Let’s be ready to get moving as soon as this race is over. I think we’ll learn a lot based on the reactions of all the different players—and I don’t mean the three swimmers.”

The second breaststroke semifinal had just concluded. Stevie took a deep breath, the kind he imagined Susan Carol was now taking in the ready room. She had described to him what it was like in there and how her nerves started clanging when the swimmers were asked to line up to walk on the deck.

A few seconds after the breaststrokers had cleared the pool, he heard the Olympic theme music that announced the entrance of the swimmers prior to a final. He looked up and saw them coming in—some still wearing their headphones—all in different-colored sweat suits.

Susan Carol, swimming in lane three, walked directly in front of Krylova with Elizabeth trailing her. Liu, who would be swimming in lane eight, was the last swimmer to enter. Once all the swimmers were behind their blocks, the PA announcer began their introductions. “In lane three from the United States … Susan Carol Anderson!”

That was it. A quick wave and then, as was her habit, the flip-flops came off and the bathing cap and goggles went on. Stevie had now been to enough meets to notice that almost all the swimmers were creatures of habit. Some didn’t start removing their sweats until they were introduced. Others had their cap and goggles in place almost as soon as they got to the blocks. He saw Susan Carol and Elizabeth quickly nod at each other and smile. Krylova was standing a step in front of them, closer to the blocks, so at that moment the two Americans could see one another.

The double whistle blew and the swimmers stepped to the blocks.

“I’m having trouble breathing,” Stevie said.

“It’s hot in here,” Tamara said.

“Nice try,” Stevie said. “I’m not sure I can take this much longer.”

“You won’t have to,” Bobby said. “Just think how Susan Carol must be feeling right now.”

“Better than me, I hope,” Stevie answered.

The single whistle blew. The swimmers stepped onto their blocks.

Susan Carol felt fine as she positioned her feet for the start. She had absolute confidence in her ability to swim the 200 fly and swim it well. It had taken her a long time to get to the point where she didn’t dread the event, but she knew she was in the best shape of her life, and her memories of Shanghai and the trials convinced her she was going to swim a good race.

The fact that Krylova was almost certain to jump out front was also good: Having someone be a pacesetter helped her. All she wanted to do was stay about a body length behind until the 150 and then start to make her move. If Krylova went really crazy the first 100, she would let her go. You couldn’t win the 200 fly by trying to outsprint the field.

She knew how much her father and J.P. and his people wanted her to win because of the money involved. She didn’t really care. She had decided she would worry about all of that when this race was over. The night before, she had looked at her silver medal and thought:
If someone had told you eighteen months ago you’d be holding one of these, you would have laughed. You’re an Olympian
and
a medalist. There’s no way to lose
.

That didn’t mean she didn’t want to win. This was
her
race, the one that Ed had told her long ago was going to be her ticket to college—long before she had blossomed into a
star. She figured Elizabeth was the person to beat, and she had done that in the trials. No reason she couldn’t do it again.

The horn went. Susan Carol eased herself into the water. All she wanted was a smooth start because you weren’t going to come up sprinting. As always, she counted her strokes to remind herself to stretch out. Her twenty-first stroke got her easily to the first turn. As she pushed off the wall, she saw Krylova already kicking out from her turn. Perfect.

Nothing changed over the next 100 meters. Every third breath—or sixth stroke—Susan Carol allowed her vision to wander just a little bit to the side to make sure Krylova wasn’t pulling away. She could see the splash of her stroke just in front of her, which told her she was within a body length. She was almost certain that Elizabeth was in the exact same spot over in lane five.

The noise began to grow during the third length. This was the most important fifty of the race mentally. The first 100 was almost like a warm-up: stretching out, feeling comfortable, allowing your natural speed to carry you. Now, as your stroke inevitably shortened, it was important to focus on getting your arms all the way around and maintaining your kick—without picking it up
too
much. Do that too soon and you were bound to die on the final fifty.

One of the last things Ed had said before she went to the ready room was in her head as she hit the 150:
Hold that last turn as long as you can—it may save you a stroke at the finish
.

She reached for the wall, pulled her head up, and felt as if she looked Elizabeth right in the eye. They had reached the wall together. Krylova was still out front. Susan Carol pushed off as hard as she possibly could, consciously pushing herself down into the water so she would stay under a tad longer. She remembered a turn Phelps had made in 2008 in the 400 IM when he had somehow stayed underwater for an extra second and had come up a half body length ahead of Lochte after trailing him into the turn.

She came up and took one stroke before breathing—not two because she knew she needed the air—and began driving for home.
Rest later, work now
, she reminded herself as she picked up her kick. She was feeling it in her arms, but she knew she had the strength to finish
if
she remembered to finish each stroke. One short-armed stroke here could be the difference.

She didn’t even bother to check Krylova until they were halfway back. When she did, she didn’t see her splash—which meant she had caught her already.
It’s you and Elizabeth
, she thought, then in a brief moment of panic she wondered where Liu—way outside in lane eight—might be.

She pushed that thought away and focused on the flags. In a sense, her race would be over once she got there because her head was going to go down and she was going to drive to the wall from there. Four strokes to the flags. Two. She knew that Krylova had faded; her swimmer’s senses told her that.

As she reached the flags, she put her head down and stretched her arms out for each stroke as far as she possibly could. They felt as if they were going to explode.
KICK
, she reminded herself one last time, and with one last kick and swing of the arms she reached out and her hands hit the wall. She pulled her head up, gasping for air just in time to see Krylova touch.