“Oh my, yes,” Mrs. Sherman said firmly. “One of them was your size, and the other two were a little shorter. They were in their twenties, I would say. The bigger one, the one with the gun, was older. They all had olive skin, and one of the young ones had a small mustache. The other had a scar on his face. They were wearing dark pin-striped suits.”
Nancy almost gasped. The descriptions fit her own kidnappers exactly!
“And the victim?” Dixon prodded.
Mrs. Sherman’s eyes filled with tears. “He was such a nice young man! One of the tennis players, I think. At least, he wore whites and some kind of badge. Beautiful dark wavy hair.” Nancy recognized the description even before the woman added, “I’ve seen him before, with that tennis girl who’s staying down the hall.”
First an attempt to kidnap Teresa—now a successful kidnapping of her boyfriend! Now what do I do? Nancy wondered, perplexed. Tell what I know, or wait till I’ve talked to Senator Kilpatrick? For all I know, national security could be involved!
Before she could decide, the room exploded into action. Two young patrolmen arrived. Pushing her way between them was a forceful, middle-aged Hispanic woman.
“What is happening? I am Seńora Ramirez, chaperon for the San Carlos entry in the international tennis tournament, and I demand to know! If there is danger, I cannot allow my charge to stay here!”
At that, everybody began talking at once. The police took down Nancy’s story, or as much of it as she’d revealed to the man from Security. One of the patrolmen went up to the room on the other side of the hotel where Roberto—Teresa’s boyfriend—was staying. Detective Dixon and Mrs. Sherman tried to calm Seńora Ramirez. The police demanded to see Teresa. Seńora Ramirez demanded that the police first provide an official Spanish translator and somebody from the San Carlos embassy. Then she took off in the direction of Teresa’s room while the police made the necessary phone calls.
Nancy discreetly left the room. Not waiting for the elevator, she ran down the emergency stairs, two at a time, to the second floor.
George and Bess jumped up as Nancy entered. “Another kidnapping! This time it’s Teresa’s boyfriend. I have to call Marilyn Kilpatrick,” Nancy said as she ran for the telephone. Before she reached it, George had dug into Nancy’s purse and brought out the telephone number.
The senator wasn’t in her office. She was in conference somewhere, and whoever answered the phone did not know when or where she could be reached. “Tell her Nancy has to talk to her soon,” Nancy said urgently. She didn’t feel secure about leaving a more explicit message.
“I think you’d better deal us in,” George said quietly as Nancy put down the phone.
“I think so, too, even though I’m not supposed to without permission.” Nancy took a deep breath. “I’m supposed to receive a message from a courier in the Hollins Gymnasium locker room. Originally it was for this afternoon. Then the meeting was changed to tonight. I don’t know what it’s about, but it has to do with San Carlos. Senator Kilpatrick is involved in a secret top-level diplomatic mission.”
George whistled. “Do you suppose it has something to do with the attempt to kidnap Teresa?” she asked.
“I think so. Teresa’s staying in a room one floor above us but facing the back. At least the police are with her.” Nancy glanced out the window. “No they’re not! Those two down there by the patrol car were the ones who talked to me, but they’re leaving, and they don’t have Teresa or Seńora Ramirez with them.” Nancy stopped, thinking.
“Bess, stay here in case the senator calls. Tell her what happened. George, come with me. The sooner we get some answers from Teresa Montenegro, the better.”
Nancy and George ran for the emergency stairs. They were running so fast that George crashed into a dark figure who was on her way down. It was Seńora Ramirez, out of breath and distraught. She grabbed Nancy and began shouting at her in Spanish.
“Please! Speak more slowly,” Nancy pleaded, also in Spanish.
“Seńorita Montenegro—she is my responsibility, and she has tricked me—”
Nancy finally understood that Teresa had asked her chaperon for some aspirin. While the older woman was in the bathroom getting it, Teresa had slammed the door shut on her and run out.
“She is going for the car I have rented. I know it. She took the keys—”
“We’ll get her. Come on, George!” Nancy shouted.
They sprinted down the stairs and headed for the parking garage, leaving Seńora Ramirez behind.
The garage was dim with shadows, lit only by a few overhead bulbs and the twilight coming in through the exit and entryway.
“Split,” Nancy whispered, gesturing for George to take the left side. George nodded. Her tennis shoes made no sound as she ran.
A banner hung over the center parking area. It read International Women’s Semi-Pro Tennis Tournament. Someone was doing a good job of promotion, Nancy thought briefly as she threaded her way to the right lane.
Something moved. Was it—yes, it was Teresa, furtively hurrying toward a car. Nancy started to run.
Then, all at once, a car engine roared to life nearby. Headlights glared blindingly, and Nancy saw the great shape bearing down on her—and on Teresa!
With a burst of speed, Nancy flung herself at the girl from San Carlos, knocking her down. Teresa screamed. At the same moment, Nancy wrapped her arms around Teresa tightly and jerked to the right. The two of them rolled over once, twice, as the car screamed by in a dark blur, just inches away from them.
“Nancy!” George shouted.
“Here!” Nancy called back. In that split second she must have let down her guard. Suddenly Teresa broke free, kicking Nancy away and leaping up.
As she did so, the dark sedan suddenly whipped into a turn and bore down on her again with incredible power.
Nancy scrambled to her feet. But there was no way she could reach Teresa in time.
Chapter Five
TERESA FROZE, PARALYZED in the blinding light. Suddenly a figure leaped into the air.
George’s strong arms caught at the tournament banner. It broke away, coming down with her, and was flung onto the front windshield of the sedan.
The car swerved crazily to the left. It bounced off the front fender of a sports car and tore erratically toward the exit.
The banner slid off in a little heap as the sedan, burning rubber, roared up the ramp and then vanished.
Suddenly the garage seemed very silent. The only sound was the gasping sobs coming from Teresa, lying crumpled on the floor. Nancy and George ran to her, but she shrank away from them like a wounded bird.
“It’s all right. I’m Nancy . . . Nancy Drew,” Nancy murmured reassuringly, stroking the hair back from Teresa’s frightened eyes. Teresa nodded, recognizing Nancy’s voice. There was a large bruise like a rope burn on her cheek. She must have skinned it on the concrete when she fell.
George, an expert first-aider, checked Teresa for other injuries. “No damage except bruises,” she reported.
“No thanks to whoever was driving that car,” Nancy said grimly. “Teresa, somebody tried to kidnap me this afternoon. Yes, probably mistaking me for you,” she said as Teresa’s blue eyes widened. “Why is somebody trying to kill you?”
Teresa jerked her head away, pressing her lips together. George’s eyes met Nancy’s. “The same guy who shot at your boyfriend? They got him, you know,” George said brutally. “That’s what the racket was in the hallway, Nancy told me. If you won’t talk to save yourself, how about him? We’re on your side,” she went on more gently as Teresa cried out. “Nancy can help you if you’ll let her.”
Nancy put her arms around Teresa as she struggled to sit up. “Find Seńora Ramirez and tell her Teresa’s safe,” Nancy told George in a low voice. “And brief the house detective. His name’s Dixon.”
George nodded and left. For a few minutes there was no sound except Teresa’s ragged breathing.
“Don’t you think you owe me at least s
ome explanation?” Nancy asked presently. “After all, I almost got killed twice today because of you.” As she hoped, that approach brought a response.
“I am so sorry. I do not know, really.” Teresa swallowed hard. “It is—how do you say? A night scare?”
“Nightmare,” Nancy supplied. “Teresa, you must think. There has to be a reason.” No answer. “Why were you running away? From the police? From your chaperon?” She repeated the words in Spanish because Teresa seemed too distraught to understand.
“Not running away . . . Roberto? You said Roberto is dead? He can’t be!”
“George didn’t say that. He was kidnapped—probably by the same men who grabbed me. There was a witness. And there were shots fired. Roberto may have been killed, but we don’t know yet. Teresa, don’t you think you’d better—”
Teresa was shaking her head violently. “No! There was a phone call—” She stopped abruptly.
“Teresa, tell me!” Nancy needed the facts before the police showed up and chased her away.
Teresa looked at her for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Someone called,” she whispered. “Not Roberto—it was a message from Roberto.”
“In English or Spanish?”
“Spanish. It said Roberto was hurt and needed me. He wanted me to come to get him.”
“Where?”
Teresa gave an address in Alexandria. “I knew Seńora Ramirez wouldn’t let me go. She was hired especially to watch out for me on this trip, and she is very strict. She thinks I should have my mind only on my tennis game. So I . . . I tricked her.”
“Didn’t you realize how dangerous it could be?”
Teresa just looked at Nancy. “In my country, there is always danger. We have a dictatorship, very harsh—and often there are troublemakers from outside.” She shrugged. “Roberto needs me. I must go.”
“Not now, you can’t,” Nancy said firmly. “I’ll go.”
As she said it she remembered with a start that she also had to meet Senator Kilpatrick’s mysterious courier soon. Nancy knew she needed to make sure Teresa was safe, then go after Roberto before it was too late. With relief, she saw Dixon and one of the policemen coming toward them.
“We’ll take over now,” the policeman said. He and the house detective led Teresa away.
Nancy returned to her suite, where George and Bess were anxiously waiting. “We’re going with you,” Bess said promptly when Nancy described her evening plans.
“Somebody has to be here in case the senator calls.”
“I’ll stay this time,” George said.
“What you’d better do is order in some pizza for around ten o’clock,” Nancy suggested, changing rapidly into the requested T-shirt, skirt, and red belt. “Looks as if none of us is going to get any real dinner. Come on, Bess.”
With Bess holding a map and acting as navigator, Nancy cruised through the factory area on the outskirts of Alexandria, looking for the address Teresa had given.
“Either you heard her wrong or Teresa was supposed to meet her boyfriend in the Potomac River,” Bess said at last.
“Maybe that’s exactly what somebody had in mind,” Nancy answered. “We’d better head for the tournament. Bess, go to your seat and stay there. Something dangerous is going on. If I don’t show up by nine-thirty, send help!”
An amber moon was shining as they drove into the Loudon College parking lots. Nancy was fortunate to find a space close to the gym. She went with Bess to the box and leaned well forward in it, directly into the stream of light coming from nearby floodlights. It seemed a good way to advertise her arrival to whoever was watching for a girl in a denim miniskirt and a red belt.
At ten minutes to nine Nancy made her way to Hollins Gymnasium and used her pass to get in. Fluorescent lights glowed in the corridors, but the place seemed deserted. Nancy’s running shoes squeaked spookily on the stone floors.
Cautiously Nancy entered the locker room. She was glad she’d been there earlier for that stolen shower. She knew her way around, knew the hiding places to watch out for—or to take refuge in.
The locker room was like all locker rooms—dim, full of discarded clothing, the smell of disinfectant and athletic equipment, the sound of water dripping from a faucet somewhere.
Nancy sat down on a gray wooden bench that gave a good view of all the doors and waited.
The overhead clock, obeying some class-session programming, rang noisily at 9:10 and again at 9:15.
No one came.
At twenty-five after nine, a door squeaked distantly. Nancy stiffened. Then she relaxed. It was no courier—apparently a match was over, and players and their chaperons were returning. They went directly to the shower room, ignoring Nancy.
Casually Nancy left the locker room and hung around for a few more minutes in the light directly outside the entrance of the gym.
I’d better get back to the box before Bess sends out the Marines, she decided.
Clearly something had interfered with the scheduled meet. And Senator Kilpatrick would have found a way to notify me here if she’d known, Nancy thought. She found Bess, and they headed for the parking lot.
It was a good half-hour before they were able to get out of a traffic jam.
“If we don’t get there soon, that pizza’s going to be stone cold,” Bess grumbled as they barreled toward Alexandria.
“That will ruin your appetite?” Nancy asked absently. Instead of rising to the bait, Bess looked at Nancy’s anxious face and remained silent.
When they entered the suite, George made the same comment. “It’s ten-forty-five. The pizza’s going to taste like wallpaper paste by now. And I ordered all the good stuff—turns out there’s a Neapolitan pizza place nearby.” She stopped abruptly. “Something’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?”
“I hope not,” Nancy said soberly. “Whoever was supposed to meet me didn’t. I don’t know what scared him off. Any word from the senator or Teresa?”
“Nope,” George responded. She went to the phone and ordered another pizza.
They were still eating, sitting cross-legged on Nancy’s king-size bed, when midnight came.
“The senator won’t call now.” Nancy’s shoulders sagged.
“Be glad. Under these circumstances no news is good news,” George pointed out. She sank her teeth into onions and pepperoni. “What I’d like to know,” she went on around a mouthful of cheese, “is why somebody snatched Teresa’s guy. Just to have a reason to lure her to the garage? Or did they really want to get her to the river?”
“It could have been a fail-safe setup,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “If the first guy didn’t run her down in the garage, he or a buddy would have a second chance over there. Believe me, nobody’d have known till morning. That neighborhood was dead.” Nancy shuddered at her own choice of words. “What I’d like to know is why the police aren’t doing anything.”
The others stared at her.
“Think about it,” Nancy insisted. “They don’t know that I got snatched. But they do know Roberto got snatched. With bullets bouncing around! And that somebody tried to run Teresa down in the garage.”
George whistled. “I see your point. Have we ever known a situation like that when the place wasn’t immediately crawling with cops? Especially considering the protests, the bomb threat, and the fact that a foreign sports figure’s involved.”
Especially considering there are top-secret talks involving the San Carlos dictatorship going on, Nancy added silently to herself. She had a lot of questions to ask Senator Marilyn Kilpatrick!
At last Nancy and her friends fell asleep. Before Nancy knew it, she was awakened by a brisk knocking at the main entrance to the suite. Nancy propped herself up on one elbow, noting that the hands of her clock stood at ten minutes to six.
Nancy jumped out of bed and ran to the door in her blue nightshirt. “Who’s there?” she called softly.
“Marilyn Kilpatrick,” a distinctive, familiar voice replied.
Quickly Nancy manipulate
d the chain and dead-bolt lock, and Senator Kilpatrick slipped inside. Nancy beckoned her into her bedroom.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I also didn’t want to be seen coming here.” Senator Kilpatrick’s auburn hair was as smartly styled as always, but there were circles under her dark eyes. For once she looked every bit of her forty-eight years. “What happened last night? Why didn’t you get the packet for me? Tell me quickly.”
“A lot happened. And no, the courier didn’t meet me.” Nancy pulled on a robe as the senator sank down in a chair. In a few accurate sentences Nancy briefed the politician on the events that had occurred. Then she looked squarely into the dark eyes.
“You brought me into this. I think I’ve earned the right to be told more. Otherwise I could make a wrong move.”
“You’re right.” The senator walked to the window and stood looking between the cracks of the blinds that Nancy had lowered. Then she turned.
“There ought not to have been any danger—to you or anyone else. But the—information exchange—is far more important than I’ve been free to tell you. What I’m going to tell you now I should not be saying to anyone who doesn’t have top security clearance. I’m trusting you because I trust your father.”
“It has to do with a possible revolution in San Carlos, doesn’t it?” Nancy guessed.
Senator Kilpatrick nodded. “My committee is mediating between representatives of all the different political groups in San Carlos. We’re hoping to avert a bloodbath. Someone—we’re not sure whether from San Carlos or an outsider—does want one. I’ve been able to arrange for some very dangerous information to be smuggled to me. That’s why I needed you.”
“Not just because I’m Carson Drew’s daughter. Because I look like Teresa Montenegro,” Nancy said.
“Yes. Truly, I didn’t think either of you would be in danger. I thought that the fact that you resemble Teresa would give you easy access to the gym, and if anyone saw you and the courier together no one would think anything of it.”
The pieces started to fall together. “Roberto was the courier, wasn’t he?” she said.