Deadly Doubles

Chapter Four

Instantly Nancy shoved Teresa back into her room and slammed the door shut. “I’m a detective. I work for the U.S. government.” Nancy spoke in Spanish, as rapidly as she was able. If she didn’t quite work for the federal government, working for a senator was the closest thing to it. “Stay inside! Lock the door and don’t open it till I come back and say, ‘It’s Nancy. It’s okay’!”

She saw comprehension flood Teresa’s face, and as she dashed off she heard the door lock. Nancy turned the corner and came to a complete stop in front of the elevator.

The corridors in both directions were empty. The red lights on the plaque above the elevator showed that the car was going down, down, all the way to the garage level before it stopped.

It was too late to catch whoever was on the elevator. Nancy scooped up the house phone on the console table opposite the elevator door. “This is an emergency! Send someone from Security to the third floor right away!”

As she dropped the receiver Nancy detected a faint moaning. Her heart pounding, she traced the sound to a room scarcely fifteen feet away. Should she wait or take a chance?

If someone was wounded, there was no time to lose. Nancy hammered on the door, then tried the handle.

“Just a minute, miss!” A heavy hand closed on Nancy’s shoulder. As she jerked around, the burly man produced his badge. “Security. Suppose you explain what’s going on.”

Quickly Nancy identified herself. “I’m a guest on the floor below. I phoned for you because I heard shots-right here by the elevator, I’m sure. And I just heard moaning from beyond this door.”

“There’s no moaning now,” the house detective answered skeptically. Sure enough, the third floor was as quiet as a tomb. “From the second floor, are you? What were you doing up here, anyway?”

“Visiting a friend,” Nancy said briefly. “And I did hear shots!” Rapidly Nancy scanned the walls and floor around the elevator. Suddenly she dove beneath the console table. “Look at this,” she exclaimed as she straightened up. “It’s a spent bullet. A nine-millimeter, isn’t it?”

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “You heard moaning? As if somebody’d been hit?”

“I’m not sure. It was very weak, but there doesn’t seem to be any blood around here.”

The detective knocked on the door. “Security! I’m holding my badge up to the peephole for you to see. Open the door or I’m coming in with a passkey!”

The door opened slowly. “Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been so frightened,” a small, white-haired woman said weakly. “I tried to call the front desk to tell them, but my hands were shaking so-”

“Tell them what?” Nancy asked gently.

“Why, about the kidnapping-” The little woman stopped, gasping for air. Nancy steered her to a velvet chair as the detective went to the bathroom for a glass of water.

“Drink that, and try to tell me. I’m sorry, ma’am, but it may be important.”

“Yes, I know.” The woman sipped some water, then went on. “I’m Mrs. Sherman. Mrs. John Sherman, from Atlanta. I was taking a nap before dinner. And I heard pushing and shoving coming from the hall outside. Then somebody screamed. I suppose I shouldn’t have, but I-I opened the door a crack. I was afraid it was children playing, you know, and that one of them was hurt. So I looked out-”

Mrs. Sherman swallowed hard. “That’s when the shots came. And I saw three men-no, four. One of them had the gun. He was pointing it at a nice young man while the two others were shoving him into the elevator.” She spread her hands. “I would have helped him if I could! But it was happening so fast-they fell into the elevator, and the door slammed, and then I-I started having a dizzy spell.”

The detective strode to the telephone. “This is Dixon. There are a couple of patrolmen having coffee in the coffee shop. Get them up to Room Three-twenty-two pronto!” he ordered. Then he turned back to the woman and took out a pen and notepad. “Do you think you can describe the men you saw?”

“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 Señora 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 Señora Ramirez. The police demanded to see Teresa. Señora 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 Señora 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 Señora 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.

“Señorita 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 Señora 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.