Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics (30 page)

“I need you to come with me,” he said.

“Now?”
Kelleher said.

“Right now. Tamara can handle this. I need you.”

Kelleher didn’t ask why, he just followed Stevie out of the scrum.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Just follow me,” he said.

They headed in the direction of the drug-testing area. About twenty yards short of the door that said
DRUG-TESTING AREA. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
there was a gate and two security guards. Stevie stopped just short of the guards and began looking around.

“Stevie, whatever you’re up to, we haven’t got time—”

“Here he comes,” Stevie said as Trevor James, coming from the other direction, still in his FINA officials’ uniform, came into view. “Follow my lead.”

“I
know
that’s a bad idea,” Kelleher said. “But what the hell.”

James had his cell phone pressed to his ear as he approached them. When he saw Stevie, he stopped short.

“Looking for someone, Mr. James?” Stevie said.

“What? None of your business. What are you doing here? This area is off-limits to media.”

“No, it’s not,” Kelleher said. “Inside that gate is off-limits. We’re fine here.”

“Whatever,” James said. He walked past them and peered down the hallway.

“He’s not coming,” Stevie said.

“Who?”

“Mike Unger,” Stevie said. “Bobby Maurice will be here soon, though, if you’re patient.”

Stevie could tell he’d hit a nerve by the look on James’s face. He recovered quickly, though. “Bobby who? What are you talking about?”

Stevie felt his cell phone ping in his pocket, and he hoped it was a text from Chip Graber.

“I’m talking about the guy who bribed you for, I’m guessing, a
lot
of money to DQ Elizabeth Wentworth tonight. You know just who he is.”

“You are completely out of your mind. And if you write anything like that, I will sue you for—”

“No, you won’t,” Stevie said. “Because I’m willing to bet that when your cell phone records are subpoenaed, there will be dozens of calls and texts between you and Mr. Maurice.”

Stevie took his phone out and glanced at the text on his screen. There it was: Bobby Mo, 310-555-4289.

He walked over to stand directly in front of James. He held out his phone so James could see the number. “See
that?” he said. “I’ve got the number in my phone and so do you.”

“I would
love
to see you prove that,” James said.

Stevie shrugged and started to turn away as if the conversation was over. “I guess we’ll see you in court,” he said.

James opened his mouth to reply, but Stevie wasn’t listening. He turned back and pounced at James, catching him off balance and wrestling him to the floor. James had been holding his phone in his hand and now it went skittering across the floor.

“Bobby, quick, the phone!” he screamed.

Stevie’s one concern when he had come up with this idea a few minutes earlier had been the two security guards standing outside the drug-testing area. If they were bothered by what was going on, they didn’t show it. Apparently wrestling matches outside the testing area were not their problem.

“Flip me your phone, Stevie,” Bobby said as Stevie held on to James, who was smaller, older, and a good deal weaker than he was.

Bobby hit a couple of buttons on James’s phone, glanced at the number on Stevie’s phone, and smiled. “Four phone calls from that number and three to that number in the last hour,” he said. “Stevie, you got him.”

“You’re both going to jail!” James screamed.

“Don’t think so, Trevor,” Bobby said. “Come on. Let’s go see Chuck Wielgus. He’s going to need to get this phone into the correct hands right away.”

*  *  *

The medal ceremony for the women’s 200 butterfly was delayed. In fact, it was held after the ceremony for the 4 × 200 freestyle relay because there was a good deal of explaining to do.

Once Stevie and Bobby had delivered James—still screaming he had been assaulted, which, in fairness, he had been—and his phone to Chuck Wielgus, Wielgus instantly let FINA and the IOC know he had new evidence they needed to consider in the matter of the women’s 200-butterfly final.

As it turned out, Bobby Maurice got nervous when the protest had been filed and called James. And left messages. Urgent messages. And then more urgent messages asking him to delete the first urgent messages. Unfortunately for James—and Bobby Mo—he hadn’t had time to do that.

Bobby Maurice was arrested by members of Scotland Yard on charges of bribery and race-fixing while he was having a drink and eating some shrimp with Bill Arnold in the NBC corporate area. Maurice instantly fingered Arnold—somehow thinking
he
had brought about his downfall. Apparently Arnold had once been one of Trevor James’s business partners and had introduced Maurice to him.

Stevie’s only disappointment was that Arnold insisted J. P. Scott wasn’t involved. All Scott knew was what he had told them before the race: that if Krylova and Susan Carol finished one-two—regardless of order—Brickley was going to give each of them a five-year contract worth ten million dollars with the winner getting a two-million bonus. They
would have rolled out the new line of Brickley Gold swimwear together in a hands-across-the-sea marketing campaign.

Krylova knew nothing, just as Susan Carol had known nothing. Krylova’s father had been negotiating, it turned out, for her as well.

When Wielgus presented the cell phone evidence to FINA and the IOC, a brand-new three-member protest committee consisting of FINA officials from Brazil, France, and Australia was instantly formed. They looked at the tape for less than five minutes and ruled Elizabeth Wentworth’s turn legal. She was restored to first place, Susan Carol to second, Krylova to third.

Because of the unique circumstances, the two American swimmers had been taken into one of the ready rooms along with several people they had asked to see before the medal ceremony finally began.

Stevie, Bobby, and Tamara were there along with Ed Brennan and Peter Ward, the US assistant coach who had been working with Elizabeth. Mike Unger was there so that Stevie and Bobby could tell him what they’d done to get the phone.

“He’s telling Scotland Yard you assaulted him,” Unger said. “Unfortunately, witnesses say he just slipped.”

“Witnesses?”

“Well, one witness,” Unger said. “Me. I was just turning the corner when I saw him slip and drop his phone. Nice of you to pick it up for him.”

“The security guards?” Stevie asked.

“I don’t think they saw anything,” Unger said. “Shame.”

Susan Carol and Elizabeth had both greeted Stevie with lengthy hugs. Elizabeth had squeezed him so tight he thought he might explode.

Don Anderson was clearly stunned and horrified by everything that had happened. “Honey, I am so sorry. You’ve been trying to tell me not to trust these guys. But I never imagined … I mean, I wanted … But not …”

“I know,” said Susan Carol—and somehow, she did.

“I don’t care what contracts we have to break, but we are through with these people. From now on you just swim, and we’ll figure it out together.”

“Daddy, I’m retiring from swimming,” Susan Carol said quietly. “At least for a while.” He started to say something, but she put up her hand. “Nothing I do will ever match the two races I swam here this week. I’ll swim the relay, but then I need a break. I think we both do.”

Stevie looked at Reverend Anderson, waiting for a protest. None was forthcoming.

“I’ll support whatever you want to do, 100 percent,” he said, nodding. He turned to Stevie. “And, you, I owe you a big apology and a thank-you. Bobby and Tamara too. You and Ed were Susan Carol’s true friends through all of this.”

Susan Carol put her arm around Stevie. “He’s my
best
friend,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “In so many ways.”

She gave him The Smile. “Ready to be partners again?” she said.

“Oh yes, Scarlett,” he said. “Definitely, yes.”

*  *  *

Ten minutes later, with their friends and family allowed to watch from the deck, the three 200-butterfly medalists marched back into the pool area for the medal ceremony. Amazingly, the place was still almost packed, and Susan Carol couldn’t help but notice that the entire American team had stayed. Michael Phelps and Ryan Lochte were holding an American flag over their heads.

Svetlana Krylova had graciously hugged Susan Carol and Elizabeth just before they walked onto the deck and said, “I hope we race many more times.”

The cheers were long and loud as each of them was given her medal. Then Susan Carol again heard: “Ladies and gentlemen. Please rise for the playing of the United States’ national anthem.”

As the first notes began to play and the three flags started up to the rafters, Susan Carol felt a hand on her shoulder.

It was Elizabeth.

“Hey,” she whispered. “They’re playing our song. Get up here.”

She grabbed Susan Carol’s hand and pulled her up onto the gold medal stand.

So they stood there together, arms around one another, tears streaming down their faces, singing at the top of their lungs.