The elevator took Nancy directly to the basement-level parking garage. Soon she was out of Alexandria and heading west toward the rolling Virginia countryside. She came to the great shopping mall at Tyson’s Corner. Loudon College was only a few miles farther. And didn’t the brochure say there’s a service road to the college somewhere? Nancy thought. The road to her right had to be it—a wide dirt lane beneath a stand of towering catalpa trees.
Soon Nancy was entering the college grounds. The parking lots near the stadium were filled, but she finally found a space near the dirt lane. She locked the car carefully and threaded her way through the acres of parked cars toward the grandstands.
The sun was high in the sky, and a faint breeze stirred the heavy air. Nancy glanced at her watch. She was pleased to realize that she’d probably missed only part of one match.
She flashed her pass at a guard and asked for directions. Then, as she turned the corner around the first of the gray stone college buildings, she paused. The stadium was across a road and to the left, but maybe there was a shortcut through the building so she wouldn’t have to take time to circle the two beyond. Yes, Nancy could see another set of glass doors on the opposite side of the ground floor. She pushed open the door nearest her and started into the cool dimness.
“Señorita, this area is players only.” A dark, good-looking, wiry young man wearing tennis clothes caught her arm. But as Nancy spun around, startled, he let go quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry—”
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I didn’t know this was off-limits.” Nancy smiled. “What’s the best way to get to the courts?”
For a moment the athlete just stood and looked at Nancy blankly. Then he shrugged. “Oh, go ahead. Cut through here and you’ll get there faster. Just don’t tell anyone I said you could do it. Right?”
“Right.” Nancy smiled again and pushed through the other set of doors.
As the doors banged shut behind her, hands closed roughly on her shoulders.
For a split second Nancy thought it was the young athlete playing a trick on her. Then she knew, with horror, that it was no trick. She twisted around, trying to get a look at her attacker. The man thrusting a gag into her mouth was middle-aged. He wore a dark, foreign-looking business suit. So did the other two men who held her tightly.
It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. This isn’t real, Nancy told herself dazedly. But it was real. She was being kidnapped. And the method was fast, efficient, and effective.
Nancy struggled frantically as she was pulled into the bushes and her hands and feet were bound with ropes. She was thrown like a bundle over a brawny shoulder, and a concealing blanket was tossed over her.
Nancy knew struggling was useless. She went limp—and concentrated hard.
The men were speaking Spanish. They were heading toward the parking lot—Nancy recognized the sound of the gravel they were walking on. As her kidnapper swung her upright, Nancy caught a glimpse of the car. It was a limousine, long and dark, and the windows were tinted glass.
A rear door was jerked open, and Nancy was thrown inside. One of the men started to climb in behind her.
Nancy kicked.
She kicked with both feet, since her ankles were bound together, and she heard an agonized groan.
Before she could lash out again, another man wrenched open a front door. Then he leaned over the seat back and pressed the muzzle of a gun against her forehead.
He snapped out some rapid orders in Spanish. Nancy didn’t understand much of what he said, but suddenly a blindfold was tied around her eyes, and another strip of cloth was tied around her mouth.
Then one word came to her, loud and insistent.
“Muerta!”
That was Spanish for dead. The warning was terrifyingly clear.
Chapter Two
Nancy lay helplessly across the backseat. A moment later, the seat sagged. One of the men had sat down next to her. The gun at her forehead was shifted to her temple.