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conversation with the senator. “Poor Teresa,” Bess said softly. “Think how she must feel—Roberto’s both her boyfriend and her coach.”
    “Think how she’ll feel having to walk out there on that tennis court today,” George said realistically. “All it would take is a sniper up on top of the grandstand.”
    Bess repressed a shudder.
    Following instructions, the three girls drove out to the campus as if nothing unusual were going on. The United States flag, the flags of the players’ countries, and the Loudon College banner fluttered bravely against a robin’s-egg-blue sky. The souvenir stalls and food stands were selling their wares; people were laughing and talking and watching players warm up on the side courts. A few tired-looking protesters waved their signs in the background, under the watchful eyes of the campus cops. There didn’t seem to be any more security forces around than usual. Is the FBI here undercover? Nancy wondered.
    While George strode off “to case the players,” as she put it, Nancy and Bess went to their box. To Nancy’s surprise, there were Marilyn Kilpatrick and a brawny, deeply tanned young man. “Nancy, hello!” Senator Kilpatrick said warmly. “Your father told me you were going to be here, so we stopped by to say hi. This is my staff assistant, Dan Prosky.”
    Nancy performed introductions. Bess took one look at the handsome young undercover detective and turned on all her charm. Meeting Senator Kilpatrick’s suddenly dancing eyes, Nancy knew that the planned script was about to be rewritten. Apparently Bess was going to be the one Dan would fall for—and Nancy didn’t think either of them would have to do any pretending. Not that she minded.
    George, returning from her survey, also sized up the situation promptly. “Superjock,” she muttered knowingly as Dan led Bess off for yogurt shakes.
    Nancy grinned. “Since when have you looked down on athletes?” she teased.
    “Only when they have such huge egos they think their muscles automatically make them supermen. Something tells me that’s the case here. How come he’s leaving you alone in the box?”
    “In case somebody’s trying to meet me.” Nancy was wearing her meet-the-courier outfit with the identifying red belt, just in case. “Anyway,” she said, glancing around, “I’m not exactly alone.”
    It was hard, in the atmosphere of cheerful excitement, to believe that a dangerous terrorist game was going on under cover of the tennis matches.
    Dan and Bess came back, and the first match of the day—between Canadian and Japanese players—concluded. Nancy checked her program. Teresa wasn’t scheduled until the afternoon. “I think I’ll wander around awhile,” she said.
    “Mind if Bess and I come along?” Dan asked promptly.
    “Of course not,” Nancy replied. But once they were out of the area of the stands, Nancy turned to face them. “Look, the person who was supposed to meet me may find a way to show up—or someone else may come instead. But no one will come near me if I’m not alone. Can you keep up the surveillance from a distance?”
    “Sure,” Dan said. There was a new note of respect in his voice.
    For the rest of the morning, Nancy prowled the area behind the bleachers and around the gym. She carried a small camera and snapped pictures, both as a cover and in hopes of capturing clues.
    The morning matches ended. The crowds streamed toward the parking lots and food stalls. Nothing had happened. Nancy, Bess, George, and Dan ate salads and drank iced tea in a pleasant outdoor restaurant. A few players and their coaches appeared there also. But not Teresa.
    Afternoon came. It was time for Teresa’s second match. Nancy and her friends watched the action closely. “She’s good,” Dan said. “Wouldn’t know her mind was on anything but the game, would you?”
    George’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not at top form. She was better yesterday. There aren’t so many slashing serves