Open Water Part 12

Sheila waved Ca.s.s and Josh forward. All three followed the race official to the tower.

Chapter Thirty-Three.

"You think I what?" Ca.s.s stood, rigid with indignation, as she faced the chief referee. The room had gone silent after his announcement, and she was certain that everyone in the room could hear her heart banging in her chest.

"As I say, there is no evidence, simply an allegation." The official bowed to her, but his voice was disapproving.

"But I-"

"An allegation made by whom?" Sheila's voice drowned out Ca.s.s's protests. She placed a hand on Ca.s.s's shoulder, squeezing to silence her. The official looked from Sheila to Ca.s.s and back again. He looked extremely uncomfortable and distressed. As he opened his mouth to speak, the door swung open and Amy, Sarah and someone Ca.s.s didn't know entered the room. Sheila, however, recognized the man instantly.

"Kevin, thank G.o.d. Ca.s.s? This is Kevin Taylor, of the U.S.O.C. Kev, this is Ca.s.s Flynn. Can you help us sort this out?"

"I hope so, Sheila." The slender representative of the United States Olympic Committee looked upset and angry. Tall and slim, with hair that at one time had been red and was now a faded gingery-orange, he was the image of a metros.e.xual. He had the look of an athlete, though, and that rea.s.sured Ca.s.s, as did his confident tone when he turned to the official and began a rapid exchange in Chinese. Ca.s.s stood next to Sarah, both women holding hands and anxiously watching the exchange.

"What's going on?" Sarah whispered.

"I'm not sure. The ref says somebody," and she made air quotes with her free hand to emphasize her point, "says I was seen tampering with the Irish boat."

"But that's crazy!"

"Yeah, I know. And I'll bet I know where the...allegation...comes from."

"Who-"

Sheila cleared her throat as Taylor turned toward them, his face grim. He pulled out a chair and waved everyone to sit as the Chinese official opened the door and spoke rapidly to someone in the outer office. Everyone but Sheila sat. The coach remained where she was, legs planted shoulder-width apart, arms crossed. She exuded anger, and her presence, so firmly behind them, bolstered Ca.s.s. The official joined them at the table, pa.s.sing a pitcher of water around. Ca.s.s glanced at the clock on the wall. Two hours before the start of the race.

She started to ask a question, then stopped as Taylor shook his head. His eyes were sharp behind the steel-framed lenses that rested on his pointed nose. "Ms. Flynn, if you'll wait until the others get here?"

Ca.s.s nodded, her eyes on her hands clasped tightly together on the table in front of her. She knew who had done this, she was certain of it. I should have reported her threat last night. d.a.m.n. Now if I say something they'll think I'm making it up.

Beside her, Amy nudged her shoulder, offering silent comfort. Sarah sat to her right, still and silent, almost vibrating with anger. She could feel the solid presence of Sheila standing behind her. It seemed like hours before the door opened again, this time to admit the Irish coach and doubles team. All three looked perplexed and the two rowers somewhat anxious.

The taller of the two Irish rowers relaxed when she spotted Sarah.

"Sarah, what the devil is going on?"

"Alanna. I don't know, really. This is Ca.s.s. Ca.s.s, Alanna Doyle, bow seat-"

"Ladies, have a seat." Taylor cleared his throat as the rowers sat. The coach, however, stood behind her team, mirroring Sheila's pose. "Coach McCandless, the chief referee says that allegations have been made, accusing a member of the U.S. women's doubles team of tampering with your boat's rigging."

Taylor acknowledged the Irish team's gasps of surprise with a nod. Coach McCandless's eyes flickered between Ca.s.s and Sarah, then up to Sheila. Her face flushed with anger and her jaw tightened. Before she could speak, Taylor raised his hand.

"I take it you know nothing of these charges?"

McCandless shook her head, restraining Doyle in her seat. The rower was visibly upset, her eyes too flicking from Sarah to Ca.s.s and back again.

"I've heard nothing of this, have you Alanna? Kay?"

"Nothing!" Alanna shook off her coach's hand and jumped to her feet. She began to pace the length of the room. "This is rubbish! Sarah wouldn't-they would do nothing of the sort!"

McCandless nodded and addressed the chief referee. "I will, of course, check our rigging carefully. But, well, to be honest, I simply do not believe that what you have heard is true." The Irish coach looked around the room. "Where is your witness?"

The official bowed to McCandless. "I have no name to offer you, Coach. It was only a message that was pa.s.sed on to my office."

"You dragged four women who have to compete in less than two hours into your office to talk about something that you're not even certain took place?" Disgusted disbelief colored McCandless's words. She turned to Sheila and simply shook her head.

Sheila nodded to the Irish coach, a small smile on her face. "Thank you, Siobhan, for your faith in us." She dusted her hands on her sweats and turned to the referee and said curtly, "We're done here." Ca.s.s could hear the suppressed fury in her voice as she waved Ca.s.s and Sarah to their feet. "Now. Since there seems to be no wronged party here, perhaps you can tell me what started this? While," she held up a hand, "my athletes, along with these women, continue their preparation for the upcoming race?"

The chief referee glanced around the room, hesitating for a moment before finally nodding in agreement. Ca.s.s and the others quickly left, leaving Sheila and Taylor in the room with the Chinese official. In the hallway, Alanna gave Sarah a quick hug. The two obviously knew each other well.

"Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, Sarah, what in the h.e.l.l was all that about, do you think?"

Sarah shook her head and glanced quickly at Ca.s.s. At her nod, Sarah said, "We think someone's out to smear Ca.s.s. Throw her off her game."

"You'd be speaking of the woman who's been so spiteful on the radio then?"

"Yes, we think so."

"Is this related to the troubles your eight had the other day?"

Ca.s.s looked at Amy and then nodded, wondering if Coach had put the two incidents together yet.

"That b.i.t.c.h." Amy spit out. "She was all over last night's broadcast, too, making nasty comments about teams cheating!"

"Well, G.o.d help you if she's got the media in her corner!" Alanna turned to Ca.s.s. "Sorry, our introduction was cut a bit short. We've met before, haven't we?"

"Oh, sorry. Ca.s.s, Alanna Doyle and Kay Sinclair. Alanna, Ca.s.s Flynn." Sarah nudged Amy's shoulder and shook her head, trying to calm her down.

Ca.s.s answered Alanna. "Yes, we met after Nationals, but there were a lot of people there."

"Yes, I remember, you're from one of the states in the middle, aren't you?"

"Wisconsin. Yes. Glad to meet you, ah, again." Ca.s.s blew out a breath. The brief interlude with the Irish scullers served to distract Ca.s.s for a moment, allowing her to get some of her anger under control. She looked up at the Irish coach. "Sorry about the mess, Coach."

"Not your fault then, is it?" McCandless waved off Ca.s.s's apology as she led them back down to the launching area. The Irish coach waved her athletes toward their boat, then turned to Sarah and Ca.s.s.

"Sarah, Alanna's spoken of you, well and often. I am happy that we could help you out today and very sorry for your troubles. Good luck to you both."

"And to you," Sarah said. "Thanks again for your support, we really appreciate it."

Both women watched as McCandless made her way to the emerald green sh.e.l.l and her team. Sarah tucked her arm in Ca.s.s's and steered them toward their own boat. "You know, of course, that it was that b.i.t.c.h Michaels behind this, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I guess one thing she hadn't counted on were our close ties to the team she accused you of tampering with!"

"What do you mean?"

Sarah laughed and said, "Well, Alanna is my ex-girlfriend and," she paused, looking back over her shoulder at the Irish coach, "rumor has it Coach Sheila and McCandless were quite the hot item back in the day."

Ca.s.s's laughter blended with Sarah's, her nerves and tension suddenly gone. Sh.e.l.ly Michaels' spiteful and rather pitiful attempt to derail her had failed. Even better, it had served to push Ca.s.s's focus from herself to her boat where it should have been in the first place. Her nerves were gone, now. In their place was pure, fiery determination. She grabbed her gym bag and sat on the docks to pull off her sandals, using the ritual to refocus on the upcoming race. She methodically placed her sandals into the bag and as she slipped her hand in deeper in search of her crew socks, her fingers brushed a small piece of paper. Curious, she pulled it out and unfolded it.

Ca.s.s, I know it seems pretty high school to be leaving you a note, but I couldn't find you when I got down to the docks. Anyway. I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking of you and I know you'll go all the way today. I'd like to talk when you're done today. When you've WON! You're a h.e.l.l of an addition to the team and I'm glad you're here. For a lot of reasons.

Remember, "Who do you play for?!"

Thinking of you, LK.

A slow smile spread across Ca.s.s's face, matching the warmth blossoming inside. She'd remembered. Laura had remembered a conversation they'd had weeks ago, just after their elevator do-over. They'd argued about the all-time best sports movie ever, finally agreeing that the story of the men's hockey team's 1980 "Miracle" win capped them all. Herb Brooks' inspiring question to his team, "Who do you play for?" and their shouted "USA!" response had become Laura and Ca.s.s's private training mantra. When Ca.s.s would falter, Laura would ask it and Ca.s.s would do the same in return. Over the weeks, the rest of the team had picked it up as well, using it as a rallying cry that worked to fire them all up.

Ca.s.s read through the note again, running her fingers over the last words in the note, savoring the words on the page one more time before tucking the paper safely back into her gym bag. She'd come to terms, somewhat, with her attraction. Or so she thought. She'd decided to wait Laura out, sure that eventually she would come to her. With the medal races to focus on she hadn't wanted to distract either of them, so she'd just...let it be. And now...now it looked like that approach was paying off. Suddenly Ca.s.s felt buoyant, invincible.

Screw Sh.e.l.ly Michaels and her petty gamesmanship. You can't touch me, b.i.t.c.h. And after I win this, we'll just see what else I go after.

Chapter Thirty-Four.

The wake they cut through the water was the only thing Ca.s.s saw. Not the other sh.e.l.ls, not the swiftly receding start line, not the chase boats. Nothing but the tips of her foot stop and the V they were cutting through the water. Behind her she could hear Sarah's sharp huff! each time she caught the water with her oars. Ca.s.s's breathing hitched when Sarah's did.

Exactly when Sarah's did.

Perfectly in sync.

They had it.

The swing. That often-elusive cadence that epitomizes the absolute synchronization between rowers. She could feel the electricity in the air. Hear the growing roar of the crowd still m.u.f.fled under the rhythmic sweep of hers and Sarah's oars as they swept toward the finish.

Inch by inch they moved forward, distancing themselves from those they were leaving, quite literally, in their wake. Trailing them were the Brits, the French and the Italians. Before their sh.e.l.l lay the finish line and two crews, the Dutch and the Irish. Ca.s.s knew that when she could see the stands to her left they'd have only one thousand meters to the finish. Time and distance were running out.

Catch the water with the oar, pull through in the drive using the legs, with the arms straight out until almost at full extension, then pull the arms back into the chest, lay back to finish the stroke, release the oars from the water, feather or twist the oar so it's more aerodynamic and recover, sliding forward into the tucked crouch to begin again. Catch, pull through, lay back, release, feather aaaaand recover. Catch, pull through, lay back, release, feather aaaaand recover. Cutting through the noise of the sh.e.l.l slicing through the water, the hard thunk of the oarlock and the swelling noise of the spectators, was Coach's voice, drilling that cadence into her head.

Every muscle in Ca.s.s's body screamed for oxygen, her legs felt like dead weights, her arms leaden. Catch, pull through, lay back, release, feather aaaaand recover. She could see the three boats pushing toward her, which meant there were still two between their sh.e.l.l and the finish, two between her and a gold medal. She let out a shout, "Sarah?"

"We go in two!"

"Counting...one..." Catch, pull through, lay back, release, feather aaaaand recover. "...and two!" With that shout, Ca.s.s and Sarah dug in and turned it on.

Nine hundred ninety meters ahead, the U.S. squad led the crowd's roar as the tiny blue sh.e.l.l seemed to shoot forward suddenly. Sheila watched as Laura stood, her body unconsciously swaying to the rhythm created by the two in the sh.e.l.l, and muttered to herself as the sh.e.l.l surged forward.

"Too soon, Sarah, too soon!" Laura muttered, louder this time. She shifted forward on the bench, hardly aware of her white-knuckled grip on the rail in front of her. Sheila glanced at the screen and, like Laura, was sure that Sarah had called the final push too soon. There was no way she and Ca.s.s could hold that stroke rate to the finish. They had not even reached the stands yet and that meant they'd have to hold their finish rate of forty strokes per minute for just under one thousand meters.

It was impossible.

n.o.body does that. h.e.l.l, the men row at thirty-six until the last five hundred and that's in a fast race!

Sheila glanced again at the finish, then at the sh.e.l.ls seeming to creep toward it. It always goes much faster when I'm on the water, not watching. Frustrated with the distance and the impossibility of seeing who was moving up, Sheila glanced again at the giant JumboTron screen dominating the inland side of the run. Squinting against the bright sun, she pulled her team cap lower to block the glare and tried desperately to see where Ca.s.s's boat was now. They're gaining. Gauging the distance again, Sheila resisted the urge to kick the rail before her. Maybe... Suddenly the gap between the tiny blue sh.e.l.l and the lead boat seemed too great to overcome and the distance to the finish too little to make their run. They're out of room, their start pace was too slow. Oh d.a.m.n, poor Ca.s.s. C'mon... She looked again at Laura and saw the tension in her face. Poor Laura, too.

If it were possible to pull the tiny boat forward with the force of her stare, the U.S. sh.e.l.l would have no problem gaining victory. Laura's eyes stayed locked on the blue arrow slicing through the mild, rippling current, on the smaller figure at the back of the sh.e.l.l. Sheila could see their rhythm, their sync. The athlete in her marveled at the skill the two were displaying. To mesh so well and so quickly, it was amazing. This race had been almost a throwaway after Pam's injury, but now, with Ca.s.s and the renewed energy of the team, it looked as if they had a chance. Or had one.

Like a wave pushed before the wind, the roar of the crowd grew louder as the tiny sh.e.l.ls moved into the viewing stand area. Where seconds before the boats seemed to be crawling along, now they seemed to be going impossibly fast. Sheila couldn't see their faces but knew at this moment what all the women were thinking. Or rather, what they weren't thinking. This was the moment athletes trained for, worked for and dreamed of. This was it, that mythical "two strikes, bottom of the ninth, bases loaded" moment Olympians imagined as children when taking their first, tentative steps on the path to the Games. Right now, Ca.s.s and Sarah were focused on just one thing: getting every second of speed from their boat, every ounce of strength from their bodies and making up that seemingly impossible distance to finish in the money.

Sheila was jostled as the other team members crowded around her, yelling their support to the women on the water. She pressed a hand down onto Laura's shoulder, the fingers of her other hand white from the pressure of her grip on the rail.

"Can they make it?" Laura's voice was low, tense.

"I don't... I can't see... Oh my G.o.d!" Sheila's shout snapped Laura's gaze from the JumboTron screen back to the boats racing toward them.

Impossibly, the ball mounted on the front of the blue U.S. boat in Lane 3 was inching past the Dutch boat. Bit by bit, the bright yellow bow ball moved past the bow of the Dutch scull, Ca.s.s and Sarah in perfect sync, driving their sh.e.l.l forward. Just inches ahead of them and two lanes to their left, was the Irish boat, its bright green hull flashing in the sun.

On the water, Sarah heard the Irish sternman step up their rate, signaling the approach of the last five hundred meters of the race.

"Ca.s.s! Let's roll!"

Ca.s.s's only response was to lower her head and dig in. They'd rehea.r.s.ed this sprint to the finish several times in the last month, but never at this rate. Time to go.

I can do this. We can do this. Clenching her teeth, Ca.s.s matched Sarah's slightly longer arc, making the stroke that tiny bit longer, carrying the boat that little bit further. Rowing faster was not always about adding another stroke or two per minute, it was also about technique. The longer the stroke, the farther the boat traveled.

Row smarter, not harder.

Okay, do both.

Ca.s.s lengthened her backswing and deepened her position at the catch for a deeper drive in time with her teammate. Sarah let out a shout as their boat surged ahead, responding to their extra effort.

Three hundred fifty meters to the finish.

The crowd surged to its feet, stomping and yelling at the finish. Today's event was proving more exciting than anyone had expected. Beside the U.S. squad on the rail, the Dutch team members were screaming and waving their flag, trying to bring their women back into the race.

Sheila scowled at them and yelled louder. She knew Sarah and Ca.s.s couldn't hear her over the distance, or above the sound of their oars. .h.i.tting the rigging, or even over the sound of their breathing at this point. Nevertheless, she added her voice to the cacophony of noise surrounding the finish. A sharp elbow in her side forced her to step aside.

"Dammit coach, I can't see!" Amy shoved and elbowed her way to the front, the tiny c.o.x nearly jumping out of her sneakers in her attempts to see over her taller teammates. Laura grabbed her by the shoulders and wedged Amy into a small s.p.a.ce between herself and Sheila, right on the rail. On the water, the sleek blue scull gained another foot on the Irish boat, Sarah's bow seat now even with Ireland's stern rower. Amy's wince was visible as Laura tightened her grip on her shoulder. It was like watching a tennis match; first the Irish boat had the lead, then the Americans, then the Irish. Amy clenched her fists and pounded them on the rail. "C'mon ladies! Haul a.s.s!"

Two hundred meters to the finish.