‘Two ten,’ called Klugman.
‘That will do,’ said Lee. ‘Stop now.’
Goldengirl clipped her stride, allowing the treadmill to take her back and off the belt like a skater leaving the rink. She leaned forward with her hands resting on her knees a few seconds, then walked to the mat and stretched out.
‘What was she on — Dexie?’ asked Valenti.
Lee shook his head. ‘As it happens—’
‘Bennie, then?’
‘The tablet was not an amphetamine,’ said Lee. ‘It had no stimulant properties at all.’ He took a wrapped tube of the tablets from his pocket. ‘They’re called Sweetbreathers. I bought them from the coffee stand at Los Angeles Union Terminal. In other words, I gave her a placebo. Try one. It gave no chemical assistance to the metabolism.’
Valenti cautiously touched the tablet Lee had given him with the tip of his tongue. ‘How d’you do it, then?’
‘By motivational suggestion,’ said Lee. ‘Goldengirl is a good hypnotic subject.’
‘That was a trance?’ said Valenti in disbelief.
‘Correct.’
‘You could have fooled me. Don’t you have to dangle a locket or something?’
‘She is trained to respond to a phrase which induces a deep trance within seconds. You heard her repeat it.’
‘About going for gold?’
‘Scientists have known for years — as I indicated just now — that physical performance can be improved under certain motivation,’ said Lee. ‘The existence of untapped energy that we use only in extremis is commonly acknowledged. A man pursued by a savage animal will clear an obstacle he would not attempt in less critical circumstances. A mother has been known to lift the side of a car to free her trapped child. There is a psychological barrier that tends to limit our aspirations. When that is removed, the physiological possibilities open up, as the demonstration indicated.’
‘Does she run her races under hypnosis?’ asked Dryden.
‘No,’ said Lee emphatically. ‘Nor will she. This has a limited application. We use it to enhance the quality of her training in strength and endurance exercises. It is a way of tapping hidden sources of energy, but we apply the method with caution. She is limited to two sessions a week, and then we are careful to set tasks not much beyond her performances in the waking state. We cannot run the risk of overstrain.’
Valenti started speculating. ‘But if she could run faster—’
‘The point is that she almost certainly could not,’ Lee cut in. ‘All the best results have been achieved in tests involving strength and endurance. Research has shown that this won’t improve her basic speed, but it will help her build strength for the twelve races she has in five days of competition in Moscow. I’m sure you appreciate, gentlemen, that it would be sheer madness to contest an Olympian final in trance.’
‘Shit stupid,’ Klugman confirmed.
‘This is strictly a technique for use in training,’ Lee reiterated. ‘When Goldengirl goes to her mark at San Diego tomorrow, she won’t be in trance. She’ll need to be sharp.’
‘She will,’ promised Klugman.
Serafin brought his hands together with a small clap and rubbed them energetically. ‘Gentlemen, Mr. Klugman still has to put Goldengirl through the rest of her routine for this session, and I don’t think we should delay them any longer. The demonstration is complete. I hope it has helped to enlighten you as to what we mean by ergogenics — a small but significant element in our program.’
As Lee led the way to the door, Serafin drew Dryden aside. ‘I’ve told Goldine you would like to speak to her, and she’s agreed. She’ll meet you after the workout with Klugman. The door at the end of the gym — the one she came from — leads to her quarters. Go through now and wait in her changing room. She’ll talk to you as she showers.’
‘As she showers?’ repeated Dryden. ‘That’s no good to me. I asked for a conversation. I want to see her as we talk, not shout things over a shower wall.’
‘So you shall,’ Serafin said, putting a placating hand on Dryden’s shoulder. ‘The shower in Goldengirl’s quarters is open-fronted.’
Dryden smiled, shaking his head. ‘Oh no, I’ve no intention of embarrassing the girl. Let’s arrange it later.’
‘She has no inhibitions,’ Serafin said in a way that challenged Dryden to examine his own. ‘She suggested this herself. If it makes you feel better about it, Ingrid, her chaperon, will be in attendance.’
‘Chaperon?’ said Dryden, with a determined effort not to seem facetious.
Serafin nodded as seriously as if showers and chaperons went naturally together. ‘I had better warn you about Ingrid. She is not communicative. A mute. Devoted to her duties, however, and powerful enough to carry them out efficiently. Keep on the right side of her, Mr. Dryden, and there should be no problems.’
Seven
Goldengirl was already back in action as Dryden walked the length of the gym to the door leading to her quarters. She was wearing a leather harness attached to the wall by two long steel springs. Urged on with quiet insistence by Klugman, she was repeatedly running forward, meeting their resistance and returning for another try.
He passed through a small corridor to her changing room, if that was the word, because it looked like a combination shower room and boudoir. The forepart was carpeted in white, and the walls were varnished pine. There was a dressing table no different in its jumble of pots and bottles from any other girl’s, but the schedule of training was prominent on the wall above it. As well as the mirrors of the dressing table, there was another, full-length, attached to the adjacent wall. So, too, was a framed photo of a young woman in the uniform of an airline stewardess — by the length of skirt and style of hair, of sixties vintage. Keenly as Dryden examined it, he could trace nothing of Goldengirl in the face.
Opposite the dressing table was a tiled recess, half enclosed by a frosted-glass screen on runners, with a shower-bath sunk a few inches below floor level. To its left was a built-in wardrobe, the door open, displaying a collection of a dozen or more warm-up suits. He wondered whether Serafin’s adopted daughter had ever worn a dress.
Studying the schedule again, he ran his finger down the column on the right, the last session of the day, from 2015 to 2130, with the entries he remembered registering before as inconsistent with the rest: FACIAL on Monday, SAUNA Tuesday, HAIR Wednesday, REWARD Thursday and UV RAY Friday. Goldengirl was conceded a few of the vanities due to her sex. Somebody in the setup spared a thought for her feminine needs. Melody? Dryden doubted that: she was too obviously jealous. More likely Lee. He would be clever enough to see it as a support to the psychological indoctrination.
Each end-of-day session was listed GQ — Goldengirl’s Quarters. Logically, somewhere nearby were a sauna room and a massage parlor. More to occupy himself than from inquisitiveness, he started toward one of the two doors opposite. He had not taken two steps when something soft caught on his shoe: a pair of nylon panties Goldine must have discarded when she changed into the leotard. Her tracksuit was lying across the stool in front of the dressing table. With a grunt of amusement, he lifted his leg and retrieved the panties from the toe of his shoe. It was reassuring to see they were white in colour; Serafin’s propagandizing hadn’t penetrated to that layer of intimacy. But first appearances can deceive. On the front a small circular motif was imprinted in gold, with the Olympic rings surmounted by the letter M and two stars, and the words Mockbá, 1980.
He was shaking his head incredulously, dangling the panties from one finger, when the nearest door opened and Ingrid confronted him. She was black and very big. The outsize red warm-up suit she had on testified graphically to the strength of wool and polyester. Her bulk was mainly muscle. Her eyes widened and then narrowed as she took in the spectacle. She emitted a snort of fury, took a step toward Dryden, swung out an arm and snatched the panties away, stuffing them deep in her tracksuit pocket.