The next week was the busiest in his experience, but the potential revenue in endorsements soared beyond the target he had privately set. The take-up was so promising he steadily raised the asking price, and still they couldn’t wait to shake on it. The sportswear deal alone was finalised at a million-dollar guarantee, with a built-in percentage bonus. The West German managing director, who had flown to New York to clinch it, afterward admitted it was the biggest endorsement contract he had ever negotiated, but the personal satisfaction he would get if Ursula Krüll took a beating was worth every Deutschmark. Cosmetics, electronic stopwatches and gold jewelry joined the list: the only problem was dissuading manufacturers from sending Goldine presentation boxes of their products, care of the Olympic Village. The most unaccountable thing to Dryden was that people now assumed the triple was not merely achievable, but in prospect. The kidnap publicity and rumours of a million-dollar ransom had created a legend that could only end as fairy tales do.
The first five days of the Olympic program were taken up with basketball, cycling, gymnastics, swimming and weightlifting, but it is fair to say they were generally regarded as appetizers for the main course of track and field, starting August 14. There was more interest in the gossip percolating from the Olympic Village than the activity in the Luzhniki Sports Palace. The Herald Tribune ran a story that after watching an impressive workout by Goldine, East German officials were considering adding the 400 metres to Ursula Krüll’s program, because the girls already nominated were unlikely to match the U.S. Wundermädchen. Krüll, the article reported, had rarely run 400 metres, but earlier in the year had dipped under fifty seconds in a relay event, and was eager to challenge Goldine over any distance. Her form suggested it would take world records to beat her over the shorter sprint distances. ‘I shall do what is necessary in my principal events,’ Krüll was reported as saying, ‘and if the team manager decides I would strengthen the 400-metre squad, that’s fine. The main thing is that East German girls should take the medals. I’m not seeking personal acclaim.’ Dryden pictured the hip swivel as she walked away.
The good news from Moscow that week was that a U.S. doctor had been appointed specially to monitor Goldine’s physical state during her five days of competition. The reason officially given was that no girl had attempted the ‘triple’ before, and Goldine was blazing a trail. Pulse-readings, heartbeat, blood count taken regularly through the program would provide a physiological profile certain to assist physicians in advising girls whether to emulate this formidable schedule. Not a hint of the diabetes was leaked. From the pictures appearing daily in the press, Goldine had put back the weight she had lost, and recovered her zest for running.
Dryden, by contrast, showed the strain of a week he wouldn’t care to repeat when he and Melody checked in at Kennedy for Pan Am’s 0810 Moscow flight on August 15. Moscow time is eight hours ahead of New York, so the final edition of the New York Times they bought before embarking carried the first news of the 100-metres heats. ‘GOLDINE QUALIFIES’ ran the headline to the AP Report:
Moscow, Aug. 15 — (AP) Goldine Serafin, victim of the recent kidnap drama in Cleveland, Ohio, reached the Quarter-Final of the Olympic 100 metres by finishing second in her First Round heat in Moscow this morning. The winner, Carol Estrada (Cuba), clocked 11.26 secs, to the U.S. girl’s 11.34. Goldine was not extended in qualifying, but her East German rival, Ursula Krüll, showed outstanding form by taking Heat Three in 10.95 secs, a new Olympic Record. The other U.S. girls, Shelley Wilson and Mary-Lou Devine, came through safely, winning their heats in 11.21 and 11.36 secs respectively.
Higher up the page was an article comparing Moscow’s staging of the Games with Nazi Germany’s propaganda exercise in 1936. If the intention was similar, the techniques of persuasion had altered in forty-four years. Mass demonstrations, salutes and military uniforms were out; the propagandizing was more subtle. These had been billed in the West as the ‘Security Olympics”; in fact, there were fewer restrictions on movement than there had been in Montreal four years before. The emphasis in Moscow was heavily on cost efficiency. Eight billion dollars had been spent by the eleven-man Presidium, but buildings were designed for adaptation: the five twelve-story blocks of the Olympic Village, accommodating 20,000 athletes and officials, would become a housing estate; the Press Center was to be taken over as headquarters of the Novosti Press Agency; and the Olympic Committee Offices would become the new base of the Soviet Journalists’ Union. These would be the last grand-scale Games — the IOC were determined drastically to reduce the number of sports by 1984 — and the Russians had provided an organization equal to the logistics of staging the greatest sports occasion ever. The opening ceremony had set new standards in precision; as the Times man commented, ‘it was the May Day Parade without the missiles — unless I nodded off when they went past.’
Dryden himself dosed through most of the nine-hour trip, and Melody, who had surprised him with her diligence and efficiency all week, seemed content to catnap between Camparis. She had fixed the flight and obtained a hotel reservation from Intourist, no slight achievement. It meant she would be pretty constantly in his company — he hadn’t inquired too closely into the details of the booking — but as she was one of the select group who knew the truth about Goldine’s condition, it would be perilous to neglect her.
They touched down at Cheremetyevo Airport soon after midnight, Moscow time. As soon as they were through the formalities in the new Olympic terminal, Dryden picked up a copy of Izvestia, hopeful of deciphering some news of the Quarter-Finals, and learned that you just can’t skim through a Russian newspaper.
They saw little of Moscow but pinpoints of light as the taxi skirted the western edge of the city on the Circular Motorway, but when they joined Mozhaiskoye Highway, Melody told Dryden they would soon see the River Moskva on their left. ‘Now we’re in Kutozovsky Prospect,’ she confidently announced. ‘There’s the river, and this is our hotel coming up. Not that; the skyscraper. The Hotel Ukraina.’ It was immense, twenty-nine stories high, and built in the gingerbread style known locally as Stalin Gothic. Floodlights played on the massive main tower. It wasn’t Dryden’s idea of a lovenest.
Everything was very proper when they checked in at the Service Bureau. They were greeted in English and politely asked to produce their passports. The clerk herself transcribed their names into the register, they signed and learned they would occupy Rooms 811 and 812. Melody’s lips parted in a slight smile, which the girl returned. Two stone-faced porters approached and carried their suitcases to an elevator. The ascent to the eighth floor took all of three minutes, but the smile was still on Melody’s face when they stepped out. Even the scrutiny of the large woman behind the desk didn’t shift it. Only when the porters collected the keys, picked up the luggage and carried Melody’s in one direction, Dryden’s in another, did Melody blink and make a small sound of incomprehension. 811 and 812 were situated on either side of the forty yards or so of open area fronting the elevators and stairway. The duenna with the keys squatted between.