Janie Canute had been told that a fast time was on. She said it suited her. She wanted to get the measure of Krüll, the one girl whose ability over the distance had not seriously been tested. When they went to their marks, Krüll was in lane 2, Janie in lane 4. There was a good Finn in one of the outside lanes, but the rest had never got inside fifty-two seconds. Janie crossed herself and asked for fifty flat.
People were edgy. There were three recalls. A French girl was disqualified and left the track weeping. You could hear her sobs between the starter’s instructions.
When they got away at the fourth try, Janie put in a lot of hard running around the bend, completely negating the stagger between herself and the little Australian in 5. She was moving well. By the end of the back stretch she was up with the Finn. Then on her inside, Krüll hurtled through as if it were a 200. Approaching the bend, Janie passed the Finn and gave herself to the pursuit of the East German. Each stride was obviously hurting, but she was cutting the gap between them. There were seventy metres to cover. The danger was that in pursuing Krüll she would fold, letting the others pass her in the run-in. She glanced behind to see where the Finn was, a sure indication that she was relinquishing the race. She was safe, but second. She concentrated on stride length, and came home five metres behind Krüll.
When Janie had got her breath under control, she straightened, jogged a little to ease the stiffness, and looked for Krüll. The German girl was surrounded, but leaping for joy above the cameramen, arms raised high. Janie looked toward the scoreboard. 49.22. Krüll had set a new world record, the first of the Moscow Olympic Games. In an event she had not intended to run. That was style.
In Izvestia that evening, there were two pictures of Ursula Krülclass="underline" one solemn-faced on the rostrum with her silver medal around her neck; the other, head flung back, arms outstretched, at the moment she had the world record confirmed. At the hastily arranged press conference, she had said she believed she could improve the record in the Final. ‘I am just a novice in this event,’ she was reported as saying. ‘Who knows what is possible if I get some real competition?’ Which must have tested Janie’s Christian charity when she read it, for in finishing second in 49.89, she had set a new U.S. record.
At 10:30 P.M. a phone call was put through to Dryden at the Hotel Ukraina from Barney Helpem, the senior executive in his New York office.
‘Jack? I hope I didn’t catch you in bed. Is the line okay at your end?’
‘Fine. Matter of fact, I was in the bar, acquiring a taste for Armenian brandy. How’s business?’
‘It’s humming, Jack. Your Miss Serafin’s press conference was on the tube in prime time last evening. Went over big. I mean that. The TV manner of that kid — breathtaking. This morning we’ve been stampeded with inquiries from people you spoke with last week, the guys who wouldn’t jump then but are falling over themselves to get in now.’
‘They’ll have to pay, Barney.’
‘Sure. I can handle that. The reason I called is that I heard from Simon. I can’t spell things out, for obvious reasons.’
‘I’m with you, Barney.’ Simon was Dryden’s contact in the presidential office.
‘Those soundings you made a week or two back. They could come to something. There’s definite interest in the idea. If she pulls off the triple, it’s on. All we have to agree on is the timing. This bloody eight-hour difference complicates things. The people here are talking in terms of a TV linkup around ten Wednesday night. That’s six on Thursday morning, Moscow time.’
‘We can lay it on at this end,’ promised Dryden. ‘This is one arrangement that isn’t negotiable. Mind, the advantage isn’t all on our side. Setting aside a certain event in November, when you add it up, we’re going to give a useful nudge to the gross national product.’
‘I’ll say we are. You should see the papers here. She made every front page this morning, and that’s after one gold. I must tell you one cute headline I picked up. “GOLDINE RAN SOME.” Get it?’
‘I like it, Barney.’
‘Say, this East German broad — what’s her name? — Kill?’
‘Krüll.’
‘Yeah, Krüll. I heard she made some kind of record today. Don’t get me wrong, but could that foul things up at all?’
‘It was a world record,’ said Dryden. ‘People were pretty impressed here, which is what the Germans planned, I’m sure.’
‘But you’re not worried?’
‘I’d have to be a total idiot not to be worried,’ said Dryden. ‘We’re hoping she’ll burn herself out. It’s the Final that counts. I still have my money on Goldine.’
‘Great. Just one thing more, Jack. The TV transmissions. You know NBC has brought in Goldine’s father a couple of times to comment?’
‘I heard about it.’
‘We get it over here. Cranky old guy. You know him, Jack? He doesn’t come over too good. Bloodless character. Carries on about her bone formation until they cut him off.’
‘He is a professor of physiology, Barney.’
‘I can believe that, Jack. I’m just a little apprehensive of this program they’re slotting into Tuesday evening.’
Dryden’s grip tightened on the phone. ‘Which program is that?’
‘You haven’t heard? You know there’s a rest day Tuesday. No track. NBC has just announced they are running a half-hour primetime special on Goldine. GOLD TOMORROW. Something like that — there could be a query in the title. I guess it’s a curtain-raiser for the Finals Wednesday, mainly clips of the action so far, but they have an interview lined up with Serafin. What worries me, Jack, is how that old man will come across. You follow me?’
‘I do.’ Dryden had followed, overtaken and raced ahead. It looked worse from there. ‘Thanks for the tip, Barney. I’ll try and find out what’s happening.’
He replaced the phone, his head reeling. GOLD TOMORROW? He needed to find out what was happening all right. The program could be the curtain-raiser Barney imagined, but with a title like that it could just as easily be Esselstyn’s hatchet job.
Monday’s program included the First Round and Quarter-Finals of the 200 metres, and the Semi-Finals of the 400 metres. At ten-fifty in the morning, when the 200 metres got under way, the Stadium was less than half full. As expected, the top-flight girls treated it as a workout, burning the first 150 metres and coasting the rest. There was no Olympic Record from Krüll, as there had been in Round One of the 100. She hit the stretch in line with the Russian third string and ran alongside her, twice turning to urge her on, and deliberately easing five metres from the line to let her cross first. As she returned to collect her warm-ups, with photographers in tow recording every step, she left no doubt in anyone’s mind that her confidence was buoyantly back.
Goldine’s heat followed. She qualified in a faster race, declining to dispute first place with two African girls. After it, she dodged the press by removing her spikes and making barefoot for the competitors’ exit. A U.S. official collected her clothes.
Earlier, Dryden had visited the Hotel Rossiya. Locating Serafin was not easy with a guest list six thousand strong. He visited each of the three blocks before tracking him to one of the restaurants.
Serafin looked tired. He attempted no explanation of his presence in Moscow. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ he told Dryden. ‘You should be careful. People recognize me since I’ve been on television.’
‘That’s what I want to see you about. This program scheduled for tomorrow night.’