‘Do you have any form of identity, Mr. Ford?’ Dryden asked. ‘One hears stories...’
‘But of course.’
Dryden wasn’t used to examining diplomatic identity cards, but the photo matched and the bald eagle was prominent.
‘I also have an American Express Card,’ said Ford with a half-smile.
‘That won’t be necessary. You don’t wish to see my papers?’
‘We just want your advice,’ said Ford, leading the way across the lobby.
The car was chauffeur-driven and bore the U.S. insignia. If this turned out to be a KGB trick, at least he would arrive at the collective labour camp in style. But they headed in the right direction, across the Moskva by Novo-Arbatsky Bridge, up Kalinin Prospect and into Tchaikovsky Street. There was a moment of unease when they pulled up at a gray stone building with Soviet soldiers on guard at the gates, but the eagle was over the door and the Stars and Stripes fluttered overhead. James Ford was on the level.
Dryden followed him up the Embassy steps, across the small entrance hall and into an elevator. They got out on the second floor. Ford stopped at a door and said, ‘This is where I leave you, Mr. Dryden. This isn’t official business at all, you understand. You’ve met two of the people inside, so introductions aren’t necessary.’ He held open the door.
Dryden walked in, still mystified. And though two of the faces that looked his way were familiar, he couldn’t immediately place them. It was a fairly ordinary office, not the Ambassador’s suite for sure.
The man he hadn’t seen before stood up to welcome him.
‘So good of you to come, Mr. Dryden. I’m Don McCorquodale of the U.S. Olympic Committee. I believe you already met Doctors Dalton and Nagel.’
Doctors. Of course. They were the two he had seen with Goldine in the Lenin Stadium. He nodded at them, finding no clue in their faces to explain what this was about.
McCorquodale had an easy style of speech and made it plain from the beginning that he was seeking co-operation. In his mid-fifties, he carried enough weight to suggest that relaxation was intrinsic to his way of life, not staged for the occasion. ‘You’ll have guessed that we want to talk about young Goldine Serafin,’ he said. ‘Quite some runner. Surprised a lot of people Saturday, me included. It’s raised her into the superstar class, that gold medal.’ He smiled. ‘Given us a few problems, keeping the media out of her hair, but that’s one of our functions as I see it, ensuring that an athlete has the chance of getting through the Games without undue harassment. I believe you heard we had to move her out of the Village.’
‘Pete Klugman told me,’ Dryden confirmed.
‘Klugman, yeah,’ repeated McCorquodale without showing interest. ‘Do you smoke? I’m getting quite a taste for these Soviet cigarettes with the cardboard filters, Papirosi. Care to try one? Don’t suppose you medics would.’
The doctors looked on while McCorquodale and Dryden lit up.
‘The press aren’t the only problem,’ McCorquodale resumed. ‘You know about the medical complication? That’s another thing we have to take care of, which is why we have a team of first-class physicians with us — for all the athletes on the squad, I mean. When you take close to 300 sportsmen and women abroad, you’re going to have a few problems. You need an expert on hand to cope with emergencies. Goldine’s condition isn’t new in our experience, Mr. Dryden. We’ve had diabetics on the team before, not in track that I recall, but other sports. We can handle it. That is, Ben Dalton can. When we knew about Goldine, we assigned him to monitor her condition throughout the Games. It may look to an outsider like she’s being singled out for special treatment, but, hell, she is special. Between ourselves, there’s a lot more on tomorrow’s Finals than Goldine herself realizes. If she comes up with more gold medals, she could find herself on the hot line to Washington. It’s as big as that.’ He drew on his Papirosa, letting the information sink in. ‘Could do us all a lot of good — Goldine, the team, the Committee and good old Uncle Sam himself.’
Dryden noticed McCorquodale didn’t include him in the list. He was surprised. This had to be leading up to something, and a charge of jeopardizing the amateur status of an Olympic athlete seemed likely. But if this was in McCorquodale’s mind, he wasn’t pouncing yet.
‘So we all want her to go out there tomorrow and leave scorch marks on the track for those Russians to remember,’ McCorquodale went on. ‘And you guessed it — there’s a complication, which is why we brought you here. You’re a personal friend of Goldine’s. She told us that herself. Mr. Dryden, we know damn all about the girl. She’s new on the track scene, and one thing and another prevented us from getting to know her before we flew out here. We figure you may be able to help us understand what’s going wrong.’
‘Something’s wrong?’
‘Ben, would you explain?’
Dr. Dalton took over. His manner was direct. ‘Two problems, Mr. Dryden. One concerns the diabetes. You understand that we control it by balancing the carbohydrate intake with insulin injections? Before we left New York, Goldine told us her normal requirement. It should simply be a matter of adjusting that to the lowering of the blood sugar due to severe exercise. You follow me?’
‘I think so. If you exercise, you need less insulin.’
‘Right. The difficulty is that since we got here, Goldine’s blood-sugar readings have been extremely erratic. If she hadn’t told me she was a long-term diabetic, I’d think she had recently contracted the disease. If she did, she shouldn’t be running at all. In treating diabetes, you have to get the patient stabilised. If she isn’t, it’s goddamned dangerous to take any excessive exercise. There’s a high risk of inducing a coma, and that could mean brain damage. At worst, death. I understood the condition was mild, and my readings confirmed that earlier in the week. This morning I had to administer an injection fifteen units up on the figure she’s supposed to be stabilised on. Question one: are you able to confirm Goldine’s own statement that she has been a diabetic more than two years?’
‘If you are, no trouble. We’ll instruct the doctors to cope,’ emphasised McCorquodale. ‘I regard this as a management decision.’
‘You’ve explained the problem to her?’ said Dryden. ‘Does she understand the danger?’
Dr. Dalton turned to McCorquodale. ‘This is bringing us to question two. Could we first establish his answer to my first question?’
Dryden had to stall. ‘It’s somewhat irregular, isn’t it, questioning Miss Serafin’s statements like this?’
McCorquodale said, ‘He’s right, Ben. Make your second point.’ Turning to Dryden, he added, ‘This is why we’re asking you.’
Dr. Dalton shrugged and said, ‘Okay, then. The fact is, Mr. Dryden, that we are concerned about Goldine’s behavior. I was commissioned to monitor her diabetes, and I’m quite well up on the disease. I can tell you patients often react emotionally when their balance of insulin isn’t right. Nervousness is common. Irritability, emotional upset, this kind of thing. But this young woman is displaying behaviour that has me baffled. It’s new in my experience. To be candid, I don’t think it is related to the diabetes.’
‘What kind of behavior?’
The other doctor spoke: ‘We had an example the other afternoon when you visited her after her victory in the 100 metres. The way she acted — didn’t you think it was odd?’
‘Is that the problem?’ said Dryden mildly. ‘She has a few delusions of grandeur, that’s all. Goddamn it, she had just won a gold medal.’