Rush for the Gold: Mystery at the Olympics (22 page)

He gave her another quick hug before the official practically dragged him over to join the other basketball players. And she went and found her own team.

Marching into the stadium was one of the great moments of her life. Even before they came out of the tunnel into the sea of lights and people and flashing cameras, Susan Carol could hear the noise building. She was walking in the second row of swimmers—the women went first, then the men—in between Elizabeth Wentworth and Natalie Coughlin.

“I’ve done this three times before, but it’s amazing every time. This does not get old,” Coughlin said as they approached the end of the tunnel.

Susan Carol could see why. The cheers for the American team swept through the massive stadium as they circled the track and waved at the stands where people frantically waved back, pausing only to snap photos.

She watched Michael Phelps, who had been chosen as the American flag bearer, march past the box where Queen Elizabeth and other members of the royal family were standing. Other countries dipped their flags as they went by, but not the US. By long-standing tradition, the American flag didn’t bow before royalty or any heads of state.

Somewhere in the stands she knew her entire family
was watching. They had flown in that morning and had spent the day recovering from the overnight flight. One thing that made Susan Carol happy was that the money she was making made it possible for her mom and dad and both her brothers and her sister to come to the Games. No matter what disagreements she’d had with her dad in the past couple of months, she knew he was in the stands with the same lump in his throat that she had in hers.

As the Americans passed the staircase that led up to the Olympic torch, she heard the PA announcer say, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the athletes, coaches, and officials from the United States of America!”

She didn’t think it was possible, but the noise grew even louder. Susan Carol had tears in her eyes. She looked to her right and saw Elizabeth was crying. So was Coughlin—as she no doubt had three times before.

When all the athletes from all the nations were gathered in the middle of the field, one shard of light revealed Sebastian Coe as he entered the darkened stadium with the Olympic torch. Coe was a great English runner who had won gold medals in the 1,500 meter in 1980 and 1984, and he had also headed London’s Olympic bid. You could hear a pin drop as he climbed the steps and turned to face the crowd, holding the flaming torch in his right hand.

He stood that way for a moment, then dipped the torch into the giant cauldron. The minute the flames leapt up, the stadium went crazy, and Coe stood still, drinking in the cheers.

If I finish dead last in all my races
, Susan Carol thought,
it will be okay because I got to be part of this
.

Stevie was just as thrilled to be there, sitting—or more accurately standing because everyone was on their feet.

The ceremony—all the dancing and singing and performing that had gone on before the entrance of the athletes—had been way too long in Stevie’s opinion. But once the athletes began marching in, the wait was more than worth it.

Seeing all the athletes together in the stadium, Stevie was hit by just how
big
the Olympics were. He had been so focused on one sport and one athlete since arriving that he’d kind of lost sight of it. Stevie knew that more than 11,000 athletes had taken part in the 2008 Games in Beijing. Closer to 12,000 were expected in London, and most of them were marching in right in front of him. It was a mind-boggling sight, especially with all the colorful outfits they were wearing.

Kelleher seemed to sense his thoughts. “Look at them all,” he said at one point. “Thousands and thousands of athletes. The best in the world. And the next two weeks are crucial for all of them.”

They were close enough that they spotted Susan Carol among the Americans. That was thrilling, as was the introduction of the American team. But the moment that really got to Stevie was when the last team—the hosts from Great Britain—came marching in.

When the PA announcer formally introduced them, the ovation wasn’t just loud, it was lengthy. The media section was close enough to the royal box that Stevie could look over and see that the queen was applauding with a good deal of enthusiasm and Prince William and his wife, Kate, had their arms over their heads, waving to the athletes who were waving back.

When the stadium went dark just before the torchbearer entered, you could feel the anticipation. There was no introduction, just a spotlight finding the lone runner as he stepped onto the track carrying the torch.

There was a roar when the spotlight confirmed that it was Coe with the torch. And once the flame was lit, the roar was louder still. Then they played “God Save the Queen,” and the queen herself formally announced the beginning of the Olympics. “I declare the Games of London to be open,” she said to more wild cheering.

It was well after eleven o’clock by the time the ceremony was over, but everyone in the stadium was still adrenaline-pumped. No one was allowed to leave their seats until the queen and the other royals had departed.

“Who does she think she is,” Tamara said with a smile as Elizabeth waved a final goodbye, “the queen of England?”

“She’s only had the job for sixty years,” Kelleher said. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Then they headed downstairs—along with a huge horde of media—to the mixed zone. There would be no formal interviews since technically nothing had happened. Athletes had been “requested” by their various Olympic
committees to pass through the mixed zone on their way out. There were signs overhead that told journalists which athletes would be where, and Stevie headed for the one that said
MEN’S BASKETBALL
. Sadly, half the TV cameramen in the world were already there, jockeying for position.

Kelleher had gone to try to talk to a soccer player who was from Washington, and Mearns was headed for the swimmers just in case she could see Susan Carol.

Stevie hung back as Kobe Bryant, Kevin Durant, and Chip Graber were led to the gates that separated the athletes from the media. Stevie thought the whole thing was humiliating—all the pushing and shoving just to talk to someone across a gate—but apparently the IOC had done it this way for years. It was easy to see Bryant and Durant from the back because they were so tall, but Chip was swallowed up almost instantly.

Stevie had seen mob scenes in post-game locker rooms, but nothing like this. He knew he’d have to wait until the various TVs got their sound bites, but the crowding was intense. He was convinced some kind of fight was going to break out at any second.

Sure enough, a few minutes in, Stevie heard shouting coming from the front. Someone with an American accent was shouting, “Let him answer in English first, dammit. He can talk in your language later.”

“The language is Italian, you idiot,” someone answered in what Stevie imagined was an Italian accent. “He can answer in any language he wants.”

Stevie remembered that Bryant had spent much of his
boyhood in Italy and was fluent in Italian. Apparently he’d been asked a question in Italian and was answering it when the American got frustrated. There were more raised voices, and finally Stevie heard someone on the other side of the fence say, “English questions
first
, please.”

Whether that made everyone happy or not—Stevie suspected it didn’t—it stopped the shouting match. The crowd had packed in to get close to Bryant and to a lesser extent Durant, and Stevie saw a little bit of an opening to the outside. There was another row of steel separating those trying to talk to the basketball players from those talking to several soccer players, and Stevie edged along the fencing until he was close enough to the front to actually see Chip, who was standing with his arms folded, talking to about four reporters. Stevie got close enough so that Chip could see
him
—and he nodded and smiled to let Stevie know he had spotted him.

The small group talking to Chip finally dispersed, and Stevie was able to get right up against the fence separating them.

“Stevie Thomas, I swear you’re as tall as I am,” Chip said, leaning across the fence to give Stevie a hug.

“I just wish I was as tall as Susan Carol,” he said.

“Me too,” Chip said, laughing. “I understand we need to talk. You guys have somehow found trouble again?”

“Yeah, well, we think so,” Stevie said.

He was about to launch into the story when a TV guy with a cameraman in tow raced up, light shining in Chip’s face, and without so much as an “excuse me” asked Chip
something about the US playing Turkey in its first game—a rematch of the 2010 World Championship final.

Chip looked right at the camera and the microphone and said in a pleasant tone, “I’m in the middle of something here. Give me a minute.”

The TV guy looked miffed, but said nothing.

“Look, we’ll never be able to really talk here,” Chip said. “I don’t leave for practice until noon tomorrow. Can you meet me at the Wyndham Grand at eight for breakfast? It’ll be quiet.”

“I’d love to, but how am I going to get through security?” Stevie said. “I hear it’s intense.”

“Yeah, I know,” Chip said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pin with the Olympic rings on it and lettering underneath it that said
USA FAMILY
.

“We each get four of these,” he said. “My parents and Anjie (my girlfriend) aren’t coming in until next weekend. So put this on your shirt or jacket and
don’t
wear your media credential. I’ll meet you in the lobby at eight.” They exchanged cell numbers, and Chip went back to the TV guy, who had now been joined by several others.

Stevie happily worked his way out of the scrum, thankful he didn’t need a quote for a story tonight. What a zoo! He found Kelleher leaning against a wall near the exit.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Kelleher said. “I gave up after the second fistfight nearly broke out. Did you get to Chip?”

“Yup. I’m having breakfast with him in the morning at his hotel.” Stevie pulled out his family pin and showed it to Kelleher. “He says this will get me in there.”

Kelleher nodded. “Good work. Now let’s hope he can tell us something about his old friend Bobby Mo.”

S
tevie was in a cab at 7:30 the next morning, still yawning.

The security outside the Wyndham Grand looked a lot like the security had looked at the Olympic Stadium the previous night. For a second, Stevie wondered if the queen might be coming to have breakfast. When the doorman opened the cab door for Stevie, his first comment wasn’t “good morning” or “welcome,” the way it always was at the Gloucester, but “hotel guest?”

Stevie paid the cabdriver and flashed the family pin at the doorman, who said, “Of course, sir. You can go right inside. Just show the pin to the gentleman inside the door.”

Stevie actually had to show the pin twice more before he was safely in the lobby, where Chip was waiting for him.

“Little tired this morning?” Chip said, seeing the look on Stevie’s face.

“I’m okay,” Stevie said. “It’s just like walking the gauntlet getting in here.”

Chip laughed. “You’re in the inner sanctum now, man. Come on, let’s go to the restaurant in back.”

The restaurant had a spectacular view of Chelsea Harbor and beyond to the Thames River. It was early enough that the restaurant wasn’t crowded yet, so they were given a table near a window. There seemed to be about four waiters for every table, so they ordered quickly.

Stevie asked Chip if he was surprised he had made the team given that just about everyone else on the roster had been an All-Star forever and in some cases—Bryant, James, Durant, Dwyane Wade, Dwight Howard—were probably lock Hall of Famers.

“Yes and no,” Chip said. “Clearly I’m not in the same class with some of those guys—most of those guys, maybe
all
of those guys. But I knew Krzyzewski wanted someone on the team who would distribute the ball on offense and didn’t mind being an attack dog on defense. I don’t have to score a point to make him happy. I just have to keep all the other scorers happy.”

“Not so easy, I’d think,” Stevie said.

“Not as hard as you might think either,” Chip said. “These guys know that being unselfish worked in ’08, and they want to win. Sharing the ball is the best way to win.”

He poured coffee from the pot they had ordered. “So, tell me what’s going on and how I can help.”

Stevie added milk and sugar to his coffee, took a long
sip, and told Chip the whole story, dating back to Charlotte. When he finished, Chip shook his head in disbelief.

“Wow,” he said. “I feel for Susan Carol. It’s one thing if an agent is pushing you around, or a shoe guy or officials. But her father? That hurts.”

“Well, I think the whole aborted coach-swap thing opened his eyes a little. But Susan Carol still seems like things aren’t totally fine.…”

Chip frowned. “My guess is he’s just overwhelmed by what this could mean financially. Now, the agent and Bobby Mo—”

“What do you know about Bobby Mo?”

“Enough to know he’s not to be trusted.”

“But you’re with Brickley.”

Chip shrugged. “I have to be with someone, and Bobby Mo always seemed like a relatively small fish. Plus, it isn’t like the other companies are run by Mother Teresa’s protégés. They’re all pretty much the same. You’re talking about people who pay middle school kids, or at least pay their parents, to get them to play on AAU teams they sponsor.”

Stevie sat back as the waiter delivered his eggs, toast, and bacon. Chip had asked for French toast. When he saw his eggs and Chip’s French toast, he knew he’d ordered the wrong thing.

“That looks good,” he said.

“Go ahead and order some,” Chip said.

“But they’ll charge us. This is fine.”

Chip laughed. “Stevie, my salary for next season is eight and a half million dollars. I can swing an extra breakfast.”

Stevie wasn’t going to argue. He called the waiter back and asked for French toast.