Never Say Die (4 page)

George whitened.

“Let me tell you something,” Debbi said in a threatening tone as she stepped close. “If you think you're going to keep him, just forget it. He's mine, and he always will be. I'm going to get him back—no matter what it takes.”

Including murder? Nancy wondered. She didn't want to think that, but Debbi seemed so determined to steal Jon from George that anything was possible.

With a final hostile grimace at George, Debbi whirled around and stormed out to the parking lot. A second later her station wagon shot toward the exit, dust rising in a cloud. Nancy noticed a wire cage in the wagon's rear compartment and black lettering on its sides, but it was too far away for her to make out the words.

She turned to Jon. “Is that a police car?” Nancy asked. “She sure drives it like one.”

“No, the cage is because her family raises purebred German shepherds,” he said.

Silence fell as the car disappeared from view. No one wanted to speak. Finally, though, Jon turned to George. “Remember I said that I took off after I lost my memory?”

George nodded.

“Well, later, when I got it back, I wrote her and
said that I didn't want to see her again. I don't know how she found out I was here, but she did, and she's come to try to get me to go back with her. She's even taken a room at the Imperial Motel.”

“Looks like she didn't get the message.”

• • •

A minute later George and Jon said good night. Jon went back inside the velodrome to get Ned while George, Bess, and Nancy continued walking toward the now-floodlit parking lot.

“You sure let him off” easy,” Bess remarked acidly as she yanked open the door of George's station wagon.

“What?” George asked.

“You were too nice. If it had been me, I'd have laughed in his face. I mean, can you believe all that baloney about it being over between them?”

“It's not baloney. Well, I mean—I—”

George hesitated. She was obviously torn. She wanted to accept Jon's explanation but still had her doubts.

“Come on, Bess, give Jon a break,” Nancy said as she loaded the bike into the rear.

“Why? So he can walk all over her? No way. I don't want George to get hurt.”

“Neither do I. But we don't know for sure that he's lying.”

“We don't know that he isn't, either.”

“Just stop it, both of you!” George said, exploding
suddenly. “This is between Jon and me. We'll work it out on our own, okay?”

Nancy dropped the subject. But later, as she drove away, she still felt bad for George. Worse, she knew that Debbi Howe was not the kind of girl to let the issue drop as easily as Nancy and Bess had.

• • •

The next morning Nancy sat in the Drew kitchen picking at her breakfast. Hannah Gruen, the Drews' housekeeper, had made strawberry pancakes—usually one of Nancy's favorites—but Nancy wasn't hungry that day.

Across the table Carson Drew looked over the top of his morning newspaper and studied his daughter.

“What's wrong? What happened to put that gloomy look on your face?”

Nancy smiled in spite of herself. No one knew her as well as her father did—not even Ned or Hannah.

“Okay, I give. You always drag it out of me in the end, anyway. I'm working on a new case.”

“Oh? What is it this time?”

“Something very serious. Someone may be trying to kill George.”

Quickly she filled her father in. As she talked, her father thoughtfully spread butter on his pancakes.

“Hmm. That's a tough one,” he said when
she'd finished. “I'm riot sure what to tell you, but I do have one piece of advice.”

“What's that?”

He set down his knife. “Make George drop out of the Classic.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Don't take chances. Those two incidents might add up to nothing, but what if someone
is
trying to kill her? The more chances the killer has, the more likely it is that he or she will be successful.”

“George will never quit, Dad. The Classic is too important to her.”

“More important than staying alive?”

“Well, when you put it that way, it's hard to argue. But you don't know how determined she is. I've never seen George train so hard.”

“You'd better give my suggestion a shot. If you don't, you may never get a chance to reason with her again.”

“But, Dad—”

The telephone rang, cutting Nancy off. Leaning backward in his chair, her father stretched toward it and lifted the receiver.

“Hello? Oh, good morning, Steven.” He paused, sipping his coffee. “What? Are you serious?” He paused again. “That's shocking. Have you called the police? Good. Yes—yes, I'll be right over.”

He hung up. “That was Steven Lloyd. His office was broken into last night.”

“Was anything stolen?” Nancy asked.

“Yes, a new software program he was working on. He'd like me to go over there. Would you like to come along?”

Nancy smiled. She loved it when her father asked for her help. “Let's go. I'll follow you in my car.”

• • •

Lloyd Software Systems, Inc., was located in a new industrial park in Summitville, not far from the velodrome and not far from River Heights. Turning into the parking lot behind her father, Nancy surveyed the beautifully landscaped lawn with interest.

There were no signs of a break-in around the low, dark-windowed building. Inside, however, was a shambles. Several police officers were milling around, while Steven Lloyd himself paced back and forth. His office door had been smashed, and papers were strewn everywhere.

“I'm telling you, Carson, I don't know what I'm going to do,” he groaned. “That program was crucial. It was going to be the centerpiece of a whole new product line.”

“Do you think one of your competitors stole the program?” Carson Drew asked.

“No, this guy was in business for himself,” Steven replied.

“A freelancer? How can you be sure? What about one of your employees?”

Steven shook his head. “I doubt it. An insider
wouldn't need to smash down the door. Besides, there's the note.”

“What note?” Nancy asked quickly.

“Oh, didn't I mention it?” Leading them into his office, he picked up a floppy disk. “Until yesterday, my new program was on this. Take a look at what's on it now.”

He slipped the disk into the A drive of the personal computer next to his desk. A moment later a message appeared.

GREETINGS, MR. LLOYD. YOUR SOFTWARE PROGRAM #5240-A HAS BEEN STOLEN. PAY ME $1,000,000 OR IT WILL BE SOLD TO ANOTHER COMPANY. INSTRUCTIONS WILL FOLLOW. HAVE A NICE DAY.

“A million dollars!” Nancy gasped. “But wait, I still don't get it. How does that prove the program was stolen by a freelancer?”

“An insider wouldn't ask for money. He or she would take the program to a competing company and ask for a job. And he or she would get it. And the competitor would just keep the program and market it themselves.”

Nancy's father nodded. “It's a lot less risky that way. I agree with Steven—this has all the characteristics of a professional working alone.”

Nancy had to go along with them. There was still one point that was bothering her, however.
She turned to Steven. “Was the disk protected by a password?”

Steven nodded. “Yes, and I was the only one who knew it. That's the one thing I don't understand. How did the thief guess it?”

Nancy didn't understand, either. Even with the help of a code-breaking program, a password could take months to crack.

But the rest of the evidence was pretty straightforward. The side door to the building had been jimmied, and the security system inside had been turned off with a device that could only be used from outside. No clues there. Just more indications of a well-planned job.

By then Steven's employees had begun to drift in to work. The police questioned them one at a time, but the interrogations led nowhere. No one had worked late the night before, and no one had noticed a stranger hanging around the building the previous few days.

Finally Nancy left. She felt disappointed. When her father had asked her to come along, she had hoped she would be able to help. But there was little she could do. This was a job for the police. They had the manpower and the data network needed to solve a case of this type.

But something else was bothering her— something she had overheard Steven telling her father as she left. “I'm worried, Carson,”
he had said. “If I don't get that program back, it could mean the end of Lloyd Software Systems.”

Was that really true? Nancy wondered. If it was, George would lose her sponsor—and with him a very promising career in cycling!

T
HE VELODROME WAS
only two minutes from Lloyd Software Systems. As she drove, Nancy's thoughts returned to what her father had said at breakfast:
“Make George drop out of the Classic.”
It was good advice, but would George even listen?

At the velodrome parking lot she swung into the first available space she found. All around her people were unloading bikes and gear and talking. Locking her door, she hurried toward the stadium to find George.

Ten yards from the entrance tunnel, Nancy was stopped by Peter Cooper. Behind him, she noticed that workmen were putting up a new tent
to replace the burned one. Another crew was erecting a chain-link fence in a circle around it.

“'Morning, Nancy. What do you think of our new security measure?”

“I'm glad to see it,” she replied. “You're going to station a guard here to check passes, aren't you?”

“Yes. And we're going to have dogs patrolling the area, too. That should prevent any more incidents like the one we had yesterday.”

“I hope so.” Privately, Nancy doubted it. The tent might not burn again, but George could well be the object of a new attack.

Peter smiled. “How is George doing? Has she recovered from her close call?” he asked, pushing a hand through his rust-colored hair.

“I think so,” Nancy said. “It sure didn't seem to affect her performance in the match sprint last night.”

“Yes, I saw the results this morning. I'm very impressed.”

“Peter,” Nancy said, suddenly changing the subject, “can you tell me anything about the break-in at Lloyd Software Systems last night? I mean, something that Steven might not have wanted to tell the police?”

Peter's face clouded. “You know about that?”

“Yes, I was just over there with my father. Does Steven have any enemies—you know, a rival who might want to put him out of business?”

Peter looked uncomfortable. “Well, I don't know that I should—”

“Don't worry, you can tell me about it,” she said, assuring him. “My father's working on the legal end of it.”

“Well, there's really not much to tell,” Peter said, relaxing. “Sure, we've got rivals, but I don't know who'd stoop to something like this.”

“What about personal enemies?”

“Steven? You've got to be kidding! He's one of the best-liked, most widely admired guys in the whole software business.”

“I can believe it,” she said, and she meant it, too. Steven Lloyd was, in her judgment, a very decent man.

“I can tell you one thing, though.” Peter's voice lowered a notch. “If that program falls into the hands of another software company, Lloyd Software Systems is sunk.”

“Is the program really that big a deal?”

“You bet it is. It's going to revolutionize office computer systems. Believe me, whoever markets it first is going to be king of the mountain for at least a decade.”

Nancy felt more frustrated than ever. Obviously the theft of the program was more serious than Steven had hinted.

After another minute of polite chat, Nancy turned to go.

“Oh, Nancy, will you do me a favor?” Peter asked, calling her back.

“Sure.”

“When you see George, tell her that I've set up an interview with the
River Heights Morning Record.
The reporter will be here around three.”

“Okay, I'll tell her.”

“Thanks.”

• • •

Finding George didn't turn out to be easy. Nancy looked all over the velodrome but couldn't spot her friend anywhere.

Finally, she found George sitting inconspicuously in the stands. She was talking to Tatyana Ivanova.

Tatyana was giggling. “Oh, yes, boys in Soviet Union are same. Think they know everything. Sometimes it is so funny!”

Her dark eyes were dancing, and the corners of her mouth were curled up in a smile. She looked much more relaxed than she had by the pool the day before, Nancy noticed. George was having a positive effect on her.

“Hi, Nan!” George said, looking up. “Come sit with us. Tatyana, this is my friend Nancy Drew.”