Hide & Seek - James Patterson [32]
He recovered his poise, and immediately went into one of his best Prince Charming acts. He could, he knew, fool the pants off any of them. Even a Times reporter.
“No, it wasn’t drugs, Cynthia,” he said. Cynthia Miller! That was her name. He was so proud of himself. “I love her songs. I really do.”
“So you said on the way over. Your car is full of her tapes.”
“Her music is so damn real, comes right out of her life,” Will continued. “Do you like it much yourself?”
“As I told you, on the way over, I do like her music, indeed. I also enjoyed the concert, but maybe not as much as you did.”
Will pecked her on the cheek—gently, very chastely. “Now what shall we do?” he asked. Careful, Will. She’s a reporter.
Cynthia Miller smiled a sly grin. “I’d like to hear more about the Blond Arrow,” she said. She was typical of most reporters, an incredible cynic, a romantic gone bad.
“Would you like to see it?” Will teased. He added a twinkling smile.
He knew that she did. All of them did—except maybe one.
Maggie Bradford! That’s who he wanted, he needed—a real person to understand and challenge him.
CHAPTER 33
THE DOORBELL RANG, and Will stopped reading the morning newspaper. He peered out the window. A showy, silver-blue Rolls-Royce was parked in his driveway. He could hear his maid greeting the new-comer, then footsteps approaching the living room.
“Mr. Shepherd, Mr. Lawrence.”
At the entrance stood a smiling, sandy-haired man, perhaps ten years older than Will. Will knew who Winifred “Winnie” Lawrence was. The man was a major force behind the development of soccer in the United States, a man determined to bring the beauty and grace of this refined sport to a nation overdosed on American football mayhem. Lawrence was a lawyer, an agent, but most of all, a hustler par excellence.
Will waited in his chair until Lawrence had entered the room; then he got up slowly, uncoiling as though from a nap, and shook hands with the American. Like so many people from his country, their country, Lawrence skipped preamble and pretense, and got right into it. Cut to the chase.
“Tell me, Will, why do you think the Germans remain so powerful a threat to win the Cup?” Lawrence said, his smile seemingly pasted across his face. “Year after year, no matter their personnel, they seem to have a powerhouse team.”
It was actually a question Will had often asked himself. “Discipline, I suppose,” he said. “It’s more their team style than any individual, and that makes them strong.”
Lawrence beamed, reveling in the obvious, as Americans so often do. “It’s a style I’ve incorporated into the American team. But we need world-class individuals as well. We need a scorer, a striker.”
“I figured that’s why you came here.”
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve come to persuade you to play for the United States. I will not leave your house until I do.”
Will laughed at the idea, not to mention Lawrence’s gall. “It’ll take some doing. There’s no way America can compete, with or without me. Why should I do all that training just to go out in the qualifying rounds? What am I too dim to see?”
Lawrence reached into a stuffed briefcase and withdrew a computer sheet, spreading it out on the living room table. The two men bent over it.
“Look here, Will. Suspend your disbelief for just a few moments. Look. CONCACAF. Zone Norte. Zone Centro. Zone del Caribe. The official schedule for the American team in the North Zone qualifiers.”
“So what?”
“Don’t you see? Let me help you then. The Americans don’t have to beat anybody worthwhile. Not until they’re into the final twenty-four.”
Will laughed again. He enjoyed Lawrence’s first-class act, but this was simply too much. “Maybe you haven’t heard, Mr. Lawrence, Winnie, but the American team isn’t considered anybody either. Any national team will be absolutely thrilled to play the United States. They’d think the game would be a complete walkover.”
“And that’s to our advantage!