Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF Page B

different? We’re not just playing Canada and Mexico and Guatemala.”
    He shrugged it away as easily as he had handled all her other probes. “Sure, it’s different, but I still say you’veve got to give us a chance.” He flashed a grin. “I guess in a week or two, we’ll know if I’m right.”
    “Speaking as an American, Keith, I hope you are.” She smiled and reached for the soccer ball a technician was holding out for her, and suddenly felt as though she were about to fall off the stool. Adrenaline surged through her; she could not fall! 
    Steeling herself, she took the ball and held it up for the camera, even taking care to keep the “Adidas” trademark stamp away from view so there would be no complaints from American manufacturers about free UBC publicity. “Now I wonder if we could get started with that demonstration we promised our viewers. We’ve got some equipment set up over here.”
    Less than ten minutes remained, and her hands were starting to tremble as she handed the ball to Keith. But the worst was over. Now the cameras would be on him, on the action.
    The crew had brought in a soccer goal from the stadium and assembled it in front of the longest wall, the white nylon mesh showing up well against the light blue backdrop. Keith explained the dimensions of the net, how it was too large an area for one man to cover unless he could anticipate the shots and move before they came. Then he had Rachel throw him a couple of easy ones. He picked them off as though he were weightless, landing on the foam-rubber gymnastics mat the crew had left in place from the earlier setup.
    “Okay,” he said, getting to his feet, “now why don’t you take off those high heels and see if you can boot one past me.”
    He tossed her the ball and she quickly set it down on the mat, unable to hold it steady. If she had only gone out to the parking lot and brought in some more from the car when she’d had the chance! But no, she’d had to prepare the new questions for Keith Palermo.
    She felt as though she’d been standing over the ball for centuries. “Should I take a run at it?”
    “If you don’t, it’ll be too easy.”
    She took a few unsteady steps back and then came at it from the side, as she’d seen the players do, and swung her leg hard. But her stocking slipped on the mat and she topped the ball, lost her balance, and fell.
    The cameramen and technicians were silent as she got up again, but in her earpiece came Wayne Taggart’s voice, strident, insinuating. “Retake, everybody! Run it back!”
    She waited and started to tremble, and finally sat down on the mat while the taping crew moved the big reel back to where she had begun the shot, and then spent an even more frustrating minute or two positioning herself exactly where she had been earlier, so that if Taggart decided to use the whole sequence uncut, there would not appear to be any break in the action.
    Then she stepped up, concentrating as hard as she could, and booted the ball straight into Keith’s chest. He caught it and held on.
    “Too easy,” came Taggart’s voice. “Retake. Make him work for it this time.”
    Three shots later, Rachel’s insides were a hollow, aching void, but after each shot she forced herself to walk over to Keith and help him up from the mat. Not because he needed help, of course, but because it looked good on camera and was a natural tie-in with the closing. She promised herself never, ever to make this mistake again. 
    “Okay, wrap it up,” Taggart said. “I’ve got enough.” 
    She looked at the clock. It had been twenty-eight minutes. Taggart was cutting it short. She wanted to cry with relief. She could make it!
    She was halfway through the sign-off when Taggart’s voice whined in her earpiece once more.
    “I’m looking at the black-and-white monitor now,” he said, “and do you know I can’t see the net against that light blue wall? It all blurs white! Al, why didn’t you check that before?