She opened the front door, revealing a tall, lean, African American man in his early forties. He wore a blue suit with a green and gold tie, and he beamed when he saw my daughter.
“Jannie Cross,” he said, smiling as he shook her hand. “I’m so glad we could work out a time to meet.”
Jannie was dumbstruck but managed to say, “I am too, sir, uh, Coach.”
I said, “She’s thrilled you’re here. We all are.”
“Dr. Cross?” he said, turning his hundred-watt smile on me and reaching to shake my hand. “I’m Robert Johnson.”
“Please, come in, Coach,” I said. “My grandmother makes a mean pie if you’re interested.”
“I’m always interested in pie,” he said. “What kind?”
“Shoofly pie without the sugar bomb,” Jannie said. “She got the recipe from an Amish cookbook and altered it with maple syrup.”
“I would love some of that,” he said.
I led the way back to the kitchen, where Coach Johnson introduced himself to everyone and good-naturedly submitted to Nana Mama when she ordered him to sit down and have some pie and a cup of green tea.
“Jannie,” Johnson said after finishing his dessert, “I’m not going to lie to you. The food at the University of Oregon is not as good as you’re used to at home.”
My grandmother loved that.
“Unless you could convince Nana to move to Eugene with you,” he said. “Then the entire Ducks track team could benefit.”
That pleased Nana even more. “You’re scoring brownie points, Coach.”
“I was hoping so,” Coach Johnson said, and he winked at her. “Can I tell you all about our program?”
“Please,” Bree said.
Johnson said, “Since I took over as head track coach at the University of Oregon three years ago, we have won eight national championships: men’s indoor and outdoor track, women’s indoor and outdoor track, and women’s cross-country. Oregon has been honored as the national Men’s and Women’s Programs of the Year in each of the past two years. The women won it the year before that as well.”
Once Coach Johnson started his recruiting pitch, his attention rarely left Jannie, who was listening raptly.
“Twenty-eight Duck athletes have won NCAA individual championships under my watch,” Johnson went on. “Including Phyllis Francis.”
Jannie sat up straighter. “She set the American record in the indoor four-hundred.”
“She did,” Johnson said, and he paused to look around at us all. “And I think you can beat that record, Jannie.”
CHAPTER
92
JANNIE LOOKED AS stunned as I felt. The American record?
“I really do believe that,” Johnson said to me. “I’ve watched Jannie’s films. I’ve reviewed her training times, her program, and her progress with Coach McDonald. We both feel that record is within the range of possibility if she chooses and applies herself in the right program.”
“Your program,” my father said.
“There’s none better,” the coach replied. “Oregon’s track-and-field tradition is deep and wide. We have the finest facility in the country at Hayward Field. The weather is near perfect for year-round training. And we have the best coaches and trainers. Period.”
“What about the academics?” Bree asked.
“Amen,” Nana Mama said.
“The university offers two hundred and seventy different majors, from the sciences to engineering to education and the arts. Our program in sports marketing is ranked number one in the country. The Clark Honors College is the oldest of its kind in the country and attracts many gifted students such as yourself, Jannie.
“Academics and sports aside, the campus is stunningly beautiful. Eugene is one of the most vibrant places I’ve ever lived. And we offer all of our athletes tutors to make sure they stay eligible to compete and, most important, to graduate.”
“Are you offering my sister a scholarship?” Ali asked.
Coach Johnson laughed. “You don’t fool around, do you?”
Ali grinned and shook his head.
“Maybe you should go into sports marketing, young man,” Johnson said. “Be your sister’s agent someday.”
Ali smiled and said, “You didn’t answer the question.”
The coach laughed again, looked at me. “He’s a little tiger.”
“Every day,” I said.
Coach Johnson turned to Jannie. “You know how I first heard of you?”
My daughter shook her head.
“When you were on ESPN.”
Imitating the ESPN announcer, Ali said, “That girl ran so fast she broke her foot!”
The coach nodded. “That’s the one. How’s the foot doing?”
“Really good,” Jannie said.
“No pain?”
“Not for a long time.”
“You’re a lucky, lucky young lady,” Johnson said. “That injury could have been a career ender. But it wasn’t, and so, Jannie Cross, I am here to offer you a scholarship, a full ride—tuition, room, and board—at the University of Oregon in exchange for a signed national letter of intent to run for the Ducks.”
I don’t think Jannie expected that. I know I didn’t. She hadn’t even competed in her junior year of spring outdoor track. I’d figured if she ran well from now on, she might start getting real offers in the fall of her senior year.
“I’m thrilled, but do I have to answer right now, Coach?” she said, smiling and biting her lip.
“Of course not,” he said. “It would make my life easier if you did, but my life isn’t what’s at stake. Yours is. So I’m going to give you some advice, because I think you’re a rare talent whether or not you come to Eugene to run for me. Jannie, you are going to get multiple scholarship offers. You should visit every school that you’re interested in and really explore the people and the places and the track programs before you make a decision. I know Eugene is far from Washington, DC, but would you be interested in paying us a visit?”
Jannie looked relieved that she didn’t have to decide on the spot, glanced at me, and nodded. “I’d like that, Coach.”
“Excellent,” Johnson said. “When could you bring her out?” he asked me.
I glanced at Bree, who said, “Winter vacation?”
“Perfect,” he said. “Oh, and those plane tickets will be on the Ducks.”
“Can I come?” Ali asked.
“Absolutely not,” Jannie said.
Coach Johnson stayed a few more minutes, answering our questions, and charming Nana Mama no end.
“I’ll be back for more of that pie,” he told her as he was leaving.
“You’re always welcome, Coach Johnson.”
When the door shut, we were all grinning like fools. Bree kissed Jannie, who said, “Did that really just happen?”
“Best track program in the country,” I said, feeling my eyes water.
“Long way from home,” Nana Mama said in a way that made me realize she probably wouldn’t get to see Jannie run in person if she went to Oregon.
“It is a really long way,” Jannie said. “I don’t know about that.”
“You don’t have to know right now,” I said. “We’ll listen to everyone, and you’ll make the decision when you are ready. Okay?”
Jannie hugged me. “Thanks, Dad. I’m so glad you were here for that. It could have been different. You know?”
I closed my eyes, kissed the top of her head, and said, “I do, baby girl. I really do.”
CHAPTER
93
WHEN THE ELEVATOR door opened onto the second subbasement below the FBI’s Cyber Division, Keith Rawlins had the tunes cranked inside his lab. The thudding, infectious bass line of Flo Rida’s “My House” came right through the glass window and seemed to vibrate in my chest.
It was a few minutes past seven in the morning, and Rawlins had evidently been in the lab all night. But you wouldn’t have known it. The digital wizard was stripped to his denim shorts, covered in sweat, and bouncing up and down on a mini-trampoline while punching the air in time to the beat.
“I still can’t believe this guy works for us,” said Special Agent in Charge Mahoney, my old partner at the FBI, who had taken over the missing-blondes case for the Bureau.
“I suffer the indignity of it every day,” Special Agent Batra said.
“This could have waited a few hours,” Sampson said, and he yawned.
I said, “He was excited enough about it to call us at five a.m.”