Windmills of the Gods (16 page)

Otopeni Airport, twenty-five miles from the heart of Bucharest, is a modern airport, built to facilitate the flow of travelers from nearby iron curtain countries as well as to take care of the lesser number of Western tourists who visit Romania each year.

Inside the terminal were soldiers in brown uniforms armed with rifles and pistols, and there was a stark air of coldness about the building that had nothing to do with the frigid temperature. Tim and Beth moved unconsciously closer to Mary.
So they feel it too,
she thought.

Two men were approaching. One of them was a slim, athletic, American-looking man, and the other was older and dressed in an ill-fitting foreign-looking suit.

The American introduced himself. “Welcome to Romania, Madam Ambassador. I’m Jerry Davis, your public affairs consular. This is Tudor Costache, the Romanian chief of protocol.”

“It is a pleasure to have you and your children with us,”
Costache said. “Welcome to our country.”

In a way,
Mary thought,
it’s going to be my country too. “Mulţumesc, domnule,”
Mary said.

“You speak Romanian!” Costache cried.
“Cu plăcere!”

Mary hoped the man was not going to get carried away. “A few words,” she replied hastily,

Tim said,
“Bunădimineaţa.”

And Mary was so proud she could have burst.

She introduced Tim and Beth.

Jerry Davis said, “Your limousine is waiting for you, Madam Ambassador. Colonel McKinney is outside.”

Colonel McKinney. Colonel McKinney and Mike Slade.
She wondered whether Slade was here too, but she refused to ask.

There was a long line waiting to go through Customs, but Mary and the children were outside the building in a matter of minutes. There were reporters and photographers waiting again, but instead of the free-for-alls that Mary had encountered earlier, they were orderly and controlled. When they had finished, they thanked Mary and departed in a body.

Colonel McKinney, in army uniform, was waiting at the curb. He held out his hand. “Good morning, Madam Ambassador. Did you have a pleasant trip?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Mike Slade wanted to be here, but there was some important business he had to take care of.”

Mary wondered whether it was a redhead or a blonde.

A long, black limousine with an American flag on the right front fender pulled up. A cheerful-looking man in a chauffeur’s uniform held the door open.

“This is Florian.”

The chauffeur grinned, baring beautiful white teeth. “Welcome, Madam Ambassador. Master Tim. Miss Beth. It will be my pleasure to serve all of you.”

“Thank you,” Mary said.

“Florian will be at your disposal twenty-four hours a day. I thought we would go directly to the residence, so you can unpack and relax. Later, perhaps you would like to drive around the city a bit. In the morning, Florian will take you to the American embassy.”

“That sounds fine,” Mary said.

She wondered again where Mike Slade was.

The drive from the airport to the city was fascinating. They drove on a two-lane highway heavily traveled by trucks and automobiles, but every few miles the traffic would be held up by little gypsy carts plodding along the road. On both sides of the highway were modern factories next to ancient huts. The car passed farm after farm, with women working in the fields, colorful bandannas knotted around their heads.

They drove by Băneasa, Bucharest’s domestic airport. Just beyond it, off the main highway, was a low, blue and gray, two-story building with an ominous look about it.

“What is that?” Mary asked.

Florian grimaced. “The Ivan Stelian Prison. That is where they put anyone who disagrees with the Romanian government.”

During the drive, Colonel McKinney pointed to a red button near the door. “This is an emergency switch,” he explained. “If you’re ever in trouble—attacked by terrorists or whomever—just press this button. It activates a radio transmitter in the car that’s monitored at the embassy, and turns on a red light on the roof of the car. We’re able to triangulate your position within minutes.”

Mary said fervently, “I hope I’ll never have to use it.”

“I hope so too, Madam Ambassador.”

The center of Bucharest was beautiful. There were parks and monuments and fountains everywhere one looked. Mary remembered her grandfather saying, “Bucharest is a miniature
Paris, Mary. They even have a replica of the Eiffel Tower.” And there it was. She was in the homeland of her forefathers.

The streets were crowded with people and buses and streetcars. The limousine honked its way through the traffic, the pedestrians scurrying out of the way, as the car turned into a small, tree-lined street.

“The residence is just ahead,” the colonel said. “The street is named after a Russian general. Ironic, eh?”

The ambassador’s residence was a large and beautiful old-fashioned three-story house surrounded by acres of lovely grounds.

The staff was lined up outside the residence, awaiting the arrival of the new ambassador. When Mary stepped out of the car, Jerry Davis made the introductions.

“Madam Ambassador, your staff. Mihai, your butler; Sabina, your social secretary; Rosica, your housekeeper; Cosma, your chef; and Delia and Carmen, your maids.”

Mary moved down the line, receiving their bows and curtsies, thinking:
Oh, my God. What am I going to do with all of them? At home I had Lucinda come in three times a week to cook and clean.

“We are very honored to meet you, Madam Ambassador,” Sabina, the social secretary, said.

They all seemed to be staring at her, waiting for her to say something. She took a deep breath.
“Bună ziua. Mulţumesc. Nu vorbesc—”
Every bit of Romanian she had learned flew out of her head. She stared at them, helplessly.

Mihai, the butler, stepped forward and bowed. “We all speak English, ma’am. We welcome you and shall be most happy to serve your every need.”

Mary sighed with relief. “Thank you.”

There was iced champagne waiting inside the house, along with a table loaded with tempting-looking foods.

“That looks delicious!” Mary exclaimed. They were
watching her hungrily. She wondered whether she should offer them anything. Did one do that with servants? She did not want to start out by making a mistake.
“Did you hear what the new American ambassador did? She invited the servants to eat with her, and they were so shocked that they quit.”

“Did you hear what the new American ambassador did? She gorged herself in front of the starving servants and didn’t offer them a bite.”

“On second thought,” Mary said, “I’m not hungry right now. I’ll—I’ll have something later.”

“Let me show you around,” Jerry Davis said.

They followed him eagerly.

The residence was a lovely house. It was pleasant and charming, in an old-fashioned way. On the ground floor were an entry way, a library filled with books, a music room, a living room, and a large dining room, with a kitchen and pantry adjoining. All the rooms were comfortably furnished. A terrace ran the length of the building outside the dining room, facing a large park.

Toward the rear of the house was an indoor swimming pool with an attached sauna, and dressing rooms.

“We have our own swimming pool!” Tim exclaimed. “Can I go swimming?”

“Later, darling. Let’s get settled in first.”

The
pièce de résistance
downstairs was the ballroom, built near the garden. It was enormous. Glistening Baccarat sconces lined the walls, which were done in flocked paper.

Jerry Davis said, “This is where the embassy parties are given. Watch this.” He pressed a switch on the wall. There was a grinding noise and the ceiling began to split in the center, opening up until the sky became visible. “It can also be operated manually.”

“Hey, that’s neat!” Tim exclaimed.

“I’m afraid it’s called ‘the Ambassador’s Folly,’” Jerry
Davis said apologetically. “It’s too hot to keep open in the summer and too cold in the winter. We use it in April and September.”

“It’s still neat,” Tim insisted.

As the cold air started to descend, Jerry Davis pressed the switch again and the ceiling closed.

“Let me show you to your quarters upstairs.”

They followed Jerry Davis up the staircase to a large central hall with two bedrooms separated by a bathroom. Farther down the hallway were the master bedroom with a sitting room, a boudoir and a full bath, a smaller bedroom and bath, plus a sewing and utility room. There was a terrace on the roof, with its separate stairway.

Jerry Davis said, “The third floor has servants’ quarters, a laundry room, and a storage area. In the basement area is a wine cellar, and the servants’ dining and rest area.”

“It’s—it’s enormous,” Mary said.

The children were running from room to room.

“Which is my bedroom?” Beth asked.

“You and Tim can decide that between yourselves.”

“You can have this one,” Tim offered. “It’s frilly. Girls like frilly things.”

The master bedroom was lovely, with a queen-size bed with a goose-down comforter, two couches around a fireplace, an easy chair, a dressing table with an antique mirror, an armoire, a luxurious bathroom, and a wonderful view of the gardens.

Delia and Carmen had already unpacked Mary’s suitcases. On the bed was the diplomatic pouch that Ambassador Viner had asked her to bring to Romania.
I must take it to the embassy tomorrow morning,
Mary thought. She walked over to pick it up, and took a closer look at it. The red seals had been broken and clumsily taped together again.
When could it have happened?
she wondered.
At the airport? Here? And who did it?

Sabina came into the bedroom. “Is everything satisfactory, ma’am?”

“Yes. I’ve never had a social secretary,” Mary confessed. “I’m not sure exactly what it is you do.”

“It is my job to see that your life runs smoothly, Madam Ambassador. I keep track of your social engagements, dinners, luncheons, and so on. I also see that the house runs well. With so many servants, there are always problems.”

“Yes, of course,” Mary said, offhandedly.

“Is there anything I can do for you this afternoon?”

You can tell me about that broken seal,
Mary thought. Aloud, she said, “No, thank you. I think I’ll rest awhile.” She suddenly felt drained.

She lay awake most of that first night, filled with a deep, cold loneliness mingled with a growing feeling of excitement about starting her new job.

It’s up to me now, my darling. I don’t have anyone to lean on. I wish you were here with me, telling me not to be afraid, telling me I won’t fail. I mustn’t fail.

When she finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of Mike Slade saying:
“I hate amateurs. Why don’t you go home?”

The American embassy in Bucharest, at 21 Şoseaua Kiseleff, is a white semi-Gothic two-story building with an iron gate in front, patrolled by a uniformed officer with a gray coat and a red hat. A second guard sits inside a security booth at the side of the gate. There is a porte-cochere for cars to drive through, and rose marble steps leading up to the lobby.

Inside, the lobby is ornate. It has a marble floor, two closed circuit television sets at a desk guarded by a marine, and a fireplace with a firescreen on which is painted a dragon breathing smoke. The corridors are lined with portraits of Presidents. A winding staircase leads to the second floor,
where a conference room and offices are located.

A marine guard was waiting for Mary. “Good morning, Madam Ambassador,” he said. “I’m Sergeant Hughes. They call me Gunny.”

“Good morning, Gunny.”

“They’re waiting for you in your office. I’ll escort you there.”

“Thank you.”

She followed him upstairs to a reception room where a middle-aged woman sat behind a desk.

She rose. “Good morning, Madam Ambassador. I’m Dorothy Stone, your secretary.”

“How do you do?”

Dorothy said, “I’m afraid you have quite a crowd in there.”

She opened the office door, and Mary walked into the room. There were nine people seated around a large conference table. They rose as Mary entered. They were all staring at her, and Mary felt a wave of animosity that was almost palpable. The first person she saw was Mike Slade. She thought of the dream she had had.

“I see you got here safely,” Mike said. “Let me introduce you to your department heads. This is Lucas Janklow, administrative consular; Eddie Maltz, political consular; Patricia Hatfield, your economic consular; David Wallace, head of administration; Ted Thompson, agriculture. You’ve already met Jerry Davis, your public affairs consular, David Victor, commerce consular, and you already know Colonel Bill McKinney.”

“Please be seated,” Mary said. She moved to the seat at the head of the table and surveyed the group.
Hostility comes in all ages, sizes, and shapes,
Mary thought.

Patricia Hatfield had a fat body and an attractive face. Lucas Janklow, the youngest member of the team, looked and dressed Ivy League. The other men were older, gray-haired, bald, thin, fat.
It’s going to take time to sort them all out.

Mike Slade was saying, “All of us are serving at your discretion.
You can replace any of us at any time.”

That’s a lie,
Mary thought angrily.
I tried to replace you.

The meeting lasted fifteen minutes. There was general inconsequential conversation.

Mike Slade finally said, “Dorothy will set up individual meetings for all of you with the ambassador later in the day. Thank you.”

Mary resented his taking charge. When she and Slade were alone, Mary asked, “Which one of them is the CIA agent attached to the embassy?”

Mike looked at her a moment and said, “Why don’t you come with me?”

He walked out of the office. Mary hesitated a moment, and then went after him. She followed him down a long corridor, past a rabbit warren of offices. He came to a large door with a marine guard standing in front of it. The guard stepped aside as Mike pushed the door open. He turned and gestured for Mary to enter.