Windmills of the Gods (22 page)

“We found our spy,” Mike said dryly. He looked up. “Where did you have this heel put on?”

“I—I don’t know. I asked one of the maids to take care of it.”

“Wonderful,” he said sardonically. “In the future, we’d all appreciate it, Madam Ambassador, if you would let your secretary handle things like that.”

There was a cable for Mary.

“Senate Foreign Affairs Committee has agreed to Romanian loan you requested. Announcement to be made tomorrow. Congratulations. Stanton Rogers.”

Mike read the cable. “That’s good news. Negulesco will be tickled.”

Mary knew that Negulesco, the Romanian finance minister, was on shaky ground. This would make him a hero with Ionescu.

“They’re not announcing this until tomorrow,” Mary said. She sat there, deep in thought. “I want you to make an appointment for me with Negulesco this morning.”

“Do you want me to come along?”

“No. I’ll do this alone.”

Two hours later, Mary was seated in the office of the Romanian finance minister. He was beaming. “So you have good news for us, yes?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mary said regretfully. She watched his smile fade away.

“What? I understood that the loan was—how do you say?—‘in the bag’?”

Mary sighed. “So did I, Minister.”

“What happened? What went wrong?” His face was suddenly gray.

Mary shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I promised our President—” He stopped as the full implication of the news hit him. He looked at Mary and said in
a hoarse voice, “President Ionescu is not going to like this. Is there
nothing
you can do?”

Mary said earnestly, “I’m as disappointed as you, Minister. The vote was going well until one of the senators learned that a Romanian church group that wanted to visit Utah was refused a visa. The senator is a Mormon, and he was very upset.”

“A
church group
?” Negulesco’s voice had risen an octave. “You mean the loan was voted down because of a—?”

“That’s my understanding.”

“But Madam Ambassador, Romania is
for
the churches. They have a great freedom here!” He was almost babbling now. “We
love
the churches.”

Negulesco moved over to the chair next to Mary. “Madam Ambassador—if I could arrange for this group to visit your country, do you think the Senate Finance Committee would approve the loan?”

Mary looked him in the eye and said, “Minister Negulesco—I can guarantee it. But I would have to know by this afternoon.”

Mary sat at her desk, waiting for the phone call, and at two-thirty Negulesco called.

“Madam Ambassador—I have wonderful news! The church group is free to leave at any time. Now, do you have some good news for me?”

Mary waited one hour and then called him back. “I just received a cable from our State Department. Your loan has been granted.”

Mary had been unable to get Dr. Louis Desforges out of her mind. He had saved her life, and then disappeared. She was glad she had found him again. On an impulse, Mary went to the American Dollar Shop and bought a beautiful silver bowl for the doctor and had it sent to the French embassy. It was a small enough gesture after what he had done.

That afternoon, Dorothy Stone said, “There’s a Dr. Desforges on the phone. Do you wish to speak to him?”

Mary smiled. “Yes.” She picked up the telephone. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Madam Ambassador.” The phrase sounded delightful in his French accent. “I called to thank you for your thoughtful gift. I assure you that it was unnecessary. I was delighted that I was able to be of some service.”

“It was more than just some service,” Mary told him. “I wish there were some way I could really show my appreciation.”

There was a pause. “Would you—” He stopped.

“Yes?” Mary prompted.

“Nothing, really.” He sounded suddenly shy.

“Please.”

“Very well.” There was a nervous laugh. “I was wondering if you might care to have dinner with me one evening—but I know how busy you must be and—”

“I would love to,” Mary said quickly.

“Really?”

She could hear the pleasure in his voice. “Really.”

“Do you know the Taru restaurant?”

Mary had been there twice. “No.”

“Ah, splendid. Then I shall have the pleasure of showing it to you. You probably won’t be free Saturday night—?”

“I have to go to a cocktail party at six o’clock, but we could have dinner after that.”

“Wonderful. I understand you have two small children. Would you care to bring them?”

“Thank you, but they’re busy Saturday night.”

She wondered why she had lied.

The cocktail party was at the Swiss embassy. It was obviously one of the “A” embassies, because President Alexandros Ionescu was there.

When he saw Mary, he walked over to her. “Good evening, Madam Ambassador.” He took her hand and held it longer than necessary. “I want to tell you how pleased I am that your country has agreed to make us the loan we asked for.”

“And we’re very pleased that you allowed the church group to visit the United States, Your Excellency.”

He waved a hand carelessly. “Romanians are not prisoners. Anyone is free to come and go as he pleases. My country is a symbol of social justice and democratic freedom.”

Mary thought of the long lines of people waiting to buy scarce food, and the mob at the airport, and the refugees desperate to leave.

“All power in Romania belongs to the people.”

There are gulags in Romania that we’re not allowed to see.

Mary said, “With all respect, Mr. President, there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Jews who are trying to leave Romania. Your government will not give them visas.”

He scowled. “Dissidents. Troublemakers. We are doing the world a favor by keeping them here where we can watch them.”

“Mr. President—”

“We have a more lenient policy toward the Jews than any other iron curtain country. In 1967 during the Arab-Israeli war, the Soviet Union and every Eastern-Bloc country except Romania broke off diplomatic relations with Israel.”

“I’m aware of that, Mr. President, but the fact remains that there are still—”

“Have you tasted the caviar? It is fresh beluga.”

Dr. Louis Desforges had offered to pick Mary up, but she had arranged for Florian to drive her to the Taru restaurant. She telephoned ahead to inform Dr. Desforges that she would be a few minutes late. She had to return to the embassy to file a report on her conversation with President Ionescu.

Gunny was on duty. The marine saluted her and unlocked the door. Mary walked into her office and turned on the light. She stood in the doorway, frozen. On the wall, someone had sprayed in red paint,
GO HOME BEFORE YOU DIE
. She backed out of the room, white-faced, and ran down the hall to the reception desk.

Gunny stood at attention. “Yes, Madam Ambassador?”

“Gunny—Wh-who’s been in my office?” Mary demanded.

“Why, no one that I know of, ma’am.”

“Let me see your roster sheet.” She tried to keep her voice from quavering.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Gunny pulled out the visitors’ access sheet and handed it
to her. Each name had the time of entry listed after it. She started at five-thirty, the time she had left the office, and scanned the list. There were a dozen names.

Mary looked up at the marine guard. “The people on this list—were they all escorted to the offices they visited?”

“Always, Madam Ambassador. No one goes up to the second floor without an escort. Is something wrong?”

Something was very wrong.

Mary said, “Please send someone to my office to paint out that obscenity on the wall.”

She turned and hurried outside, afraid she was going to be sick. The cable could wait until morning.

Dr. Louis Desforges was waiting for Mary when she arrived at the restaurant. He stood up as she approached the table.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Mary tried to sound normal.

He pulled out her chair. “That’s perfectly all right. I received your message. You were very kind to join me.”

She wished now that she had not agreed to have dinner with him. She was too nervous and upset. She pressed her hands together to keep them from trembling.

He was observing her. “Are you all right, Madam Ambassador?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Go home before you die.
“I think I’d like a straight Scotch, please.” She hated Scotch, but she hoped it would relax her.

The doctor ordered drinks, then said, “It can’t be easy being an ambassador—especially a woman in this country. Romanians are male chauvinists, you know.”

Mary forced a smile. “Tell me about yourself.” Anything to take her mind off the threat.

“I am afraid there is not much to tell that is exciting.”

“You mentioned that you fought in the underground in Algeria. That sounds exciting.”

He shrugged. “We live in terrible times. I believe that every
man must risk something so that in the end he does not have to risk everything. The terrorist situation is literally that—
terrifying.
We must put an end to it.” His voice was filled with passion.

He’s like Edward,
Mary thought.
Edward was always passionate about his beliefs.
Dr. Desforges was a man who could not be easily swayed. He was willing to risk his life for what he believed in.

He was saying, “…if I had known that the price of my fighting would be the lives of my wife and children—” He stopped. His knuckles were white against the table. “Forgive me. I did not bring you here to talk about my troubles. Let me recommend the lamb. They do it very well here.”

“Fine,” Mary said.

He ordered dinner and a bottle of wine, and they talked. Mary began to relax, to forget the frightening warning painted in red. She was finding it surprisingly easy to talk to this attractive Frenchman. In an odd way, it was like talking to Edward. It was amazing how she and Louis shared so many of the same beliefs and felt the same way about so many things. Louis Desforges was bora in a small town in France, and Mary was born in a small town in Kansas, five thousand miles apart, and yet their backgrounds were so similar. His father had been a farmer and had scrimped and saved to send Louis to a medical school in Paris.

“My father was a wonderful man, Madam Ambassador.”

“Madam Ambassador sounds so formal.”

“Mrs. Ashley?”

“Mary.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome, Louis.”

Mary wondered what his personal life was like. He was handsome and intelligent. He could surely have all the women he wanted. She wondered if he were living with anyone.

“Have you thought of getting married again?” She could not believe she had asked him that.

He shook his head. “No. If you had known my wife, you would understand. She was a remarkable woman. No one could ever replace her.”

That’s how I feel about Edward,
Mary thought.
No one can ever replace him.
He was so special. And yet everyone needed companionship. It was not really a question of replacing a beloved one. It was finding someone new to share things with.

Louis was saying, “…so when I was offered the opportunity, I thought it would be interesting to visit Romania.” He lowered his voice. “I confess I feel an evilness about this country.”

“Really?”

“Not the people. They are lovely. The government is everything I despise. There is no freedom here for anyone. The Romanians are virtual slaves. If they want to have decent food and a few luxuries, they are forced to work for the Securitate. Foreigners are constantly spied upon.” He glanced around to make sure no one could overhear. “I shall be glad when my tour of duty is over and I can return to France.”

Without thinking, Mary heard herself saying, “There are some people who think / should go home.”

“I beg your pardon?”

And suddenly Mary found herself pouring out the story of what had happened in her office. She told him about the paint scrawl on her office wall.

“But that is horrible!” Louis exclaimed. “You have no idea who did this?”

“No.”

Louis said, “May I make an impertinent confession? Since I found out who you were, I have been asking questions. Everyone who knows you is very impressed with you.”

She was listening to him with intense interest.

“It seems that you have brought here an image of America that is beautiful and intelligent and warm. If you believe in what you are doing, then you must fight for it. You must
stay. Do not let anyone frighten you away.”

It was exactly what Edward would have said.

Mary lay in bed, unable to sleep, thinking about what Louis had told her.
He was willing to die for what he believed in. Am I? I don’t want to die,
Mary thought.
But no one is going to kill me. And no one is going to scare me.

She lay awake in the dark. Scared.

The following morning, Mike Slade brought in two cups of coffee. He nodded at the wall where it had been cleaned.

“I hear someone has been spraying graffiti on your walls.”

“Have they found out who did it?”

Mike took a sip of coffee. “No. I went through the visitors’ list myself. Everyone is accounted for.”

“That means it must have been someone here in the embassy.”

“Either that, or someone managed to sneak in past the guards.”

“Do you believe that?”

Mike put down his coffee cup. “Nope.”

“Neither do I.”

“What exactly did it say?”

“ ‘Go home before you die.’ ”

He made no comment.

“Who would want to kill me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mr. Slade, I would appreciate a straight answer. Do you think I’m in any real danger?”

He studied her thoughtfully. “Madam Ambassador, they assassinated Abraham Lincoln, John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Marin Groza. We’re all vulnerable. The answer to your question is yes.”

If you believe in what you’re doing, then you must fight for it. You must stay. Do not let anyone frighten you away.

At eight forty-five the following morning, as Mary was in the middle of a conference, Dorothy Stone came rushing into the office and said, “The children have been kidnapped!”

Mary jumped to her feet. “Oh, my God!”

“The limousine alarm just went off. They’re tracking the car now. They won’t get away.”

Mary raced down the corridor to the communications room. There were half a dozen men standing around a switchboard. Colonel McKinney was talking into a microphone.

“Roger,” he said. “I have that. I’ll inform the ambassador.”

“What’s happening?” Mary croaked. She could barely get the words out. “Where are my children?”

The colonel said, reassuringly, “They’re fine, ma’am. One of them touched the emergency switch in the limousine by accident. The emergency light on top of the limousine flashed on, along with an SOS shortwave signal, and before the driver had gone two blocks, four police cars closed in on them with sirens screaming.”

Mary sagged against the wall with relief. She had not realized how much tension she had been under.
It’s easy to understand,
she thought,
why foreigners living here finally turn to drugs or drink…or love affairs.

Mary stayed with the children that evening. She wanted to be as close to them as possible. Looking at them, she wondered:
Are they in danger? Are we all in danger? Who would want to harm us?
She had no answer.

Three nights later Mary had dinner again with Dr. Louis Desforges. He seemed more relaxed with her this time, and although the core of sadness she sensed within him was still there, he took pains to be attentive and amusing. Mary wondered if he felt the same attraction toward her that she felt toward him.
It wasn’t just a silver bowl I sent him,
she admitted to herself,
it was an invitation.

Madam Ambassador is so formal. Call me Mary.
My God, was she actually pursuing him? And yet:
I owe him a lot—possibly my life. I’m rationalizing,
Mary thought.
That has nothing to do with why I wanted to see him again.

They had an early dinner in the dining room on the roof of the Intercontinental Hotel, and when Louis took Mary back to the residence, she asked, “Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you,” he said. “I would.”

The children were downstairs doing their homework. Mary introduced them to Louis.

He bent down before Beth and said, “May I?” And he put his arms around her and hugged her. He straightened up. “One of my little girls was three years younger than you. The other one was about your age. I’d like to think they would have grown up to be as pretty as you are, Beth.”

Beth smiled. “Thank you. Where are—?”

Mary asked hastily, “Would you all like some hot chocolate?”

They sat in the huge kitchen drinking the hot chocolate and talking.

The children were enchanted with Louis, and Mary thought she had never seen a man with so much hunger in his eyes. He had forgotten about her. He was focused entirely on the children, telling them stories about his daughters and anecdotes and jokes until he had them roaring with laughter.

It was almost midnight when Mary looked at her watch. “Oh, no! You children should have been in bed hours ago. Scoot.”

Tim went over to Louis. “Will you come see us again?”

“I hope so, Tim. It’s up to your mother.”

Tim turned to Mary. “Well, Mom?”

She looked at Louis and said, “Yes.”

Mary saw Louis to the door. He took her hand in his. “I won’t try to tell you what this evening has meant to me, Mary. There are no words.”

“I’m glad.” She was looking into his eyes, and she felt him moving toward her. She raised her lips.

“Good night, Mary.”

And he was gone.

The following morning when Mary walked into her office, she noticed that another side of the wall had been freshly painted. Mike Slade walked in with two cups of coffee.

“Morning.” He set a cup on her desk.

“Someone wrote on the wall again?”

“Yes,”

“What did it say this time?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter!” she said furiously. “It matters to
me.
What kind of security does this embassy have? I won’t have people sneaking into my office and making threats against my life. What did it say?”

“You want it verbatim?”

“Yes.”

“It said, ‘Leave now or die.’ ”

Mary sank back into her chair, enraged. “Will you explain to me how someone is able to walk into this embassy, unseen, and write messages on my wall?”

“I wish I could,” Mike said. “We’re doing everything we can to track it down.”

“Well, ‘everything you can’ is obviously not enough,” she retorted. “I want a marine guard posted outside my door at night. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Madam Ambassador. I’ll pass the word to Colonel McKinney.”

“Never mind. I’ll talk to him myself.”

Mary watched as Mike Slade left her office, and she suddenly wondered if he knew who was behind it.

And she wondered if it could be Mike Slade.

Colonel McKinney was apologetic. “Believe me, Madam Ambassador, I’m just as upset about this as you are. I’ll double the guard in the corridor and see that there’s a twenty-four-hour watch outside your office door.”

Mary was not mollified. Someone inside the embassy was responsible for what was happening.

Colonel McKinney was inside the embassy.

Mary invited Louis Desforges to a small dinner party at the residence. There were a dozen other guests, and at the end of the evening when the others had departed, Louis said, “Do you mind if I go up and see the children?”

“I’m afraid they’re sleeping by now, Louis.”

“I won’t awaken them,” he promised. “I would just like to look at them.”

Mary walked upstairs with him and watched as he stood in the doorway, silently staring at Tim’s sleeping figure.

After a while, Mary whispered, “Beth’s room is this way.”

Mary led him to another bedroom down the hall and opened the door. Beth was curled up around the pillow, the bed covers twisted around her. Louis walked quietly to the bed and gently straightened out the bedclothes. He stood there for a long moment, his eyes tightly closed. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

“They’re beautiful children,” Louis said. His voice was husky.

They stood there, facing each other, and the air between them was charged. He was naked in his need.

It’s going to happen,
Mary thought.
Neither of us can stop it.

And their arms were tightly around each other, and his lips were pressed hard against hers.

He pulled away. “I shouldn’t have come. You realize what I’m doing, don’t you? I’m reliving my past.” He was quiet for a moment. “Or perhaps it is my future. Who knows?”

Mary said softly, “
I
know.”

David Victor, the commerce consular, hurried into Mary’s office. “I’m afraid I have some very bad news. I just got a tip that President Ionescu is going to approve a contract with Argentina for a million and a half tons of corn and with Brazil for half a million tons of soybeans. We were counting heavily on those deals.”

“How far have the negotiations gone?”

“They’re almost concluded. We’ve been shut out. I was about to send a cable to Washington—with your approval, of course,” he added hastily.

“Hold off a bit,” Mary said. “I want to think about it.”

“You won’t get President Ionescu to change his mind. Believe me, I’ve tried every argument I could think of.”

“Then we have nothing to lose if I give it a try.” She buzzed her secretary. “Dorothy, set up an appointment with President Ionescu as quickly as possible.”

Alexandras Ionescu invited Mary to the palace for lunch. As she entered she was greeted by Nicu, the President’s fourteen-year-old son.

“Good afternoon, Madam Ambassador,” he said. “I am Nicu. Welcome to the palace.”

“Thank you.”

He was a handsome boy, tall for his age, with beautiful black eyes and a flawless complexion. He had the bearing of an adult.

“I have heard very nice things about you,” Nicu said.

“I’m pleased to hear that, Nicu.”

“I will tell my father you have arrived.”

Mary and Ionescu sat across from each other in the formal dining room, just the two of them. Mary wondered where his wife was. She seldom appeared, even at formal functions.

The President had been drinking and was in a mellow mood. He lighted a Snogov, the vile-smelling Romanian-made cigarette.

“I understand you have been doing some sight-seeing with your children.”

“Yes, Your Excellency. Romania is such a beautiful country, and there is so much to see.”

He gave her what he thought was a seductive smile. “One of these days you must let me show you my country.” His smile became a parody of a leer. “I am an excellent guide. I could show you many interesting things.”

“I’m sure you could,” Mary said. “Mr. President, I was eager to meet with you today because there is something important I would like to discuss with you.”

Ionescu almost laughed aloud. He knew exactly why she had come.
The Americans wish to sell me corn and soybeans, but they are too late.
The American ambassador would go away empty-handed this time. Too bad. Such an attractive woman.

“Yes?” he said innocently.

“I want to talk to you about sister cities.”

Ionescu blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sister cities. You know—like San Francisco and Osaka, Los Angeles and Bombay, Washington and Bangkok…”

“I—I don’t understand. What does that have to do with—?”

“Mr. President, it occurred to me that you could get headlines all over the world if you made Bucharest a sister city of some American city. Think of the excitement it would create. It would get almost as much attention as President Ellison’s people-to-people plan. It would be an important step toward world peace. Talk about a bridge between our countries! I wouldn’t be surprised if it got you a Nobel Peace Prize.”

Ionescu sat there, trying to reorient his thinking. He said cautiously, “A sister city with the United States? It is an interesting idea. What would it involve?”

“Mostly wonderful publicity for you. You would be a hero. It would be your idea. You would pay the city a visit. A delegation from Kansas City would pay
you
a visit.”

“Kansas City?”

“That’s just a suggestion, of course. I don’t think you’d want a big city like New York or Chicago—too commercial. And Los Angeles is already spoken for. Kansas City is Middle America. There are farmers there, like your farmers. People with down-to-earth values, like your people. It would be the act of a great statesman, Mr. President. Your name would be on everyone’s lips. No one in Europe has thought of doing this.”

He sat there silent. “I—I would naturally have to give this a great deal of thought.”

“Naturally.”

“Kansas City, Kansas, and Bucharest, Romania.” He nodded. “We are a much larger city, of course.”

“Of course. Bucharest would be the big sister.”

“I must admit it is a very intriguing idea.”

In fact the more Ionescu thought about it, the more he liked it.
My name will be on everyone’s lips. And it will serve to keep the Soviet bear hug from becoming too tight.

“Is there any chance of a rejection from the American side?” Ionescu asked.

“Absolutely none. I can guarantee it.”

He sat there, reflecting. “When would this go into effect?”

“Just as soon as you’re ready to announce it. I’ll handle our end. You’re already a great statesman, Mr. President, but this would make you even greater.”

Ionescu thought of something else. “We could set up a trade exchange with our sister city. Romania has many things to sell. Tell me—what crops does Kansas grow?”

“Among other things,” Mary said innocently, “corn and soybeans.”

“You really made the deal? You actually fooled him?” David Victor asked incredulously.

“Not for a minute,” Mary assured him. “Ionescu is too smart for that. He knew what I was after. He just liked the package I wrapped it in. You can go in and close the deal. Ionescu’s already rehearsing his television speech.”

When Stanton Rogers heard the news, he telephoned Mary. “You’re a miracle worker,” he laughed. “We thought we’d lost that deal. How in the world did you do it?”

“Ego,” Mary said. “His.”

“The President asked me to tell you what a really great job you’re doing over there, Mary.”

“Thank him for me, Stan.”

“I will. By the way, the President and I are leaving for China in a few weeks. If you need me, you can get in touch with me through my office.”

“Have a wonderful trip.”

Over the swiftly moving weeks the dancing March winds had given way to spring and then summer, and winter clothes were replaced by light cool outfits. Trees and flowers blossomed everywhere, and the parks were greening. June was almost over.

In Buenos Aires, it was winter. When Neusa Munez returned to her apartment, it was the middle of the night. The telephone was ringing. She picked it up.
“¿Si?”

“Miss Munez?” It was the gringo from the United States.

“Yeah.”

“May I speak with Angel?”

“Angel no here,
señor.
Wha’ you wan’?”

The Controller found his irritation mounting.
What kind of man would be involved with a woman like this?
From the description Harry Lantz had given him before he was murdered, she was not only dim-witted, she was very unattractive. “I want you to give Angel a message for me.”

“Jus’ a minute.”

He heard the phone drop, and waited.

Her voice finally came back on. “Okay.”

“Tell Angel I need him for a contract in Bucharest.”

“Budapes’?”

Jesus!
She was beyond anyone’s endurance. “Bucharest, Romania. Tell him it’s a five-million-dollar contract. He has to be in Bucharest by the end of this month. That’s three weeks from now. Do you have that?”

“Wait a minute. I’m writin’.”

He waited patiently.

“Okay. How many people Angel gotta kill for five million dollars?”