Windmills of the Gods (10 page)

This one’s even more beautiful than the others,
the guard thought. She did not look like a prostitute. She could have been a movie actress or a model. She was in her early twenties, with long blond hair and a clear, milky complexion. She wore a designer dress.

Lev Pasternak came to the gate himself to conduct her to the house. The girl, Bisera, was a Yugoslavian, and it was her first trip to France. The sight of all the armed security guards made her nervous.
I wonder what I’ve gotten into?
All Bisera knew was that her pimp had handed her a roundtrip plane ticket and told her she would be paid two thousand dollars for an hour’s work.

Lev Pasternak knocked at a bedroom door and Groza’s voice called out, “Come in.”

Pasternak opened the door and ushered the girl inside. Marin Groza was standing at the foot of the bed. He had on a robe, and she could tell he was naked under it.

Lev Pasternak said, “This is Bisera.” He did not mention Marin Groza’s name.

“Good evening, my dear. Come in.”

Pasternak left, carefully closing the door behind him, and Marin Groza was alone with the girl.

She moved toward him and smiled seductively. “You look comfortable. Why don’t I get undressed and we can both be comfortable?” She started to get out of her dress.

“No. Keep your clothes on, please.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you want me to—?”

Groza walked over to the closet and selected a whip. “I want you to use this.”

So that was it. A slave fetish. Strange. He did not look the type.
You never know,
Bisera thought. “Sure, honey. Whatever turns you on.”

Marin Groza took off his robe and turned around. Bisera was shocked by the sight of his scarred body. It was covered with cruel welts. There was something in his expression that puzzled her, and when she realized what it was, she was even more perplexed. It was anguish. The man was in an enormous amount of pain. Why did he want to be whipped? She watched him as he walked over to a stool and sat on it.

“Hard,” he commanded. “Whip me very hard.”

“All right.” Bisera picked up the long leather whip. Sadomasochism was not new to her, but there was something different here that she did not understand.
Well, it’s none of my business,
Bisera thought.
Take the money and run.

She raised the whip and cracked it down against his naked back.

“Harder,” he urged. “Harder.”

He flinched with pain as the tough leather beat against his skin. Once…and twice…and again…and again, harder and harder. The vision he had been waiting for came to him then. Scenes of his wife and his daughter being raped seared through his brain. It was a gang rape, and the laughing soldiers went from the woman to the child, their pants
pulled down, waiting in line for their turn. Marin Groza strained against the stool as though bound to it. As the whip fell again and again he could hear the screams of his wife and daughter begging for mercy, choking on the men’s penises in their mouths, being raped and sodomized at the same time, until the blood started pouring out and their cries finally trailed off.

And Marin Groza groaned, “Harder!” And with each crack of the whip he felt the sharp blade of the knife tearing into his genitals, castrating him. He was having difficulty breathing. “Get—get—” His voice was a croak. His lungs felt paralyzed.

The girl stopped, holding the whip in midair. “Hey! Are you all right? I—?”

She watched as he toppled to the floor, his eyes open, staring at nothing.

Bisera screamed,
“Help! Help!”

Lev Pasternak came running in, gun in hand. He saw the figure on the floor. “What happened?”

Bisera was hysterical. “He’s dead. He’s dead! I didn’t do anything. I just whipped him like he told me to. I swear!”

The doctor, who lived in the villa, came into the room within seconds. He looked at Marin Groza’s body, and bent down to examine him. The skin had turned blue and the muscles were rigid.

He picked up the whip and smelled it.

“What?”

“Damn! Curare. It’s an extract from a South American plant. The Incas used it on darts to kill their enemies. Within three minutes the entire nervous system is paralyzed.”

The two men stood there, staring helplessly at their dead leader.

The news of Marin Groza’s assassination was carried all over the world by satellite. Lev Pasternak was able to keep the sordid details away from the press. In Washington, D.C.,
the President had a meeting with Stanton Rogers.

“Who do you think’s behind it, Stan?”

“Either the Russians or Ionescu. In the end it comes to the same thing, doesn’t it? They didn’t want the status quo disturbed.”

“So we’ll be dealing with Ionescu. Very well. Let’s push the Mary Ashley appointment through as quickly as possible.”

“She’s on her way here, Paul. No problem.”

“Good.”

On hearing the news, Angel smiled.
It happened sooner than I thought.

At ten
P.M.
the private phone rang and the Controller picked it up. “Hello.”

He heard the sound of Neusa Muñez’s guttural voice. “Angel saw this mornin’s paper. He say to deposit the money in his bank account.”

“Inform him that it will be taken care of immediately. And Miss Muñez, tell Angel how pleased I am. Also tell him that I may need him again very soon. Do you have a telephone number where I can reach you?”

There was a long pause, then: “I guess so.” She gave it to him.

“Fine. If Angel—”

The line went dead.

Damn the stupid hitch.

The money was deposited in the account in Zurich that morning, and one hour after it was received it was transferred to a Saudi Arabian bank in Geneva.
A person can’t he too careful these days,
Angel thought.
The goddamned bankers will cheat you every chance they get.

It was more than packing up a household. It was packing up a life. It was bidding farewell to thirteen years of dreams, memories, love. It was saying a final good-bye to Edward. This had been their home, and now it would become merely a house again, occupied by strangers with no awareness of the joys and sorrows and tears and laughter that had happened within these walls.

Douglas and Florence Schiffer were delighted that Mary had decided to accept the post.

“You’ll be fantastic,” Florence assured Mary. “Doug and I will miss you and the kids.”

“Promise that you’ll come to Romania to visit us.”

“Promise.”

Mary was overwhelmed by the practical details that had to be taken care of, a multitude of unfamiliar responsibilities. She made a list:

Call the storage company to pick up personal things that we’re leaving.

Cancel milkman.

Cancel newspaper.

Give postman new mailing address.

Sign lease on house.

Arrange for insurance.

Change over utilities.

Pay all bills.

Don’t Panic!

An indefinite leave of absence from the university had been arranged with Dean Hunter.

“I’ll have someone take over your undergraduate classes. That’s no problem. But your seminar students are certainly going to miss you.” He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll do us all proud, Mrs. Ashley. Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Mary withdrew the children from their school. There were travel arrangements to be made and airline tickets to be bought. In the past, Mary had taken all the financial transactions for granted because Edward had been there to handle them. Now there was no Edward, except in her mind and in her heart, where he would always be.

Mary was worried about Beth and Tim. In the beginning, they had been enthusiastic about living in a foreign country, but now that they were face-to-face with the reality, they were filled with apprehension. They each came to Mary separately.

“Mother,” Beth said, “I can’t just leave all my friends. I
may never see Virgil again. Maybe I could stay here until the end of the semester.”

Tim said, “I just got into Little League. If I go away, they’ll find another third baseman. Maybe we can go after next summer, when the season’s over. Please, Mom!”

They’re frightened. Like their mother.
Stanton Rogers had been so convincing. But alone with her fears in the middle of the night, Mary thought:
I don’t know anything about being an ambassador. I’m a Kansas housewife pretending to be some kind of statesman. Everyone’s going to know I’m a fraud. I was insane ever to agree to this.

Finally, miraculously, everything was ready. The house had been rented on a long lease to a family that had just moved to Junction City.

It was time to leave.

“Doug and I will drive you to the airport,” Florence insisted.

The airport where they would catch the six-passenger commuter plane to Kansas City, Missouri, was located in Manhattan, Kansas. In Kansas City, they would transfer to a larger plane to Washington, D.C.

“Just give me a minute,” Mary said. She walked upstairs to the bedroom she and Edward had shared for so many wonderful years. She stood there, taking a long last look.

I’m leaving now, my dearest. I just wanted to say good-bye. I think I’m doing what you would have liked me to do. I hope I am. The only thing that really bothers me is that I have a feeling we may never come back here. I feel as though I’m deserting you. But you’ll be with me wherever I go. I need you now more than I’ve ever needed you. Stay with me. Help me. I love you so much. Sometimes I don’t think I can stand it without you. Can you hear me, darling? Are you there…?

Douglas Schiffer saw to it that their baggage was checked onto the little commuter plane. When Mary saw the plane sitting on the tarmac, she froze in her tracks. “Oh, my God!”

“What’s the matter?” Florence asked.

“I—I’ve been so busy, I forgot all about it.”

“About what?”

“Flying! Florence, I’ve never been up in a plane in my life! I can’t go up in that little thing!”

“Mary—the odds are a million to one against anything happening.”

“I don’t like the odds,” Mary said flatly. “We’ll take the train.”

“You can’t. They’re expecting you in Washington this afternoon.”

“Alive.
I’m not going to be any good to them
dead.”

It took the Schiffers fifteen minutes to persuade Mary to board the plane. Half an hour later, she and the children were strapped aboard Air Midwest flight number 826. As the motors revved up and the plane began racing down the runway, Mary closed her eyes and gripped the arms of her seat. Seconds later, they were airborne.

“Mama—”

“Sh! Don’t talk!”

She sat rigid, refusing to look out the window, concentrating on keeping the plane in the air. The children were pointing out the sights below, having a wonderful time.

Children,
Mary thought bitterly.
What do they know!

At the Kansas City airport they changed to a DC-10 and took off for Washington, D.C. Beth and Tim were seated together and Mary was across the aisle from them. An elderly lady sat next to Mary.

“To tell you the truth, I’m a little nervous,” Mary’s seatmate confessed. “I’ve never flown before.”

Mary patted her hand and smiled. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. The odds are a million to one against anything happening.”

When their plane landed at Washington’s Dulles Airport, Mary and the children were met by a young man from the State Department.

“Welcome to Washington, Mrs. Ashley. My name is John Burns. Mr. Rogers asked me to meet you and see that you get to your hotel safely. I’ve checked you in at the Riverdale Towers. I think you’ll all be comfortable there.”

“Thank you.”

Mary introduced Beth and Tim.

“If you’ll give me your baggage-claim checks, Mrs. Ashley, I’ll see that everything is taken care of.”

Twenty minutes later they were all seated in a chauffeurdriven limousine, heading toward the center of Washington.

Tim was staring out the car window, awed. “Look!” he exclaimed, “there’s the Lincoln Memorial!”

Beth was looking out the other window. “There’s the Washington Monument!”

Mary looked at John Burns in embarrassment. “I’m afraid the children aren’t very sophisticated,” she apologized. “You see, they’ve never been away from—” She glanced out the window and her eyes widened. “Oh, my goodness!” she cried. “Look! It’s the White House!”

The limousine moved up Pennsylvania Avenue, surrounded by some of the most stirring landmarks in the world. Mary thought excitedly:
This is the city that rules the world. This is where the power is. And in a small way I’m going to be a part of it.

As the limousine approached the hotel, Mary asked, “When will I see Mr. Rogers?”

“He’ll be in touch with you in the morning.”

Pete Connors, head of KUDESK, the counterintelligence section of the CIA, was working late, and his day was far from over. Every morning at three
A.M.
a team reported to prepare the President’s daily intelligence checklist, collected from overnight cables. The report, code-named “Pickles,” had to be ready by six
A.M.
so that it could be on the President’s desk at the start of his day. An armed courier carried the list to the White House, entering at the west gate. Pete Connors had a renewed interest in the intercepted-cable traffic coming from behind the iron curtain, because much of it concerned the appointment of Mary Ashley as the American ambassador to Romania.

The Soviet Union was worried that President Ellison’s plan was a ploy to penetrate their satellite countries, to spy on them or seduce them.

The Commies aren’t as worried as I am,
Pete Connors thought grimly.
If the President’s idea works, this whole country is going to be open house for their fucking spies.

Pete Connors had been informed the moment Mary Ashley landed in Washington. He had seen photographs of her and the children.
She’s going to be perfect,
Connors thought happily.

The Riverdale Towers, one block away from the Watergate complex, is a small family hotel with comfortable, nicely decorated suites.

A bellman brought up the luggage, and as Mary started unpacking, the telephone rang. Mary picked it up. “Hello.”

A masculine voice said, “Mrs. Ashley?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Ben Cohn. I’m a reporter with
The Washington Post.
I wonder if we could talk for a few minutes.”

Mary hesitated. “We just checked in and I’m—”

“It will only take five minutes. I really just wanted to say hello.”

“Well, I—I suppose—”

“I’m on my way up.”

Ben Cohn was short and stocky, with a muscular body and the battered face of a prizefighter.
He looks like a sports reporter,
Mary thought.

He sat in an easy chair across from Mary. “Your first time in Washington, Mrs. Ashley?” Ben Cohn asked.

“Yes.” She noticed that he had no notebook or tape recorder.

“I won’t ask you the dumb question.”

She frowned. “What’s ‘the dumb question’?”

“How do you like Washington? Whenever a celebrity steps off an airplane somewhere, the first thing they’re asked is, How do you like this place?”

Mary laughed. “I’m not a celebrity, but I think I’m going to like Washington a lot.”

“You were a professor at Kansas State University?”

“Yes. I taught a course called Eastern Europe: Today’s Politics.”

“I understand that the President first learned about you
when he read a book of yours on Eastern Europe and several of your magazine articles.”

“Yes.”

“And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“I suppose it
is
an unusual way to—”

“Not that unusual. Jeane Kirkpatrick came to President Reagan’s attention in the same way, and he made her ambassador to the UN.” He smiled at her. “So you see, there’s precedent. That’s one of the big buzzwords in Washington.
Precedent.
Your grandparents were Romanian?”

“My grandfather. That’s right.”

Ben Cohn stayed for another fifteen minutes, getting information on Mary’s background.

Mary asked, “When will this interview appear in the paper?” She wanted to be sure to send copies to Florence and Douglas and her other friends back home.

Ben Cohn rose and said evasively, “I’m going to save it for now.” There was something about the situation that puzzled him. The problem was that he was not sure what it was. “We’ll be talking again later.”

After he left, Beth and Tim came into the living room. “Was he nice, Mom?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, unsure. “I think so.”

The following morning Stanton Rogers telephoned. “Good morning, Mrs. Ashley. It’s Stanton Rogers.”

It was like hearing the voice of an old friend.
Maybe it’s because he’s the only person in town I know,
Mary thought. “Good morning, Mr. Rogers. Thank you for having Mr. Burns meet us at the airport, and for arranging our hotel.”

“I trust it’s satisfactory?”

“It’s lovely.”

“I thought it would be a good idea if we met to discuss some of the procedures you’ll be going through.”

“I would like that.”

“Why don’t we make it lunch today at the Grand? It’s not far from your hotel. One o’clock?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll meet you in the downstairs dining room.”

It was starting.

Mary arranged for the children to have room service, and at one o’clock a taxi dropped her off at the Grand Hotel. Mary looked at it in awe. The Grand Hotel is its own center of power. Heads of state and diplomats from all over the world stay there, and it is easy to see why. It is an elegant building, with an imposing lobby that has Italian marble floors and gracious columns under a circular ceiling. There is a landscaped courtyard, with a fountain and an outdoor swimming pool. A marble staircase leads down to the promenade restaurant, where Stanton Rogers was waiting for her.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ashley.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers.”

He laughed. “That sounds so formal. What about Stan and Mary?”

She was pleased. “That would be nice.”

Stanton Rogers seemed different somehow, and the change was hard for Mary to define. In Junction City there had been an aloofness about him, almost a resentment toward her. Now that seemed to have completely vanished. He was warm and friendly.
The difference is that he’s accepted me,
Mary thought happily.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Thank you, no.”

They ordered lunch. The entrees seemed very expensive to her.
It’s not like the prices in Junction City.
Her hotel suite was $250 a day.
At that rate, my money’s not going to last very long,
Mary thought.

“Stan, I don’t want to seem rude, but can you tell me how much an ambassador is paid?”

He laughed. “That’s a fair question. Your salary will be sixty-five thousand dollars a year, plus a housing allowance.”

“When does that begin?”

“The moment you’re sworn in.”

“And until then?”

“You’ll be paid seventy-five dollars a day.”

Her heart sank. That would not even take care of her hotel bill, let alone all the other expenses.

“Will I be in Washington long?” Mary asked.

“About a month. We’ll do everything we can to expedite your move. The secretary of state has cabled the Romanian government for approval of your appointment. Just between us, there have already been private discussions between the two governments. There will be no problem with the Romanians, but you still have to pass the Senate.”

So the Romanian government is going to accept me,
Mary thought wonderingly.
Perhaps I’m better qualified than I realized.

“I’ve set up an informal consultation for you with the chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. The next step after that will be an open hearing of the full committee. They’ll ask you questions about your background, your loyalty to this country, your perceptions of the job, and what you hope to accomplish.”

“What happens after that?”

“The committee votes, and when they turn in their report, the full Senate votes.”

Mary said slowly, “Nominations have been voted down in the past, haven’t they?”

“The President’s prestige is on the line with this one. You’ll have the full backing of the White House. The President is eager to push your appointment through as quickly as possible. Incidentally, I thought you and the children might like to do some sight-seeing in the next few days, so I’ve arranged
for a car and driver for you, and a private tour of the White House.”

“Oh! Thank you so much.”

Stanton Rogers smiled. “My pleasure.”

The private tour of the White House was arranged for the following morning. A guide escorted them around. They were taken through the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden and the eighteenth-century-style American garden containing a pool, trees, and herbs for use in the White House kitchen.

“Just ahead,” the guide announced, “is the East Wing. It houses military offices, congressional liaisons to the President, a visitor’s office, and offices of the First Lady’s staff.”

They went through the West Wing and looked into the President’s Oval Office.

“How many rooms have they got in this place?” Tim asked.

“There are one hundred and thirty-two rooms, sixty-nine closets, twenty-eight fireplaces, and thirty-two bathrooms.”

“They sure must go to the bathroom a lot.”

“President Washington helped supervise much of the construction of the White House. He is the only President who never resided here.”

“I don’t blame him,” Tim muttered. “It’s too darned big.”

Mary nudged him, red-faced.

The tour took almost two hours, and by the end of it the Ashley family was exhausted and impressed.

This is where it all began,
Mary thought.
And now I’m going to be a part of it.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Beth?”

“You have a funny look on your face.”

The call from the President’s office came the following morning.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ashley. President Ellison wonders
whether you could make yourself available this afternoon to meet with him?”

Mary swallowed. “Yes, I—of course.”

“Would three o’clock be convenient?”

“That would be fine.”

“A limousine will be downstairs for you at two forty-five.”

Paul Ellison rose as Mary was ushered into the Oval Office. He walked over to shake her hand, grinned, and said, “Gotcha!”

Mary laughed. “I’m glad you did, Mr. President. This is a great honor for me.”

“Sit down, Mrs. Ashley. May I call you Mary?”

“Please.”

They sat down on the couch.

President Ellison said, “You’re going to be my doppelganger. Do you know what that is?”

“It’s a kind of identical spirit of a living person.”

“Right. And that’s us. I can’t tell you how excited I was when I read your latest article, Mary. It was as though I were reading something I had written. There are a lot of people who don’t believe our people-to-people plan can work, but you and I are going to fool them.”

Our
people-to-people plan.
We’re
going to fool them.
He’s a charmer,
Mary thought. Aloud, she said, “I want to do everything I can to help, Mr. President.”

“I’m counting on you. Very heavily. Romania is the testing ground. Since Groza was assassinated, your job is going to be more difficult. If we can pull it off there, we can make it work in the other Communist countries.”

They spent the next thirty minutes discussing some of the problems that lay ahead, and then Paul Ellison said, “Stan Rogers will keep in close touch with you. He’s become a big fan of yours.” He held out his hand. “Good luck, doppelgänger.”

The next afternoon Stanton Rogers telephoned Mary. “You have an appointment at nine o’clock tomorrow morning with the chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee.”

The Committee on Foreign Relations has offices in the Dirksen Building. A plaque in the hallway at the right side of the door reads:
COMMITTEE ON FOREIGN RELATIONS SD-419
.

The chairman was a rotund, gray-haired man with sharp green eyes and the easy manner of a professional politician.

He greeted Mary at the door. “Charlie Campbell. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ashley. I’ve certainly been hearing a lot about you.”

Good or bad?
Mary wondered.

He led her to a chair. “Some coffee?”

“No, thank you, Senator.” She was too nervous to hold a cup in her hand.

“Well, then, let’s get right down to business. The President is eager to have you represent us in Romania. Naturally, we all want to give him our full support in every way possible. The question is—do you think you’re qualified to handle that position, Mrs. Ashley?”

“No, sir.”

Her answer caught him off guard. “I beg your pardon?”

“If you mean have I had any diplomatic experience in dealing with foreign countries, then I’m not qualified. However, I’ve been told that one third of the country’s ambassadors are also people without previous experience. What I would bring to my job is a knowledge of Romania. I’m familiar with its economic and sociological problems and with its political background. I believe I could project a positive image of our country to the Romanians.”

Well,
Charlie Campbell thought in surprise.
I expected a bubblehead.
In fact, Campbell had resented Mary Ashley even before meeting her. He had been given orders from the top to see that Mary Ashley got his committee’s approval no
matter what they thought of her. A lot of snickering was going on in the corridors of power about what a gaffe the President had made by selecting an unknown hayseed from a place called Junction City, Kansas.
But, by God,
Campbell thought,
I think the boys may be in for a little surprise.