Windmills of the Gods (25 page)

She spent the remainder of the night awake, afraid to go to sleep again, afraid of her dreams.

It took all of Mary’s willpower to get up and go to the embassy the following morning. Mike Slade was waiting for her.

He looked at her critically and said, “You don’t look too well. Why don’t you fly to Frankfurt and see our doctor there?”

“I’m fine.” Her lips were dry and cracked, and she felt completely dehydrated.

Mike handed her a cup of coffee. “I have the new commerce figures here for you. The Romanians are going to need more grain than we thought. Here’s how we can capitalize on it…”

She tried to pay attention, but Mike’s voice kept fading in and out.

Somehow she managed to struggle through the day. Louis called twice. Mary told her secretary to tell him she was in meetings. She was trying to conserve every ounce of strength she had left to keep working.

When Mary went to bed that evening, she could feel that her temperature had climbed. Her whole body ached.
I’m really ill,
she thought.
I feel as though I’m dying.
With an enormous effort she reached out and pulled the bell cord. Carmen appeared.

She looked at Mary in alarm. “Madam Ambassador! What—?”

Mary’s voice was a croak. “Ask Sabina to call the French embassy. I need Dr. Desforges…”

Mary opened her eyes and blinked. There were two blurred Louis figures standing there. He moved to her bedside, bent down, and took a close look at her flushed face. “My God, what’s happening to you?” He felt her forehead. It was hot to the touch. “Have you taken your temperature?”

“I don’t want to know.” It hurt to talk.

Louis sat down on the edge of the bed. “Darling, how long has this been going on?”

“A few days. It’s probably just a virus.”

Louis felt her pulse. It was weak and thready. As he leaned forward, he smelled her breath. “Have you eaten something today with garlic?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t eaten anything in two days.” Her voice was a whisper.

He leaned forward and gently lifted her eyelids. “Have you been thirsty?”

She nodded.

“Pain, muscle cramps, vomiting, nausea?”

All of the above,
she thought wearily. Aloud she said, “What’s the matter with me, Louis?”

“Do you feel like answering some questions?”

She swallowed. “I’ll try.”

He held her hand. “When did you start feeling this way?”

“The day after we got back from the mountains.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Do you remember having anything to eat or drink that made you feel ill afterward?”

She shook her head.

“You just kept feeling worse every day?”

She nodded.

“Do you eat breakfast here at the residence with the children?”

“Usually, yes.”

“And the children are feeling well?”

She nodded.

“What about lunch? Do you eat lunch at the same place every day?”

“No. Sometimes I eat at the embassy, sometimes I have meetings at restaurants.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Is there any one place you regularly have dinner or anything you regularly eat?”

She felt too tired to carry on this conversation. She wished he would go away. She closed her eyes.

He shook her gently. “Mary, stay awake. Listen to me.” There was an urgency in his voice. “Is there any person you eat with constantly?”

She blinked up at him sleepily. “No.”
Why was he asking all these questions?
“It’s a virus,” she mumbled, “isn’t it?”

He took a deep breath. “No. Someone is poisoning you.”

It sent a bolt of electricity through her body. She opened her eyes wide. “What? I don’t believe it.”

He was frowning. “I would say it was arsenic poisoning, except that arsenic is not for sale in Romania.”

Mary felt a sudden tremor of fear. “Who—who would be trying to poison me?”

He squeezed her hand. “Darling, you’ve got to think. Are you sure there’s no set routine you have, where someone gives you something to eat or drink every day?”

“Of course not,” Mary protested weakly. “I told you, I—”
Coffee. Mike Slade. My own special brew.
“Oh, my God!”

“What is it?”

She cleared her throat and managed to whisper, “Mike Slade brings me coffee every morning. He’s always there waiting for me.”

Louis stared at her. “No. It couldn’t be Mike Slade. What reason would he have for trying to kill you?”

“He—he wants to get rid of me.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Louis said urgently. “The first thing we have to do is treat you. I’d like to take you to the hospital here, but your embassy will not permit that. I’m going to get something for you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Mary lay there, trying to grasp the meaning of what Louis had told her.
Arsenic. Someone is feeding me arsenic. What you need is another cup of coffee. It will make you feel better. I brew it myself.

She drifted off into unconsciousness and was awakened by Louis’s voice. “Mary!”

She forced her eyes open. He was at her bedside, taking a syringe out of a small bag.

“Hello, Louis. I’m glad you could come,” Mary mumbled.

Louis felt for a vein in her arm and plunged the hypodermic needle in. “I’m giving you an injection of BAL. It’s an antidote for arsenic. I’m going to alternate it with penicilla-mine. I’ll give you another one in the morning. Mary?”

She was asleep.

The following morning Dr. Louis Desforges gave Mary an injection, and another one in the evening. The effects of the drugs were miraculous. One by one, the symptoms began to disappear. The following day, Mary’s temperature and vital signs were almost completely normal

Louis was in Mary’s bedroom putting the hypodermic needle in a paper sack, where it would not be seen by a curious staff member. Mary felt drained and weak, as though she had gone through a long illness, but all the pain and discomfort were gone.

“This is twice you’ve saved my life.”

Louis looked at her soberly. “I think we’d better find out who’s trying to take it.”

“How do we do that?”

“I’ve been checking around at the various embassies. None of them carries arsenic. I have not been able to find out about the American embassy. I would like you to do something for me. Do you think you will feel well enough to go to work tomorrow?”

“I think so.”

“I want you to go to the pharmacy in your embassy. Tell them you need a pesticide. Say that you’re having trouble
with insects in your garden. Ask for Antral. That’s loaded with arsenic.”

Mary looked at him, puzzled. “What’s the point?”

“My hunch is that the arsenic had to be flown into Bucharest. If it is anywhere, it will be in the embassy pharmacy. Anyone who checks out a poison must sign for it. When you sign for the Antral, see what names are on the sheet…”

Gunny escorted Mary through the embassy door. She walked down the long corridor to the pharmacy, where the nurse was working behind the cage.

She turned as she saw Mary. “Good morning, Madam Ambassador. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Can I get you something?”

Mary took a nervous breath. “My—my gardener tells me he’s having trouble with insects in the garden. I wondered whether you might have something to help—like Antral?”

“Why, yes. As a matter of fact, we do have some Antral,” the nurse said. She reached toward a back shelf and picked up a can with a poison label on it. “An infestation of ants is very unusual for this time of year.” She put a form in front of Mary. “You’ll have to sign for it, if you don’t mind. It has arsenic in it.”

Mary was staring at the form placed in front of her. There was only one name on it.

Mike Slade.

When Mary tried to telephone Louis Desforges to tell him what she had learned, his line was busy. He was talking to Mike Slade. Dr. Desforges’s first instinct had been to report the murder attempt, except that he could not believe Slade was responsible. And so, Louis had decided to telephone Slade himself.

“I have just left your ambassador,” Louis Desforges said. “She is going to live.”

“Well, that’s good news, Doctor. Why shouldn’t she?”

Louis’s tone was cautious. “Someone has been poisoning her.”

“What are you talking about?” Mike demanded.

“I think perhaps you know what I’m talking about.”

“Hold it! Are you saying that you think
I’m
responsible? You’re wrong. You and I had better have a private talk someplace where we can’t be overheard. Can you meet me tonight?”

“At what time?”

“I’m tied up until nine o’clock. Why don’t you meet me a few minutes after, at Baneăsa Forest? I’ll meet you at the fountain and explain everything then.”

Louis Desforges hesitated. “Very well. I will see you there.” He hung up and thought:
Mike Slade cannot possibly be behind this.

When Mary tried to telephone Louis again, he had left. No one knew where to reach him.

Mary and the children were having dinner at the residence.

“You really look a lot better, Mother,” Beth said. “We were worried.”

“I feel fine,” Mary assured her. And it was the truth.
Thank God for Louis!

Mary was unable to get Mike Slade out of her mind. She could hear his voice saying:
“Here’s your coffee. I brewed it myself.”
Slowly killing her. She shuddered.

“Are you cold?” Tim asked.

“No, darling.”

She must not involve the children in her nightmares.
Perhaps I should send them back home for a while?
Mary thought.
They could stay with Florence and Doug.
And then she thought:
I could go with them.
But that would be cowardly, a victory for Mike Slade, and whomever he was working with. There was only one person she could think of who could help her. Stanton Rogers. Stanton would know what to do about Mike.

But I can’t accuse him without proof and what proof do I have? That he made coffee for me every morning?

Tim was talking to her. “…so we said we’d ask if we could go with them.”

“I’m sorry, darling. What did you say?”

“I said Nikolai asked us if we could go out camping with him and his family next weekend.”

“No!” It came out more harshly than she had intended. “I want you both to stay close to the residence.”

“What about school?” Beth asked.

Mary hesitated. She could not keep them prisoners here, and she did not want to alarm them.

“That’s fine. As long as Florian takes you there and brings you back. No one else.”

Beth was studying her. “Mother, is anything wrong?”

“Of course not,” Mary said quickly. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. There’s something in the air.”

“Give her a break,” Tim said. “She had the Romanian flu.”

That’s an interesting phrase,
Mary thought.
Arsenic poisoning—the Romanian flu.

“Can we watch a movie tonight?” Tim asked.

“May
we watch a movie tonight,” Mary corrected him.

“Does that mean yes?”

Mary had not planned on running a movie, but she had spent so little time with the children lately that she decided to give them a treat.

“It means yes.”

“Thank you, Madam Ambassador,” Tim shouted. “I get to pick the movie.”

“No, you don’t. You picked the last one. Can we see
American Graffiti
again?”

American Graffiti.
And suddenly Mary knew what proof she might show Stanton Rogers.

At midnight, Mary asked Carmen to call a taxi.

“Don’t you want Florian to drive you?” Carmen asked. “He’s—”

“No.”

This was something that had to be done secretly.

When the taxi arrived a few minutes later, Mary got in. “The American embassy, please.”

The taxi driver replied, “It is closed at this hour. There is
no one—” He turned around and recognized her. “Madam Ambassador! This is a great honor.” He began to drive. “I recognized you from all your pictures in our newspapers and magazines. You are almost as famous as our great leader.”

Others in the embassy had commented about all the publicity she was receiving in the Romanian press.

The driver was chattering on. “I like Americans. They are good-hearted people. I hope your President’s people-to-people plan works. We Romanians are all for it. It is time the world had peace.”

She was in no mood for a discussion of any kind.

When they arrived at the embassy, Mary indicated a place marked:
PARCARE CÚ LUCURI REZERVATE
.
“Pull in there, please, and come back for me in an hour. I’ll be returning to the residence.”

“Certainly, Madam Ambassador.”

A marine guard was moving toward the taxi. “You can’t park there, it’s res—” He recognized Mary and saluted. “Sorry. Good evening, Madam Ambassador.”

“Good evening,” Mary said.

The marine walked her to the entrance and opened the door for her. “Can I help you?”

“No. I’m going to my office for a few minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He watched her walk down the hall.

Mary turned the lights on in her office and looked at the walls where the obscenities had been washed away. She walked over to the connecting door that led to Mike Slade’s office and entered. The room was in darkness. She turned on the lights and looked around.

There were no papers on his desk. She began searching through the drawers. They were empty, except for brochures and bulletins and timetables. Innocent things that would be of no use to a snooping cleaning woman. Mary’s eyes scrutinized the office. It had to be here somewhere. There was no other place he could have kept it, and it was unlikely that he would carry it around with him.

She opened the drawers and started examining their contents again, slowly and carefully. When she came to a bottom drawer, she felt something hard at the back, behind a mass of papers. She pulled it out and held it in her hand, staring at it.

It was a can of red spray paint.

At a few minutes after nine
P.M.
, Dr. Louis Desforges was waiting in Baneăsa Forest, near the fountain. He wondered if he had done the wrong thing by not reporting Mike Slade.
No,
he thought.
First I must hear what he has to say. If I made a false accusation, it would destroy him.

Mike Slade appeared suddenly out of the darkness.

“Thanks for coming. We can clear this up very quickly. You said on the telephone you thought someone was poisoning Mary Ashley.”

“I
know
it. Someone was feeding her arsenic.”

“And you think I’m responsible?”

“You could have put it in her coffee, a little bit at a time.”

“Have you reported this to anyone?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I’m glad you did,” Mike said. He took his hand out of his pocket. In it was a .357 caliber magnum pistol.

Louis stared. “What—what are you doing? Listen to me! You can’t—”

Mike Slade pulled the trigger and watched the Frenchman’s chest explode into a red cloud.