WINDMILLS OF THE GODS
BY SIDNEY SHELDON
Synopsis:
It all began with an astounding call from the White House. One minute
Mary Ashley, Kansas housewife and political science teacher, was
chatting over dinner with her family; the next minute the President of
the United States was asking her to become the new ambassador to
Romania! That call changes everything for Mary Ashley. She becomes an
instant celebrity, hounded 'by the press, courted by politicians.
Finally Mary arrives in exotic Bucharest to take up her duties,
confident, refreshingly candid-and dangerously innocent. For watching
her closely is an in- visible network 'of powerful men whose aim is to
sabotage the President's bold new peace plan. They are about to set a
diabolical trap. And the inexperienced young diplomat is the perfect
bait.
"We are all victims, Anselmo.
Our destinies are decided
by a cosmic roll of the dice,
the winds of the stars,"
the vagrant breezes
of fortune that blow from
the windmills of the gods."
-H. L. Dietrich
A Final Destiny
Prologue
Perho, Finland. The meeting took place in a comfortable weatherproofed
cabin in a remote wooded area two hundred miles from Helsinki. The
members of the Western branch of the Committee had arrived discreetly at
irregular intervals. They came from eight different countries, but
their visit had been quietly arranged by a senior minister in the
Valtioneuvosto, the Finnish Council of State, and there was no record of
entry in their passports. Upon their arrival, armed guards escorted
them into the cabin, and'when the last visitor appeared, the cabin door
was locked and the guards took up positions in the full-throated January
winds, alert for any sign of intruders.
The members, seated around the large rectangular table, were men in
powerful positions, high in the councils of their respective
governments. They had all met before in their official capacities, and
they trusted one another because they had no choice. For added security,
each had been assigned a code name.
The meeting lasted almost five hours, and the discussion was heated.
Finally the chairman decided the time had come to call for a vote. He
rose, standing tall, and turned to the man seated at his right.
"Sigurd?"
"Yes."
"Odin?"
"Balder?"
"We're moving too hastily. The danger-"
"Yes or no, please."
"No."
" Freyr?"
"Sigmund?"
"Nein. If this should be exposed, our lives would be-"
"Thor?"
"Tyr?"
"I vote yes. The resolution is passed. I will so inform the
Controller. We will observe the usual precautions and leave at
twenty-minute intervals. Thank you, gentlemen."
Two hours and forty-five minutes later the cabin was deserted. A crew of
experts carrying kerosene moved in and set the cabin on fire, the red
flames licked by the hungry winds.
When the fire brigade from Perho finally reached the scene, there was
nothing left to see but the smoldering embers that outlined the cabin
against the hissing snow.
The assistant to the fire chief approached the ashes, bent down, and
sniffed. "Kerosene," he said. "Arson."
The fire chief was staring at the ruins, a puzzled expression on his
face. "That's strange," he muttered.
"What?"
"I was hunting in these woods last week. There was no cabin."
Chapter One
Stanton Rogers was destined to be President of the United States. He
was a charismatic politician, highly visible to an approving public, and
backed by powerful friends. Unfortunately for Rogers, his libido got in
the way of his career.
It was not that Stanton Rogers fancied himself a Casanova. On the
contrary, until that one fateful bedroom escapade he had been a model
husband. He was handsome, wealthy, and although he had had ample
opportunity to cheat on his wife, he had never given another woman a
thought.
There was a second, perhaps greater irony: Stanton Rogers' wife,
Elizabeth, was social, beautiful, and intelligent, arld the two of them
shared a common interest in almost everything, whereas Barbara, the
woman Rogers fell in love with, and eventually married after a much
headlined divorce, was five years older than Stanton, pleasant-faced
rather than pretty, and seemed to have nothing in common with him.
Stanton was athletic; Barbara hated all forms of exercise. Stanton was
gregarious; Barbara preferred to be alone with her husband, or to
entertain small groups. The biggest surprise was the political
differences. Stanton was a liberal, while Barbara was an
archconservative.
Paul Ellison, Stanton's closest friend, had said, "You must be out of
your mind, chum! You and Liz are the perfect married couple. Do you
have any idea what a divorce is going to do to your career?"
Stanton Rogers had replied tightly, "Back off, Paul. I'm in love with
Barbara. Besides, half the marriages in this country end in divorce. It
won't do anything."
Rogers had proved to be a poor prophet. The press kept the story of the
bitterly fought divorce alive as long as they could, and the gossip
papers played it up as luridly as possible, with pictures of Stanton
Rogers' love nest and stories of secret midnight trusts. When the furor
died dovlrn, Stanton Rogers' powerful political friends found a new
white knight to champion: Paul Ellison.
Ellison was a sound choice. While he had neither Stanton ]Rogers' good
looks nor his charisma, he was intelligent, likable, and had the right
background. He was short in stature, with regular, even features and
candid blue eyes. He had been happily married for ten, years to the
daughter of a steel magnate.
Stanton Rogers and Paul Ellison had grown up together in New York. Their
families had had adjoining summer homes in Southampton. They were, in
the same class, first at Yale and later at Harvard Law School. Paul
Ellison did well, but it was Stanton Rogers who was the star pupil. Once
he was out of law school, Stanton Rogers' political star began rising
meteorically, and if he was the comet, Paul Ellison was the tail.
The divorce changed everything. It was now Stanton Rogers who became
the appendage to Paul Ellison. The trail leading to the presidency took
almost fifteen years. First Ellison became a highly popular, articulate
Senator. He fought against waste in government and Washington
bureaucracy. He was a populist, and believed in international detente.
When he was finally elected President of the United States, his first
appointment was Stanton Rogers, as presidential foreign affairs adviser.
MAMEWL McLuhan's theory that television would turn the world into a
global village had become a reality. The inauguration of the
forty-second President of the United States was carried by satellite to
more than one hundred and ninety countries.
In the Black Rooster, a Washington, D.C., hangout for newsmen, Ben Cohn,
a veteran political reporter for the Washington Post, was seated at a
table with four colleagues, watching the inauguration on the television
set over the bar.
The camera panned to show the massive crowds gathered on Pennsylvania
Avenue, huddled inside their overcoats against the bitter January wind.
Jason Merlin, Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, finished
the swearing-in oath, and the-new President shook his hand and stepped
up to the microphone.
"Look at those idiots standing out there freezing their tails off"' Ben
Cohn commenteel "Do you know why they aren't home like normal human
beings, watching it on television?"
"Why?" asked one of the other reporters.
"Because a man is making history, my friends. One day all those people
are going to tell their grandchildren that they were there the day Paul
Ellison was sworn in. And they're all going to brag. "I was so close I
could have touched him."' "You're a cynic, Cohn."
"And proud of it. Every politician in the world comes out of the same
cookie cutter. They're all in it for what they can get out of it."
The truth was that Ben Cohn was not as cynical as he sounded. He had
covered Paul Ellison's career from the beginning, and while it was true
that he had not been impressed at first, as Ellison moved up the
political ladder Ben Cohn began to change his opinion. This politician
was nobody's yes-man. He was an oak in a forest of willows.
Outside, the sky exploded into icy sheets of rain, Ben Cohn hoped the
weather was not an omen of the four years that lay ahead. He turned his
attention back to the television set and President E.Ilison's speech.
"I speak today not only to our allies but to those countries in the
Soviet cainp. I say to them now, as we prepare to move into the
twenty-first century, that there is no longer any room for confrontation
and that we must learn to make the phrase 'one world' become a reality.
Vast chasms lie between us, but the first priority of this
administration will be to build unshakable bridges across those chasms."
His words rang out with a deep, heartfelt sincerity. He, means it, Ben
Cohn thought. I hope no one assassinates the guy.
IN JUNeTiON City, Kansas, it was a potbellied stove kind of day, bleak
and raw, and snowing hard. Mary Ashley cautiously steered her old
station wagon toward the center of the highway, where the snowplows had
been at work. The storm was going to make her late for the class she
was teaching.
From the car radio came the Presiden's voice: "Because I believe that
there is no problem that cannot be solved by genuine goodwill on both
sides, the concrete wall around East Berlin and the iron curtain that
surrounds the Soviet satellite countries must come down."
Mary Ashley thought, I'm glad I voted for him. Paul Ellison is going to
make a great President.
IN BucH=ST, the capital of Remania, it was evening. President
Alexandres lonescu sat in his office surrounded by half a dozen aides,
listening to the broadcast on a shortwave radio.
"As you are aware," the American President was saying, "three years ago,
upon the death of Remania's President, Nicolae CeauSSescu, ]Remania
broke off diplomatic relations with the United States. I want to inform
you now that we have approached the government of Remania and its
President, Alexandres Ionescu, and he has agreed to reestablish
diplomatic relations with our country.
"One of our first official acts will be to send an ambassador to
Remania. And that is merely the beginning. I have no intention of
stopping there. Albania broke off all diplomatic relations with the
United States in 1946. I intend to reestablish those ties. In
addition, I intend to strengthen our diplomatic relations with Bulgaria,
with iczechoslovakia, and with East Germany.
"Sending our ambassador to Remania is the beginning of a worldwide
people-to-people movement. Let us never forget that all mankind shares
a common origin, common problems, and a common ultimate fate. Let us
remember that the problems we share are greater than the problems that
divide us, and that what divides us is of our own making."
Over the shortwave radio came the sounds of cheers and applause.
IN A heavily guarded villa in Neuilly, a suburb of Paris, the Remanian
revolutionary leader, Marin Groza, was watching President Ellison on
channel 2 television.
"I think our time has come, Ley. He really means it," said Marin Groza
thoughtfully.
Ley Pastemak, his security chief, replied, "Won't this help Ionescu?"
Marin Groza shook his head. "lonescu is a tyrant, so in the end nothing
will help him. But I must be careful with my timing. I failed when I
tried to overthrow him before. I must not fail again."
PETE Connors had downed almost a fifth of Scotch while watching the
inaugural speech. He poured himself another glassful and turned back to
the image on the television set. "You filthy Communist!" he yelled at
the screen. "This is my country, and the CIAs not gonna let you give it
away. We're gonna stop you, Ellison. You can bet your bottom dollar on
it"
Chapter Two
PAUL Ellison said, "I'm going to need your help, old friend."
"You'll get it," Stanton Rogers replied quietly.
It was their first meeting together in the Oval Office, and President
Ellison was uncomfortable. If Stanton hadn't made that one mistake, he
thought, he would be sitting at this desk instead of me.
As though reading his mind, Stanton Rogers said, "I have a confession to
make. The day you were nominated for the presidency, I was bitterly
jealous. It was my dream, and you were living it. But I came to
realize that if I couldn't sit in that chair, there was no one else I
would want there but you."
Paul Ellison smiled at his friend and pressed the button on his desk.
Seconds later a white-jacketed steward came into the room.
"Yes, Mr. President?"
Paul Ellison turned to Rogers. "Coffee?"
"Sounds good."
"Want anything with it?"
"No, thanks. Barbara wants me to watch my waistline."
The President nodded to Henry, the steward, and he quietly left the
room.
Barbara. She had surprised everyone. The gossip around Washington was
that the marriage would not last out the first year. But it had been
almost fifteen years now, and it was a success. Stanton Rogers had built
up a prestigious law practice in-Washington, and Barbam had earned the
reputation of being a gracious hostess.
Paul Ellison rose and began to pace. "My people-to-people speech seems
to have caused quite an uproar. I suppose you've seen all the
newspapers."
"Yes," said Stanton Rogers. "And quite candidly, Mr. President, you're
scaring the pants off a lot of people. The armed forces are against
your plan, and some powerful movers and shakers would like to see it
fail."
Ellison sat down and faced his friend. "It's not going to fail."
The steward appeared with the coffee. "Can I get you something else,
Mr. President?"
"No. That's it, Henry. Thank you."
The President waited until the steward had gone. "I want to talk to you
about finding the right ambassador to send to Remania."
"Right."
"I don't have to tell you how important this 'is for us, Stan. I want
you to get moving on it as quickly as you possibly can."
Stanton Rogers took a sip of his coffee and rose to his feet. "I'll get
State on it right away."
IN a little suburb of Neuilly it was two a.m. Marin Groza's villa lay
in ebon darkness, the moon nestled in a thick layer of -storm clouds.
The streets were hushed at this hour, as a blackclad figure moved
noiselessly through the trees toward the brick wall that surrounded the
villa. Over one shoulder he carried a rope and a blanket, and in his
arms he cradled a dart gun and an Uzi submachine gun with a silencer.
When he reached the wall, he stopped and listened. He waited,
motionless, for five minutes. Finally, satisfied, he uncoiled the nylon
rope and tossed the scaling hook attached to the end of it upward. It
caught on the far edge of the wall, and swiffly the man began to climb.
When he reached the top of the wall, he flung the blanket across it to
protect himself against the poison-tipped metal spikes embedded on top.
He stopped again to listen. He reversed the hook, shifhng the rope to
the inside of the wall, and slid down onto the ground. He checked the
balisong at his waist, the deadly Filipino folding knife that could be
flicked open or closed with one hand.
The attack dogs would be next. The intruder crouched there, waiting for
them to pick up his scent. There were two Dobermans, trained to kill.
But they were only the first obstacle. The grounds and the villa were
filled with electronic devices and continuously monitored by television
cameras. All mail and packages were received at the gatehouse and
opened there by the guards. The doors of the villa were bombproof. The
ugorek