Windmills of the Gods

THE NEws OF MAWN GROZA’S assassination was carried all over the world by satellite. Ley Pastemak was able to keep the 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 lonescu. 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’ll be here soon, Mr. President. No problem.”

“Good.”

ON hearing the news, Angel smiled and thought, It happened sooner than I expected it would.

At ten p.m. the Controller’s private phone rang, and he picked it up. “Hello.”

He heard the sound of Neusa Mufiez’s guttural voice. “Angel say to deposit the money in his bank account.”

“Inform him that it will be taken care of immediately. And Miss Mufiez, 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.

IT was more than packing up a household, Mary thought. 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.

Besides packing, there were so many other practical details. An indefinite leave of absence from the university had been arranged with the dean. The children had been withdrawn from their school. There had been travel arrangements to make, airline tickets to buy, the house to rent. 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.

Finally, miraculously, everything was ready. It was time to leave.

Mary walked upstairs to the bedroom she and Edward had shared for so many wonderful years. She stood there taking a long last look.

Chapter Six

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 Bums. 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 chauffeur-driven limousine, heading toward the center of Washington.

PETE Connors, head of 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 Presiden’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 Presiden’s desk at the start of his day. An armed couner earned the list to the White House, entering at the west gate. Pete Connors had a renewed interest in the interceptedcable traffic coming from behind the iron curtain, because much of it concerned the appointment of Mary Ashley as the American ambassador to Remania.

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 Presiden’s idea works, this whole country is going to be open house for their slimy 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, is a small family hotel with comfortable, nicely decorated suites.

No sooner had Mary checked in than Stanton Rogers telephoned. “Good evening, Mrs. Ashley.” It was like hearing the voice of an’old friend. “I thought it would be a good idea if we met to discuss some of the procedures you’ll be going through. Why don’t we make it lunch tomorrow at the Grand?”

It was starting.

The following morning 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.”

When they had ordered lunch, Mary said, “Stan, will I be in Washington long?”

“About a month. We’ll do everything we can to expedite your move. just between us, there have already been private discussions between the two governments. There will be no problem with the Remanians, but you still have to pass the Senate.”