Windmills of the Gods

Mike Slade was saying, “All of us are serving at your discretion. You can replace any of us at any time.”

That’s a lie, Mary thought angrily; I tried to replace you.

There was general inconsequential conversation, until Mike Slade said, “Madam Ambassador, the individual consuls will now brief you on any serious problems.”

Mary resented his taking charge, but she said nothing.

Ted Thompson, the agriculture consul, was the first to speak. “The Remanian agriculture minister is in worse trouble than he’s admitting. They’re going to have a disastrous crop this year, and we can’t afford to let them go under.”

The economic consul, Patricia Hatfield, protested. “We’ve given them enough aid, Ted. Remania’s already operating under a favored-nations treaty. It’s a GSP country.” She looked at Mary and said patronizingly, “A GSP country is-“

“Is a generalized system of preferences,” Mary cut in. “We treat Remania as a less developed country so that they get import and export advantages.”

Hatfield’s expression changed. “That’s right.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Mary promised, making a note to herself.

Eddie Maltz, the political consul, spoke up. “I have an urgent problem. A nineteen-year-old American college student was arrested last night for possession of marijuana. That’s an extremely serious offense here. The usual penalty is a five-year prison sentence.”

How awful, Mary thought. “What can we do about it?”

Mike Slade said lazily, “You can try your charm on the head of the Securitate. His name is Istrase. He has a lot of power.”

Eddie Maltz went on. “The girl says she was framed, and she may have a point. She was stupid enough to have an affair with a Remanian policeman. He turned her in.”

Mary was horrified. “I’ll see if I can do something.” She turned to the public affairs consul, jerry Davis. “Do you have any urgent problems?”

“My department is having trouble getting approvals for repairs on the apartments our embassy staff live in. Some of our people are without heat, and in several of the apartments the toilets don’t work and there’s no running water.”

“Can’t they just go ahead and have their own repairs made?”

“No. The Remanian government has to approve all repairs.”

“Have you complained about this?”

“Yes, ma’am. Every day for the last three months.”

“It’s called harassment,” Mike Slade explained. “It’s a war of nerves they like to play with us.”

Ambassador Ashley was beginning to get a headache.

After the meeting broke up and she and Slade were alone, Mary asked, “Which one of them is the CIA agent attached to the embassy?”

Mike looked at her a moment. “Why don’t you come with me?”

He walked out of the conference room.

Mary followed him down a long corridor. He came to a large door with a marine guard standing in front of it. The guard stepped aside as Mike pushed the door open. He turned and gestured for Mary to enter.

She stepped inside and looked around. The room was an incredible combination of metal and glass, covering the floor, the walls, and the ceiling.

Mike closed the heavy door behind them. “This is the bubble room. Every embassy in an iron curtain country has one. It’s the only room in the embassy that can’t be bugged.”

He saw her look of disbelief.

“Madam Ambassador, not only is the embassy bugged, but you can bet your residence is bugged, and if you go out to a restaurant, your table will be bugged. You’re in enemy territory.”

Mary sank into a chair. “How do you handle that?” she asked. “I mean, not ever being able to talk freely.”

“We do an electronic sweep every morning. We find their bugs and pull them out. They replace them, and we pull those out.”

“Why do we permit Remanians to work in the embassy?”

“It’s their playground. They’re the home team. We play by their rules or blow the ball game. They can’t get their microphones into this room, because there are marine guards on duty in front of that door twenty-four hours a day. Now, what are your questions?”

“I just wondered who the CIA man was.”

“Eddie Maltz, your political consul.”

Eddie Maltz. He was the middle-aged one, very thin, a sinister face. Or did she think that now because he was CIA? “Is he the only CIA man on the staff?”

“Yes.” Mike Slade looked at his watch. “You’re due to present your credentials to the Remanian government in thirty minutes. Florian is waiting for you outside. Take your letter of credence. You’ll give the original to President Ionescu and put a copy in our safe.”

Mary found that she was gritting her teeth. “I know that, Mr. Slade.”

HEWUARTERS for the Remanian government is a forbidding sandstone building in the center of Bucharest. It is protected by a steel wall and surrounded by armed guards. An aide met Mary at the entrance and escorted her upstairs.

President Alexandros Ionescu greeted Mary in a long rectangular room on the second floor. The President had a powerful presence. He was dark, with curly black hair, hawklike features, and one of the most imperious noses Ma had ever seen. His eyes were blazing, mesmerizing. He took Mary’s hand and gave it a lingering kiss. “You are even more beautiful than you look in your photographs.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency.” Mary opened her purse and took out the letter of credence President Ellison had given her.