Windmills of the Gods
Page 35
In Buenos Aires, it was winter. When Neusa Muez returned to her apartment, it was the middle of the night. The telephone was ringing. “S(?”
It was the gringo from the United States.
“May I speak with Angel?”
“Angel no here, senor. Wha’ you wan’?”
“Tell Angel I need him for a contract in Bucharest.”
“Budapes’?”
The Controller found his irritation mounting. “Bucharest. Romania. Tell him It’s a five-million-dollar contract. He has to be in Bucharest by the end of June. That’s three weeks from now. Do you have that?”
“Wait a minute. I’m writin’. Okay. How many people Angel gotta kill for five million dollars?”
“A lot… .”
THE daily long lines in front of the embassy continued to disturb Mary. She discussed it again with Mike Slade.
“There must be something we can do to help those people get out of the country.”
“Everything’s been tried,” Mike assured her. “We’ve applied pressure, we’ve offered to sweeten the money pot…. Ionescu refuses to cut a deal.”
“I’m going to have another talk with him.”
“Good luck.”
Mary asked Dorothy Stone to set up an appointment with the dictator. A few minutes later the secretary walked into Mary’s office. “I’m sorry, Madun Ambassador. Something weird is going on at the presidential palace. Ionescu isn’t seeing anybody. In fact, no one can even get in.”
“Dorothy,” Mary said, “see if you can find out What’s going on there.”
An hour later Dorothy reported back. “They’re keeping it very hush-hush. Ionescu’s son is dying.”
Mary was aghast. “Nicu? What happened?”
“He has botulism poisoning. There was an epidemic in East Germany a few months ago. Apparently Nicu visited there and someone gave him some canned food as a gift. He ate some of it yesterday.”
“But there’s an antiserum for botulism!” Mary exclaimed.
“The European countries are out of it The epidemic used it up.”
“Oh, my God.”
When Dorothy left the office, Mary sat there thinking, It, might be too late, but still … She remembered how cheerful and happy young Nicu was. He was fourteen years old-only two years older than Beth. She pressed the intercom button. “Dorothy, get me Walter Reed hospital in Maryland.”
Five minutes later she was speaking to the director.
“Yes, Madam Ambassador. We do have an antiserum for botulism poisoning, and I’ll be happy to supply some. But botulism poisoning works very rapidly. I’m afraid that by the time it gets there …”
“I’ll arrange for it to get here. just have it ready. Thank you.”
Ten minutes later Mary was speaking to air force general Ralph Zukor, in Washington.
“Good morning, Madam Ambassador. Well, this is an unexpected pleasure. My wife and I are big fans of yours. How are-“
“General, I need a favor. I need your fastest jet.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I need a jet to fly some serum to Bucharest right away. Can you do it?”
“Well, yes. But first you’ll have to get approval from the Secretary of Defense. There are requisition forms to fill out.”
Mary listened, seething. “General, a boy’s life is at stake. He happens to be the son of the President of Remania. If that boy dies because some form hasn’t been filled out, I’m going to call the biggest press conference you’ve ever seen. And I’ll let you explain why you let Ionescu’s son die.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t possibly authorize an operation like this without an approval from the White House. If-“
Mary snapped, “Then, get it. The serum will be delivered to Andrews Air Force Base. And General … every single minute counts.”
She hung up and sat there, silently praying.
General Zukor’s aide said, “What was that all about, sir?”
“The ambassador expects me to send up an SR-71 to fly some serum to Remania. It’s ridiculous. But we might as well cover ourselves, Get me Stanton Rogers.”
Five minutes later the general was speaking to the President’s foreign affairs adviser. “I just wanted to go on record with you that the request was made, and I naturally refused. If-“
Stanton Rogers said, “General, how soon can you have an SR-71 airborne?”
“In ten minutes, but-“
“Do it.”
Nicu lonescu’s nervous system had been affected. He lay in bed, disoriented, sweating and pale, attached to a respirator. There were three doctors at his bedside.
President lonescu strode into the room. “What’s happening?”
” Your Excellency, we have communicated with our colleagues all over Eastern and Western Europe. There is no antiseam left.”
“What about the United States?”
The doctor shrugged. “By the time we could arrange for someone to fly the serum here…” He paused delicately. “I’m afraid it would be too late.”
Ionescu picked up his son’s hand. “You’re not going to die,” he said, weeping. “You’re not going to die.”
AN A= helicopter delivered the antibotulism semm, packed in ice, to Andrews Air Force Base. Three minutes later the SR-7]L was in the air, on a northeast heading.
The SR-71-the U.S. Air Force’s fastest supersonic jet-flies at three times the speed of sound. It slowed down once to refuel over the mid Atlantic. The plane-made the five-thousand-mile flight to Bucharest in a little over two and a half hours.