Windmills of the Gods

. As MARY was dressing for dinner that evening she felt suddenly exhausted. She sank down on the bed. I wish I didn’t have to go out tonight, she thought wearily. But I have to. My country is depending on me.

The evening was a blur of the same familiar diplomatic corps faces. Mary had only a hazy recollection of the others at her table.

She could not wait to get home.

When she awoke the following morning, she was feeling worse.

Her head ached, and she was nauseated. It took all of her willpower to get dressed and go to the embassy.

Mike Slade was waiting in her office, coffee in hand. He took one look at her and said, “You don’t look too well. You okay?”

“I’m just tired.”

“What you need is some coffee. It will perk you up. No pun intended.” He handed her a cup. “Maybe you should fly to Frankfurt and see our doctor there.”

Mary shook her head. “I’m all right.” Her voice was slurred.

The only thing that made her feel slightly better was a visit from Eddie Maltz.

“I have the information you requested,” he said. “Desforges was married for fourteen years. Wife’s name, Ren6e. Two daughters, Phillips and Genevieve. They were murdered in Algeria by terrorists, as an act of vengeance against the doctor, who was fighting in the underground. Do you need any further information?”

“No,” Mary said. “That’s fine. Thank you.”

By midafternoon Mary was feeling hot and feverish, and she called Louis to cancel dinner. She felt too ill to see anybody. She wished that the American doctor were in Bucharest. Perhaps Louis would know what was wrong with her. If I don’t get over this, she told herself, I’ll call him back.

Dorothy had the nurse send up some aspirin from the pharmacy.

It did not help.

Somehow Mary managed to struggle through the rest of the

evening and when she finally arrived home, she fell straight into bed.

Her whole body ached, and she could feel that her temperature had climbed. I’m Yeally ill, she thought. I feel as though I’m dying. With an enormous effort she reached out and pulled the bell cord. Carmen, her maid, appeared.

She looked at Mary in alarm. “Madam Ambassadorl What-” Mary’s voice was a croak. “Please call the French embassy. I need Dr. Desforges.”

MARY opened her eyes and blinked. There were two blurred Louis figures bending over her.

“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, when did you start feeling this way?”

“The day after we got back from the mountains.”

Louis felt her pulse. It was weak and threatly. He smelled her breath. “Have you eaten something today with garlic?”

She shook her head. “I’ve hardly eaten all day.”

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

She nodded.

“Pain, muscle cramps, vomiting, nausea?

“Yes. What’s the matter with me, Louis?”

“Do you feel like answering some questions?”

She swallowed. “I’ll try.”

He held her hand. “Do you remember having anything to eat or drink that made you feel ill afterward?”

She shook her head.

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

“Usually, yes,” she whispered.

“And the children are feeling well?”

She nodded.

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

“No. Sometimes the embassy, sometimes restaurants.”

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

She closed her eyes.

He shook her gently. “Mary, 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 Remania.”

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, no!”

“What is it?”

She cleared her throat and managed to whisper, “Mike Slade brings me coffee every morning.”

Louis stared at her. “Your deputy chief? But 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’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. What you need is some 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. Louis was at her bedside, taking a syringe out of a small bag.