Sidney Sheldon - Windmills Of The Gods

“Are you going to be the ambassador?” Tim asked.

Edward turned to the children. “You two finish your dinner.

Your mother and I would like to have a little talk.” Edward took Mary’s arm and led her into the library. He turned to her and said, “I’m sorry if I sounded like a pompous jerk in there. It was just such a-“

“No. You were perfectly right. Why on earth should they have chosen me?”

“Honey, you’d probably make a great ambassador. But you must admit it came as a bit of a shock.”

“Try thunderbolt. I still can’t believe it.” Mary laughed. “Wait until I tell Florence. She’ll die.”

“You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?” asked Edward.

She looked at him in surprise. “Of course. Wouldn’t you be?”

Edward chose his words carefully. “It is a great honor, honey, and I’m sure they must have had good reason for choosing you’.”

He hesitated. “We have to think about this very carefully.”

She knew what he was going to say, and she thought, Edward’s right. Of course he’s right.

“I can’t just leave my practice and walk out on my patients. I have to stay here. I don’t know how long you’d have to be away, but if it really means a lot to you, well, maybe you could go over there with the children and I could join you whenever-“

Mary said softly, “You crazy man. Nothing means as much to me as you and the children. I could never live away from you.”

He took her in his arms. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. It was exciting being asked. That’s enough.”

THE following morning Mary dialed the number that the President had given her. “This is Mrs. Edward Ashley. The Presidents assistant, Mr. Greene, is expecting my call.”

“One moment, please.”

A male voice on the other end said, “Hello. Mrs. Ashley?”

“Yes,” Mary said. “Would yo. “Please give the President a message for me? That I’m very, very flattered by his offer, but my husband’s profession ties him down here, so I’m afraid it would be impossible for me to accept. I hope he understands.”

“I’ll pass on your message,” the voice said noncommittally. “Thank you, Mrs. Ashley.” The line went dead.

Mary slowly replaced the receiver. It was done. For one brief

moment a tantalizing dream had been offered her. But that was all it was. A dream. This isomy real world, she thought. I’d better get ready for my first class.

Manama, Bahrein. The whitewashed stone house was anonymous, hidden among dozens of identical houses a short walk from the souks, the large, colorful outdoor markets. It was owned by a merchant sympathetic to the cause of Patriots for Freedom.

The chairman was speaking to the men gathered in the living room. “A problem has arisen. The motion that was recently passed has run into difficulty. The go-between we selected Harry Lantz-was murdered. His body was found floating in the harbor in Buenos Aires.”

“Do the police have any idea who did it?” Balder asked. “I mean, can they connect this to us in any way?”

“No. We’re perfectly safe.”

Thor asked, “What about our plan? Can we go ahead with it?”

“Not at the moment. We have no idea how to reach Angel. However, the Controller gave Harry Lantz permission to reveal his name to him. If Angel is interested in our proposition, he will find a way to get in touch with him. All we can do now is wait.”

THE man directly responsible for Marin Groza’s safety was Roland Passy, the French minister of defense. Gendarmes were stationed in front of the villa -in Neuilly twenty-four hours a day, but it was the knowledge that Ley Pastemak was in charge of the villa’s inner security that gave Passy confidence. He had seen the security arrangements himself and was firmly convinced that the house was impregnable.

In recent weeks rumors had been sweeping the diplomatic world that a coup was imminent, that Marin Groza was planning to return to Remania, and that Alexandres lonescu was going to be deposed by his senior military officers.

Ley Pastemak knocked on the door and entered the bookcrammed library that served as Mann Groza’s office. Groza was seated behind his desk, working.

“Everybody wants to know when the revolution is going to happen,” Pastemak said. “It’s the world’s worst-kept secret.”

Tell them to be patient. Will you come to Bucharest with me, Ley?”

More than anything Ley Pastemak yearned to return to Israel. “I’ll only take this job temporarily,” he had told Marin Groza. “Until you’re ready to make your move.” Temporarily had turned into weeks and months, and finally into two years. And now it was time to make another decision. In a world peopled with pygmies, Ley Pastemak thought, I have been given the privilege of serving a giant. Marin Groza was the most selfless and idealistic man Ley Pastemak had ever known.

When Pastemak had come to work for Groza, he had wondered about the man’s family. Groza would never speak of them, but the officer who had arranged’for Pastemak to meet Groza told him the story.

“Groza was betrayed. The Securitate picked him up and tortured him for five days. They promised to free him if he would give . them the names of his associates in the underground. He wouldn’t talk. They arrested his wife and his fourteenyear-old daughter and brought them to the interrogation room. Groza was given a choice: talk or watch them die. It was the hardest decision any man ever had to make. It was the lives of his beloved wife and child against the lives of hundreds of people who believed in him.” The man paused, then went on more slowly. “I think in the end what made Groza decide the way he did was that he was convinced he and his family were going to be killed anyway. He refused to give them the names. The guards strapped him in a chair and forced him to watch his wife and daughter being tortured until they died.”

“How he must hate them!”

The officer looked into Ley Pastemak’s eyes and said, “The most important thing for you to understand is that Marin Groza does not want to return to Remania to seek vengeance. He wants to go’back to free his people. He wants to make certain that such things can never again happen.”

Ley Pastemak had been with Groza from that day on, and the more time he spent with the revolutionary, the more he came to love him. Now he would have to decide whether to give up his return to Israel and go to Remania with Groza.

PAsTERNAK was WALKING down the hallway that evening, and as he passed Marin Groza’s bedroom door he heard the familiar screams of pain ring but. So It’s Friday, Pastemak thought; Marin Groza’s day of penance.

Every Friday night the halls of the villa resounded with Groza’s screams. That was the day of the week when Groza would shut himself in his room and whip himself mercilessly, until his blood flowed, even though no amount of self-inflicted pain would ‘ever eradicate the terrible guilt that consumed him. Each time he felt the lash of the whip, he would see his wife and daughter screaming for help. And he would cry out, “I’m sorry! I’ll talk. Oh, God, please let me talk. .

..”

THE telephone call came ten days after Harry Lantz’s body was found. The Controller was in the middle of a staff meeting in the conference room when the intercom buzzer sounded. “I know you asked not to be disturbed, sir, but there’s a Miss Neusa Mufiez calling from Buenos Aires. It sounds urgent. I told her-“

“It’s all right.” He kept his emotions under tight control. “I’ll take the call in my private office.” He went into his office and locked the door. “Hello. Is this Miss Mufiez?”

“Yeah. I got a message for you from Angel. He din’ like the nosy messenger you sent.”