Mike turned to look at Mary. “No.”
“She received a death warning from Angel. He tried to assassinate her at the ground-breaking ceremony this afternoon. One of Istrase’s snipers got him.”
Mike stood there silently, his eyes fixed on Mary.
Colonel McKinney said, “Angel seems to have been on everybody’s most-wanted list.”
“Where’s his body?” Mike asked.
“In the morgue at police headquarters.”
The body was lying on a stone slab, naked. He had been an ordinary-looking man, medium height, with unremarkable features, a naval tatoo on one arm, a small, thin nose that went with his tight mouth, very small feet, and thinning hair. His clothes and belongings were piled on a table.
“Mind if I have a look?”
The police sergeant shrugged. “Go ahead. I’m sure he won’t mind.” He snickered at his joke.
Mike picked up the jacket and examined the label. It was from a shop in Buenos Aires. The leather shoes also had an Argentinian label. There were piles of money next to the clothing, some Romanian lei, a few French francs, some English pounds, and at least ten thousand dollars in Argentine pesos—some in the new ten-peso notes and the rest in the devalued million-peso notes.
Mike turned to the sergeant. “What do you have on him?”
“He flew in from London on Tarom Airlines two days ago. He checked into the Intercontinental Hotel under the name of de Mendoza. His passport shows his home address as Buenos Aires. It is forged.” The policeman moved in to take a closer look at the body. “He does not look like an international killer, does he?”
“No,” Mike agreed. “He doesn’t.”
Two dozen blocks away, Angel was walking past the residence, fast enough so as not to attract the attention of the four armed marines guarding the front entrance, and slowly enough to absorb every detail of the front of the building. The photographs that had been sent were excellent, but Angel believed in personally checking out every detail. Near the front door was a fifth guard in civilian clothes, holding two Doberman pinschers on leashes.
Angel grinned at the thought of the charade that had been played out in the town square. It had been child’s play to hire a junkie for the price of a noseful of cocaine. Throw everyone off guard. Let them sweat. But the big event was yet to come. For five million dollars, I will give them a show they will never forget. What do the television networks call them? Spectaculars. They will get a spectacular in living color.
“There will be a Fourth of July celebration at the residence,” the voice had said. “There will be balloons, a marine band, entertainers.” Angel smiled and thought: A five-million-dollar spectacular.
Dorothy Stone hurried into Mary’s office. “Madam Ambassador—you’re wanted right away in the Bubble Room. Mr. Stanton Rogers is calling from Washington.”
“Mary—I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Slow down. Take a deep breath and start again.”
My God, Mary thought. I’m babbling like a hysterical ninny. There was such a mixture of violent emotions churning in her that she could barely get the words out. She was terrified and relieved and angry, all at the same time, and her voice came out in a series of choked words.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry, Stan—didn’t you get my cable?”
“No. I’ve just returned. There was no cable from you. What’s wrong back there?”
Mary fought to control her hysteria. Where should I begin? She took a deep breath. “Mike Slade is trying to murder me.”
There was a shocked silence. “Mary—you really can’t believe—”
“It’s true. I know it is. I met a doctor from the French embassy—Louis Desforges. I became ill, and he found out I was being poisoned with arsenic. Mike was doing it.”
This time Stanton Rogers’s voice was sharper. “What makes you think that?”
“Louis—Dr. Desforges—figured it out. Mike Slade made coffee for me every morning with arsenic in it. I have proof that he got hold of the arsenic. Last night, Louis was murdered, and this afternoon someone working with Slade tried to assassinate me.”
This time the silence was even longer.
When Stanton Rogers spoke again, his tone was urgent. “What I’m going to ask you is very important, Mary. Think carefully. Could it have been anyone besides Mike Slade?”