Windmills of the Gods by Sidney Sheldon

The woman laughed. “Angel, he don’ need no advance. Nobody cheats Angel.” Somehow the words were chilling. “When the job is finished, he say you put the money in—wait a minute—I got it wrote down—here it is—the State Bank in Zurich. Thas someplace in Switzerland.” She sounded like a moron.

“I’ll need the account number.”

“Oh, yeah. The number is—Jesus. I forgot. Hol’ on. I got it here somewhere.” He heard the rustle of papers, and finally she was back on the telephone. “Here it is. J-three-four-nine-zero-seven-seven.”

He repeated the number. “How soon can he handle the matter?”

“When he’s ready, señor. Angel say you’ll know when ‘ees done. You’ll read ‘bout it in the newspapers.”

“Very well. I’m going to give you my private telephone number in case Angel needs to reach me.”

He gave it to her slowly.

Tbilisi, Russia

The meeting was being held in an isolated dacha bordering on the River Kura.

The chairman said, “Two urgent matters have arisen. The first is good news. The Controller has had word from Angel. The contract is moving forward.”

“That’s very good news!” Freyr exclaimed. “What’s the bad news?”

“I’m afraid it concerns the President’s candidate for the ambassadorship to Romania, but the situation can be handled…”

It was difficult for Mary Ashley to keep her mind on the class. Something had changed. In the eyes of her students she had become a celebrity. It was a heady feeling. She could feel the class hanging on her words.

“As we know, 1956 was a watershed year for many of the Eastern European countries. With Gomulka’s return to power, national communism emerged in Poland. In Czechoslovakia Antonin Mavorony led the Communist party. There were no major political changes in Romania that year…”

Romania…Bucharest…From the photographs Mary had seen, it had to be one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. She had not forgotten any of the stories her grandfather had told her about Romania. She remembered how terrified she had been as a little girl by his tales of the horrible Prince Vlad of Transylvania. He was a vampire, Mary, living in his huge castle high in the mountains of Brasov, sucking the blood of his innocent victims.

Mary was suddenly aware of a deep silence in the room. The class was staring at her. How long have I been standing here daydreaming? she wondered. She hurriedly continued her lecture. “In Romania, Gheorghiu-Dej was consolidating his power in the Workers’ Party…”

The class seemed to go on endlessly, but mercifully it was almost over.

“Your homework assignment will be to write an essay on the USSR’s economic planning and management, describing the basic organization of the government organs, and the CPSU control. I want you to analyze the internal and external dimensions of Soviet policy, with emphasis on its positions on Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Romania.”

Romania…Welcome to Romania, Madam Ambassador. Your limousine is here to drive you to your embassy. Her embassy. She had been invited to live in one of the most exciting capitals of the world, reporting to the President, being in the center of his people-to-people concept. I could have been a part of history.

She was roused from her reverie by the sound of the bell. Class was over. Time to go home and change. Edward would be back from the hospital early. He was taking her out to the country club for dinner.

As befitted an almost-ambassador.

“Code Blue! Code Blue!” the crackling voice sounded over the loudspeaker throughout the hospital corridors. Even as the emergency crew began to converge on the ambulance entrance, the sound of an approaching siren could be heard. The Geary Community Hospital is an austere-looking three-story brown building perched on a hill on St. Mary’s Road in the southwest section of Junction City. The hospital holds sixty-six beds, and has two modern operating rooms and a series of examining rooms and administrative offices.

It had been an unusually busy Friday, and the ward on the top floor was already filled with injured servicemen who had come to town from nearby Fort Riley, home of the 1st Infantry Division, known as The Big Red One, for their weekend R and R.

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