She did not know what to say. How could she explain that her world had been turned upside down, that her life had been shattered? All that mattered now were Beth and Tim. She decided that in all courtesy she would see the man and then refuse as gracefully as possible.
“I’ll meet with him, Mr. President, but I won’t change my mind.”
There was a popular bar on the Boulevard Bineau that Marin Groza’s guards frequented when they were not on duty at the villa in Neuilly. Even Lev Pasternak occasionally visited the bar. Angel selected a table in an area of the room where conversations could be overheard. The guards, away from the rigid routine of the villa, liked to drink, and when they drank, they talked. Angel listened, seeking the villa’s vulnerable point. There was always a vulnerable point. One simply had to be clever enough to find it.
It was three days before Angel overheard a conversation that gave the clue to the solution of the problem.
A guard was saying, “I don’t know what Groza is doing to the whores he brings in there, but they’re sure whipping the hell out of him. You should hear the screaming that goes on. Last week I got a look at the whips he keeps in his closet…”
And the next night: “The hookers our fearless leader gets up at the villa are real beauties. They bring them in from all over the world. Lev arranges it himself. He’s smart. He never uses the same girl twice. That way, no one can use the girls to get at Marin Groza.”
It was all Angel needed.
Early the following morning, Angel changed rental cars and drove a Fiat into Paris. The sex shop was in Montmartre, on the Place Pigalle, in the middle of a section populated by whores and pimps. Angel went inside, walking slowly along the aisles, carefully studying the merchandise for sale. There were shackles and chains and iron-studded helmets, leather pants with slits in front, penis massagers and Joy Jelly, inflatable rubber dolls and porno videotapes. There were male douches and anal cream and six-foot-long braided leather whips with thongs at the end.
Angel selected a whip, paid cash for it, and left.
The following morning, Angel brought the whip back to the shop. The manager looked up and growled, “No refunds.”
“I don’t want a refund,” Angel explained. “I feel awkward carrying this around. I would appreciate it if you would mail it for me. I’ll pay extra, of course.”
Late that afternoon, Angel was on a plane to Buenos Aires.
The whip, carefully wrapped, arrived at the villa in Neuilly the following day. It was intercepted by the guard at the gatehouse. He read the store label on the package, opened it, and examined the whip with great care. You would think the old man had enough of these already.
He passed it through, and a guard took it to Marin Groza’s bedroom closet, where he placed it with the other whips.
10
Fort Riley, one of the oldest active army forts in the United States, was constructed in 1853 when Kansas was still referred to as Indian territory. It was built to protect wagon trains from Indian war parties. Today it is used primarily as a helicopter base and a landing field for smaller military fixedwing planes.
When Stanton Rogers landed in a DC-7, he was welcomed by the base commander and his staff. A limousine was standing by, waiting to drive Stanton to the Ashley home. He had telephoned Mary after the President’s call.
“I promise to make my visit as brief as possible, Mrs. Ashley. I plan to fly in Monday afternoon to see you, if that’s all right?”
He’s being so polite. And he’s such an important man. Why is the President sending him to talk to me? “That will be fine.” In a reflex action, Mary asked, “Would you care to have dinner with us?”
He hesitated. “Thank you.” It’s going to be a long, boring evening, Stanton thought.
When Florence Schiffer heard the news, she was thrilled. “The President’s foreign affairs adviser is coming to dinner here? That means you’re going to accept the appointment!”