Windmills of the Gods by Sidney Sheldon

“Exactly,” Stickley snapped. “But you talked to the ambassador of the Soviet Union.”

“Well—yes. I made my courtesy call this morning.”

“Aren’t you aware that foreign embassies take precedence according to the date they presented their credentials?”

“Yes, but—”

“For your information, in Romania, Gabon is first, the Estonian embassy is last, and there are about seventy more embassies in between. Any questions?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry if I—”

“Please see that it doesn’t happen again.”

When Mike Slade heard the news, he came into Mary’s office. “I tried to tell you.”

“Mr. Slade—”

“They take things like that very seriously in the diplomacy business. As a matter of fact, in 1661 the attendants of the Spanish Ambassador in London attacked the French ambassador’s coach, killed the postilion, beat up the coachman, and hamstrung two horses just to make sure that the Spanish ambassador’s coach arrived first. I would suggest that you send a note of apology.”

Mary knew what she would be having for dinner. Crow.

Mary was disturbed by the comments she kept hearing about the amount of publicity she and the children were getting. There’s even been an article in Pravda with a picture of the three of you.

At midnight Mary placed a call to Stanton Rogers. He would just be getting into his office. He came onto the line immediately.

“How’s my favorite ambassador?”

“I’m fine. How are you, Stan?”

“Aside from a forty-eight-hour-a-day schedule, I can’t complain. As a matter of fact, I’m enjoying every minute of it. How are you getting along? Any problems I can help you with?”

“It’s not a problem, really. It’s just something that I’m curious about.” She hesitated, trying to phrase it so he would not misunderstand. “I presume you saw the photograph of the children and me in Pravda last week?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful!” Stanton Rogers exclaimed. “We’re finally getting through to them.”

“Do other ambassadors get as much publicity as I’ve been getting, Stan?”

“Frankly, no. But the boss decided to go all out with you, Mary. You’re our showcase. President Ellison meant it when he said he was looking for the opposite of the ugly American. We’ve got you and we intend to flaunt you. We want the whole world to get a good look at the best of our country.”

“I—I’m really flattered.”

“Keep up the good work.”

They exchanged pleasantries for a few more minutes and said good-bye.

So it’s the President who’s behind this buildup, Mary thought. No wonder he’s been able to arrange so much publicity.

The inside of the Ivan Stelian Prison was even more forbidding than its exterior. The corridors were narrow, painted a dull gray. There was a jungle of crowded, black-barred cells downstairs and on an upper tier, patrolled by uniformed guards armed with machine guns. The stench in the crowded cell area was overpowering.

A guard led Mary to a small visitor’s room at the rear of the prison.

“She’s in there. You have ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” Mary stepped inside the room, and the door closed behind her.

Hannah Murphy was seated at a small, battle-scarred table. She was handcuffed and wearing prison garb. Eddie Maltz had referred to her as a pretty nineteen-year-old student. She looked ten years older. Her face was pale and gaunt, and her eyes were red and swollen. Her hair was uncombed.

“Hi,” Mary said. “I’m the American ambassador.”

Hannah Murphy looked at her and began to sob uncontrollably.

Mary put her arms around her and said, soothingly, “Sh! It’s going to be all right.”

“N-no it’s not,” the girl moaned. “I’m going to be sentenced next week. I’ll die if I have to stay in this place five years. I’ll die!”

Mary held her for a moment. “All right, tell me what happened.”

Hannah Murphy took a deep breath, and after a few moments she said, “I met this man—he was a Romanian—and I was lonely. He was nice to me and we—we made love. A girl friend had given me a couple of sticks of marijuana. I shared one with him. We made love again and I went to sleep. When I woke up in the morning, he was gone, but the police were there. I was naked. They—they stood around watching me get dressed and they brought me to this hellhole.” She shook her head helplessly. “They told me five years.”

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