“Yes?” he said innocently.
“I want to talk to you about sister cities.”
Ionescu blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sister cities. You know—like San Francisco and Osaka, Los Angeles and Bombay, Washington and Bangkok…”
“I—I don’t understand. What does that have to do with—?”
“Mr. President, it occurred to me that you could get headlines all over the world if you made Bucharest a sister city of some American city. Think of the excitement it would create. It would get almost as much attention as President Ellison’s people-to-people plan. It would be an important step toward world peace. Talk about a bridge between our countries! I wouldn’t be surprised if it got you a Nobel Peace Prize.”
Ionescu sat there, trying to reorient his thinking. He said cautiously, “A sister city with the United States? It is an interesting idea. What would it involve?”
“Mostly wonderful publicity for you. You would be a hero. It would be your idea. You would pay the city a visit. A delegation from Kansas City would pay you a visit.”
“Kansas City?”
“That’s just a suggestion, of course. I don’t think you’d want a big city like New York or Chicago—too commercial. And Los Angeles is already spoken for. Kansas City is Middle America. There are farmers there, like your farmers. People with down-to-earth values, like your people. It would be the act of a great statesman, Mr. President. Your name would be on everyone’s lips. No one in Europe has thought of doing this.”
He sat there silent. “I—I would naturally have to give this a great deal of thought.”
“Naturally.”
“Kansas City, Kansas, and Bucharest, Romania.” He nodded. “We are a much larger city, of course.”
“Of course. Bucharest would be the big sister.”
“I must admit it is a very intriguing idea.”
In fact the more Ionescu thought about it, the more he liked it. My name will be on everyone’s lips. And it will serve to keep the Soviet bear hug from becoming too tight.
“Is there any chance of a rejection from the American side?” Ionescu asked.
“Absolutely none. I can guarantee it.”
He sat there, reflecting. “When would this go into effect?”
“Just as soon as you’re ready to announce it. I’ll handle our end. You’re already a great statesman, Mr. President, but this would make you even greater.”
Ionescu thought of something else. “We could set up a trade exchange with our sister city. Romania has many things to sell. Tell me—what crops does Kansas grow?”
“Among other things,” Mary said innocently, “corn and soybeans.”
“You really made the deal? You actually fooled him?” David Victor asked incredulously.
“Not for a minute,” Mary assured him. “Ionescu is too smart for that. He knew what I was after. He just liked the package I wrapped it in. You can go in and close the deal. Ionescu’s already rehearsing his television speech.”
When Stanton Rogers heard the news, he telephoned Mary. “You’re a miracle worker,” he laughed. “We thought we’d lost that deal. How in the world did you do it?”
“Ego,” Mary said. “His.”
“The President asked me to tell you what a really great job you’re doing over there, Mary.”
“Thank him for me, Stan.”
“I will. By the way, the President and I are leaving for China in a few weeks. If you need me, you can get in touch with me through my office.”
“Have a wonderful trip.”
Over the swiftly moving weeks the dancing March winds had given way to spring and then summer, and winter clothes were replaced by light cool outfits. Trees and flowers blossomed everywhere, and the parks were greening. June was almost over.
In Buenos Aires, it was winter. When Neusa Munez returned to her apartment, it was the middle of the night. The telephone was ringing. She picked it up. “¿Si?”
“Miss Munez?” It was the gringo from the United States.
“Yeah.”
“May I speak with Angel?”
“Angel no here, señor. Wha’ you wan’?”
The Controller found his irritation mounting. What kind of man would be involved with a woman like this? From the description Harry Lantz had given him before he was murdered, she was not only dim-witted, she was very unattractive. “I want you to give Angel a message for me.”