“I just want to take a picture to show my daughter.”
I’ll bet that’s some looking daughter, the corporal thought sardonically. “All right. But make it quick.”
Angel glanced across the room at the entrance. Ambassador Mary Ashley was entering with her two children. Angel grinned. Perfect timing.
When the corporal turned his back, Angel quickly set the camera down under a cloth-covered table, where it could not be seen. The motor-driven automatic timing device was set for a one-hour delay. Everything was ready.
The marine was approaching.
“I’m finished,” Angel said.
“I’ll have you escorted out.”
“Thank you.”
Five minutes later, Angel was outside the residence, strolling down Alexandru Sahia Street.
In spite of the fact that it was a hot and humid night, the area outside the American embassy residence had become a madhouse. Police were fighting to keep back the hundreds of curious Romanians who kept arriving. Every light in the residence had been turned on, and the building blazed against the black night sky.
Before the party began, Mary had taken the children upstairs.
“We have to have a family conference,” she said. She felt she owed them the truth.
They sat listening, wide-eyed, as their mother explained what had been happening and what might be about to happen.
“I’ll see to it that you’re in no danger,” Mary said. “You’ll be taken out of here, where you’ll be safe.”
“But what about you?” Beth asked. “Someone is trying to kill you. Can’t you come with us?”
“No, darling. Not if we want to catch this man.”
Tim was trying not to cry. “How do you know they’ll catch him?”
Mary thought about that a moment, and said, “Because Mike Slade said so. Okay, fellas?”
Beth and Tim looked at each other. They were both white-faced, terrified. Mary’s heart went out to them. They’re too young to have to go through this, she thought. Anyone is too young to have to go through this.
She dressed carefully, wondering if she was dressing for her death. She chose a full-length formal red-silk chiffon gown and red-silk high-heel sandals. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale.
Fifteen minutes later, Mary, Beth, and Tim entered the ballroom. They walked across the floor, greeting guests, trying to conceal their nervousness. When they reached the other side of the room, Mary turned to the children. “You have homework to do,” she said loudly. “Back to your rooms.”
She watched them leave, a lump in her throat, thinking: I hope to God Mike Slade knows what he’s doing.
There was a loud crash, and Mary jumped. She spun around to see what was happening, her pulse racing. A waiter had dropped a tray and was picking up the broken plates. Mary tried to stop the pounding of her heart. How was Angel planning to assassinate her? She looked around the festive ballroom, but there was no clue.
The moment the children left the ballroom, they were escorted to a service entrance by Colonel McKinney.
He said to the two armed marines waiting at the door, “Take them to the ambassador’s office. Don’t let them out of your sight.”
Beth held back. “Is mother really going to be all right?”
“She’s going to be just fine,” McKinney promised. And he prayed that he was right.
Mike Slade watched Beth and Tim leave, then went to find Mary.
“The children are on their way. I have to do some checking. I’ll be back.”
“Don’t leave me.” The words came out before she could stop herself. “I want to go with you.”
“Why?”
She looked at him and said honestly, “I feel safer with you.”
Mike grinned. “Now that’s a switch. Come on.”
Mary followed him, staying close behind. The orchestra had begun playing, and people were dancing. The repertoire was American songs, mostly from Broadway musicals. They played the scores from Oklahoma, South Pacific, Annie Get Your Gun, and My Fair Lady. The guests were enjoying themselves tremendously. Those who were not dancing were helping themselves from the silver trays of champagne being offered or from the buffet tables.
The room looked spectacular. Mary raised her head, and there were the balloons, a thousand of them—red, white, and blue—floating against the pink ceiling. It was a festive occasion. If only death were not a part of it, she thought. Her nerves were so taut that she was ready to scream. A guest brushed against her and she braced herself for the prick of a deadly needle. Or did Angel plan to shoot her in front of these people? Or stab her? The suspense of what was about to happen was unbearable. She was finding it difficult to breathe. In the midst of the laughing, chattering guests, she felt naked and vulnerable. Angel could be anywhere. He could be watching her this very minute.