Working very slowly with exquisite care, Angel cut the top off the first grenade, then painted the bottom of it the same color as the light bulbs. The next step was to scoop out the explosive from the grenade and replace it with a seismic explosive. When it was tightly packed, Angel added lead and metallic shrapnel to it. Then Angel shattered a light bulb against a table, preserving the filament and threaded base. It took less than a minute to solder the filament of the bulb to an electrically activated detonator. The final step was to insert the filament into a gel to keep it stable and then gently place it inside the painted grenade. When Angel was finished, it looked exactly like a normal light bulb.
Then Angel began to work on the remaining light bulbs. After that, there was nothing to do but wait for the phone call.
The telephone rang at eight o’clock that evening. Angel picked up the phone and listened, without speaking. After a moment a voice said, “He’s gone.”
Angel replaced the receiver. Carefully, very carefully, the light bulbs were packed into an excelsior-padded container and placed in a suitcase, along with all the scraps of discarded materials.
The taxi ride to the apartment building took seventeen minutes.
There was no doorman in the lobby, but if there had been, Angel was prepared to deal with him. The target apartment was on the fifth floor, at the far end of the corridor. The lock was an early-model Schlage, childishly simple to manipulate. Angel was inside the dark apartment within seconds, standing stock-still, listening. There was no one there.
It was the work of a few minutes to replace six light bulbs in the living room of the apartment. Afterward, Angel headed for Dulles Airport to catch a midnight flight back to Buenos Aires.
It had been a long day for Ben Cohn. He had covered a morning press conference by the secretary of state, a luncheon for the retiring secretary of the interior, and had been given an off-the-record briefing from a friend in the Defense Department. He had gone home to shower and change, and then left again to have dinner with a senior Post editor. It was almost midnight when he returned to his apartment building. I have to prepare my notes for the meeting with Ambassador Ashley tomorrow, Ben thought.
Akiko was out of town and would not be returning until tomorrow. It’s just as well. I can use the rest. But Jesus, he thought with a grin, the lady sure knows how to eat a banana split.
He put the key in the lock and opened the door. The apartment was pitch-black. He reached for the light switch and pressed it. There was a sudden bright flash of light and the room exploded like an atomic bomb, splashing pieces of his body against the four walls.
The following day Alfred Shuttleworth was reported missing by his wife. His body was never found.
17
“We just received official word,” Stanton Rogers said. “The Romanian government has approved you as the new ambassador from the United States.”
It was one of the most thrilling moments of Mary Ashley’s life. Grandfather would have been so proud.
“I wanted to bring you the good news in person, Mary. The President would like to see you. I’ll take you over to the White House.”
“I—I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done, Stan.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Rogers protested. “It was the President who selected you.” He grinned. “And I must say, he made the perfect choice.”
Mary thought of Mike Slade. “There are some people who don’t agree.”
“They’re wrong. You can do more for our country over there than anyone else I can think of.”
“Thank you,” she said soberly. “I’ll try to live up to that.”
She was tempted to bring up the subject of Mike Slade. Stanton Rogers had a lot of power. Perhaps he could arrange to have Slade stay in Washington. No, Mary thought. I mustn’t impose on Stan. He’s done enough already.
“I have a suggestion. Instead of flying directly to Bucharest, why don’t you and the children stop first in Paris and Rome for a few days? Tarom Airlines flies directly from Rome to Bucharest.”