In Romanian one of them asked, “Are you all right?” And then in halting English, “What happened?”
Mary was fighting to get herself under control. “Two men—they—they tr-tried to force me into their car. If—if it hadn’t been for this gentleman—” She turned.
The stranger was gone.
22
She fought all night long, struggling to escape the men, waking in a panic, falling to sleep and waking again. She kept reliving the scene: The sudden footsteps hurrying toward her, the car pulling up, the man trying to force her into the car. Had they known who she was? Or were they merely trying to rob a tourist dressed in American clothes?
When Mary arrived at her office, Mike Slade was waiting for her. He brought in two cups of coffee and sat down across from her desk. “How was the theater?” he asked.
“Fine.” What had happened to her afterward was none of his business.
“Did you get hurt?”
She looked at him in surprise. “What?”
He said patiently, “When they tried to kidnap you. Did they hurt you?”
“I—how do you know about that?”
His voice was filled with irony. “Madam Ambassador, Romania is one big, open secret. You can’t take a bath without everyone knowing about it. It wasn’t very clever of you to go for a stroll by yourself.”
“I’m aware of that now,” Mary said coldly. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” His tone was brisk. “Did the man take anything from you?”
“No.”
He frowned.
“It makes no sense. If they had wanted your coat or purse, they could have taken them from you on the street. Trying to force you into a car means it was a kidnapping.”
“Who would want to kidnap me?”
“It wouldn’t have been Ionescu’s men. He’s trying to keep our relations on an even keel. It would have to be some dissident group.”
“Or crooks who planned to hold me for ransom.”
“There are no kidnappings for ransom in this country. If they caught anyone doing that, there wouldn’t be a trial—there would be a firing squad.” He took a sip of his coffee. “May I give you some advice?”
“I’m listening.”
“Go home.”
“What?”
Mike Slade put down the cup. “All you have to do is send in a letter of resignation, pack up your kids, and go back to Kansas, where you’ll be safe.”
She could feel her face getting red. “Mr. Slade, I made a mistake. It’s not the first one I’ve made, and it probably won’t be the last one. But I was appointed to this post by the President of the United States, and until he fires me, I don’t want you or anyone else telling me to go home.” She fought to keep control of her voice. “I expect the people in this embassy to work with me, not against me. If that’s too much for you to handle, why don’t you go home?” She was trembling in her anger.
Mike Slade stood up. “I’ll see that the morning reports are put on your desk, Madam Ambassador.”
The attempted kidnapping was the sole topic of conversation at the embassy that morning. How had everyone found out? Mary wondered. And how had Mike Slade found out? Mary wished she could have learned the name of her rescuer, so that she could thank him. In the quick glimpse she had had of him, she had gotten the impression of an attractive man, probably in his early forties, with prematurely gray hair. He had had a foreign accent—possibly French. If he was a tourist, he could have left Romania by now.
An idea kept gnawing at Mary, and it was hard to dismiss. The only person she knew of who wanted to get rid of her was Mike Slade. What if he had set up the attack to frighten her into leaving? He had given her the theater tickets. He had known where she would be. She could not put it out of her mind.
Mary had debated whether to tell the children about the attempted kidnapping, and decided against it. She did not want to frighten them. She would simply see to it that they were never alone.