Windmills of the Gods

One hour later, the negative of the photograph was on its way to Washington, D.C.

Every town has its own distinctive rhythm, a life pulse that springs from the people and the land. Junction City, in Geary County, is a farm community (population 20,381), 130 miles west of Kansas City, priding itself on being the geographical centre of the continental United States. It has a newspaper – the Daily Union – a radio station, and a television station. The downtown shopping area consists of a series of scattered stores and gas stations along 6th Street and on Washington. There is a Penney’s, the First National Bank, a Domino Pizza, Flower Jeweller’s, and a Woolworth’s. There are fast food chains, a bus station, a menswear shop, and a liquor store – the type of establishments that are xeroxed in hundreds of small towns across the United States. But the residents of Junction City loved it for its bucolic peace and tranquillity. On weekdays, at least. Weekends, Junction City became the Rest and Recreation Centre for the soldiers at nearby Fort Riley.

Mary Ashley stopped to shop for dinner at Dillon’s Market on her way home and then headed north towards Old Milford Road, a lovely residential area overlooking a lake. Oak and elm trees lined the left side of the road, while on the right side were beautiful houses variously made of stone, brick or wood.

The Ashley house was a two-storey stone house set in the middle of gently rolling hills. The house had been bought by Dr Edward Ashley and his bride thirteen years earlier. It consisted of a large living room, a dining room, library, breakfast room and kitchen downstairs and a master suite and two additional bedrooms upstairs.

‘It’s awfully large for just two people,’ Mary Ashley had protested.

Edward had taken her into his arms and held her close. ‘Who said it’s going to be for only two people?’

When Mary arrived home from the University, Tim and Beth were waiting to greet her.

‘Guess what?’ Tim said. ‘We’re going to have our pictures in the paper!’

‘Help me put away the groceries,’ Mary said. ‘What paper?’

‘The man didn’t say, but he took our pictures and he said we’d hear from him.’

Mary stopped and turned to look at her son. ‘Did this man say why?’

‘No,’ Tim said, ‘but he sure had a nifty Nikon.’

On Sunday, Mary celebrated – although that was not the word that sprang to mind – her thirty-fifth birthday. Edward had arranged for a surprise party for her at the country club. Their neighbours, Florence and Douglas Schiffer, and four other couples were waiting for her. Edward was as delighted as a small child at the look of amazement on Mary’s face when she walked into the club and saw the festive table and the happy birthday banner. She did not have the heart to tell him that she had known about the party for the past two weeks. She adored Edward. And why not? Who wouldn’t? He was attractive and intelligent and caring. His grandfather and father had been doctors, and it had never occurred to Edward to be anything else. He was the best surgeon in Junction City, a good father, and a wonderful husband.

As Mary blew out the candles on her birthday cake, she looked across at Edward and thought: How lucky can a lady be?

Monday morning, Mary awoke with a hangover. There had been a lot of champagne toasts the night before, and she was not used to drinking alcohol. It took an effort to get out of bed. That champagne done me in. Never again, she promised herself.

She eased her way downstairs and gingerly set about preparing breakfast for the children, trying to ignore the pounding in her head.

‘Champagne,’ Mary groaned, ‘is France’s vengeance against us.’

Beth walked into the room carrying an armful of books. ‘Who are you talking to, Mother?’

‘Myself.’

‘That’s weird.’

‘When you’re right, you’re right.’ Mary put a box of cereal on the table. ‘I bought a new cereal for you. You’re going to like it.’

Beth sat down at the kitchen table and studied the label on the cereal box. ‘I can’t eat this. You’re trying to kill me.’

‘Don’t put any ideas in my head,’ her mother cautioned. ‘Would you please eat your breakfast?’

Tim, her ten-year-old, ran into the kitchen. He slid into a chair at the table and said, ‘I’ll have bacon and eggs.’

‘Whatever happened to good morning?’ Mary asked.

‘Good morning. I’ll have bacon and eggs.’

‘Please.’

‘Aw, come on, Mom. I’m going to be late for school.’

‘I’m glad you mentioned that. Mrs Reynolds called me. You’re failing maths. What do you say to that?’

‘It figures.’

‘Tim, is that supposed to be a joke?’

‘I personally don’t think it’s funny,’ Beth sniffed.

He made a face at his sister. ‘If you want funny, look in the mirror.’

‘That’s enough,’ Mary said. ‘Behave yourselves.’

Her headache was getting worse.

Tim asked, ‘Can I go to the skating rink after school, Mom?’

‘You’re already skating on thin ice. You’re to come right home and study. How do you think it looks for a college professor to have a son who’s failing maths?’

‘It looks okay. You don’t teach maths.’

They talk about the terrible twos, Mary thought grimly. What about the terrible nines, tens, elevens and twelves?

Beth said, ‘Did Tim tell you he got a “D” in spelling?’

He glared at his sister. ‘Haven’t you ever heard of Mark Twain?’

‘What does Mark Twain have to do with this?’ Mary asked.

‘Mark Twain said he has no respect for a man who can only spell a word one way.’

We can’t win, Mary thought. They’re smarter than we are.

She had packed a lunch for each of them, but she was concerned about Beth, who was on some kind of crazy new diet.

‘Please, Beth, eat all of your lunch today.’

‘If it has no artificial preservatives. I’m not going to let the greed of the food industry ruin my health.’

Whatever happened to the good old days of junk food? Mary wondered.

Tim plucked a loose paper from one of Beth’s notebooks. ‘Look at this!’ he yelled. ‘“Dear Beth, let’s sit together during study period. I thought of you all day yesterday and –”’

‘Give that back to me!’ Beth screamed. ‘That’s mine.’ She made a grab for Tim, and he jumped out of her reach.

He read the signature at the bottom of the note. ‘Hey! It’s signed Virgil. I thought you were in love with Arnold.’

Beth snatched the note away from him. ‘What would you know about love?’ Mary’s twelve-year-old daughter demanded. ‘You’re a child.’

The pounding in Mary’s head was becoming unbearable.

‘Kids – give me a break.’

She heard the horn of the school bus outside. Tim and Beth started towards the door.

‘Wait! You haven’t eaten your breakfasts,’ Mary said.

She followed them out into the hallway.

‘No time, Mother. Got to go.’

‘’Bye, Mom.’

‘It’s freezing outside. Put on your coats and scarves.’

‘I can’t. I lost my scarf,’ Tim said.

And they were gone. Mary felt drained. Motherhood is living in the eye of a hurricane.

She looked up as Edward came down the stairs, and she felt a glow. Even after all these years, Mary thought, he’s still the most attractive man I’ve ever known. It was his gentleness that had first caught Mary’s interest. His eyes were a soft grey, reflecting a warm intelligence, but they could turn into twin blazes when he became impassioned about something.

‘Morning, darling.’ He gave her a kiss. They walked into the kitchen.

‘Sweetheart – would you do me a favour?’

‘Sure, beautiful. Anything.’

‘I want to sell the children.’

‘Both of them?’

‘Both of them.’

‘When?’

‘Today.’

‘Who’d buy them?’

‘Strangers. They’ve reached the age where I can’t do anything right. Beth has become a health food freak, and your son is turning into a world-class dunce.’

Edward said thoughtfully, ‘Maybe they’re not our kids.’

‘I hope not. I’m making oatmeal for you.’

He looked at his watch. ‘Sorry, darling. No time. I’m due in surgery in half an hour. Hank Cates got tangled up in some machinery. He may lose a few fingers.’

‘Isn’t he too old to still be farming?’

‘Don’t let him hear you say that.’

Mary knew that Hank Cates had not paid her husband’s bills in three years. Like most of the farmers in the community, Hank Cates was suffering from the low farm prices and the Farm Credit Administration’s indifferent attitude towards the farmers. A lot of them were losing farms they had worked on all of their lives. Edward never pressed any of his patients for money, and many of them paid him with crops. The Ashleys had a cellar full of corn, potatoes and wheat. One farmer had offered to give Edward a cow in payment, but when Edward told Mary about it, she said, ‘For heaven’s sake, tell him the treatment is on the house.’

Mary looked at her husband now and thought again: How lucky I am.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I may decide to keep the kids. I like their father a lot.’

‘To tell you the truth, I’m rather fond of their mother.’ He took her in his arms and held her close. ‘Happy Birthday, plus one.’

‘Do you still love me now that I’m an older woman?’

‘I like older women.’

‘Thanks.’ Mary suddenly remembered something. ‘I’ve got to get home early today and prepare dinner. It’s our turn to have the Schiffers over.’

Bridge with their neighbours was a Monday night ritual. The fact that Douglas Schiffer was a doctor and worked with Edward at the hospital made them even closer.

Mary and Edward left the house together, bowing their heads against the relentless wind. Edward strapped himself into his Ford Granada, and watched Mary as she got behind the wheel of the station wagon.

‘The highway is probably icy,’ Edward called. ‘Drive carefully.’

‘You, too, darling.’

She blew him a kiss, and the two cars drove away from the house, Edward heading towards the hospital, and Mary driving towards the town of Manhattan, where the University was located, 16 miles away.

Two men in an automobile parked half a block from the Ashley house watched the cars leave. They waited until the vehicles were out of sight.

‘Let’s go.’

They drove up to the house next door to the Ashleys. Rex Olds, the driver, sat in the car while his companion walked up to the front door and rang the bell. The door was opened by an attractive brunette in her middle thirties.

‘Yes? Can I help you?’

‘Mrs Douglas Schiffer?’

‘Yes …?’

The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an identification card. ‘My name is Donald Zamlock. I’m with the Security Agency of the State Department.’

‘Good God! Don’t tell me Doug has robbed a bank!’

The agent smiled politely. ‘No, ma’am. Not that we know of. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your neighbour, Mrs Ashley.’

She looked at him with sudden concern. ‘Mary? What about her?’

‘May I come in?’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Florence Schiffer led him into the living room. ‘Sit down. Would you like some coffee?’

‘No, thanks. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.’

‘Why would you be asking about Mary?’

He smiled reassuringly. ‘This is just a routine check. She’s not suspected of any wrong-doing.’

‘I should hope not,’ Florence Schiffer said indignantly. ‘Mary Ashley is one of the nicest persons you’ll ever meet.’ She added, ‘Have you met her?’

‘No, ma’am. This visit is confidential, and I would appreciate it if you kept it that way. How long have you known Mrs Ashley?’

‘About thirteen years. Since the day she moved in next door.’

‘Would you say that you know Mrs Ashley well?’

‘Of course I would. Mary’s my closest friend. What –?’

‘Do she and her husband get along well?’

‘Next to Douglas and me, they’re the happiest couple I’ve ever known.’ She thought a moment. ‘I take that back. They are the happiest couple I’ve ever known.’

‘I understand Mrs Ashley has two children. A girl twelve and a boy ten?’

‘That’s right. Beth and Tim.’

‘Would you say she’s a good mother?’

‘She’s a great mother. What’s –?’

‘Mrs Schiffer, in your opinion, is Mrs Ashley an emotionally stable person?’

‘Of course she is.’

‘She has no emotional problems that you are aware of?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Does she drink?’

‘No. She doesn’t like alcohol.’

‘What about drugs?’

‘You’ve come to the wrong town, Mister. We don’t have a drug problem in Junction City.’

‘Mrs Ashley is married to a doctor?’

‘Yes.’

‘If she wanted to get drugs –’

‘You’re way off base. She doesn’t do drugs. She doesn’t snort, and she doesn’t shoot up.’

He studied her a moment. ‘You seem to know all the terminology.’

‘I watch Miami Vice, like everybody else.’ Florence Schiffer was getting angry. ‘Do you have any more questions?’

‘Mary Ashley’s grandfather was born in Romania. Have you ever heard her discuss Romania?’

‘Oh, once in a while she’ll tell stories her grandfather told her about the old country. Her grandfather was born in Romania but he came over here when he was in his teens.’

‘Have you ever heard Mrs Ashley express a negative opinion about the present Romanian government?’

‘No. Not that I can remember.’

‘One last question. Have you ever heard Mrs Ashley or Dr Ashley say anything against the United States government?’

‘Absolutely not!’

‘Then in your estimation, they’re both loyal Americans?’

‘You bet they are. Would you mind telling me –?’

The man rose. ‘I want to thank you for your time, Mrs Schiffer. And I’d like to impress upon you again that this matter is highly confidential. I would appreciate it if you didn’t discuss it with anyone – not even your husband.’

A moment later he was out of the door. Florence Schiffer stood there staring after him. ‘I don’t believe this whole conversation took place,’ she said aloud.

The two agents drove down Washington Street, heading north. They passed a billboard that read: ‘Enjoy yourself in the land of Ah’s.’

‘Cute,’ Rex Olds grunted.

They went by the Chamber of Commerce and the Royal Order of the Elks building, Irma’s Pet Grooming and a bar called ‘The Fat Chance’. The commercial buildings came to an abrupt end.

Donald Zamlock said, ‘Jesus, the main street is only two blocks long. This isn’t a town. It’s a pit stop.’

Rex Olds said, ‘To you it’s a pit stop, and to me it’s a pit stop, but to these people it’s a town.’

Zamlock shook his head. ‘It’s probably a nice place to live, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to visit here.’

The sedan pulled up in front of the State Bank and Rex Olds went inside.

He returned twenty minutes later. ‘Clean,’ he said, getting into the car. ‘The Ashleys have seven thousand dollars in the bank, a mortgage on their house, and they pay their bills on time. The president of the bank thinks the doctor is too soft-hearted to be a good businessman, but as far as he’s concerned, he’s a top credit risk.’

Zamlock looked at a clipboard at his side. ‘Let’s check out a few more names and get back to civilization before I begin to moo.’

Douglas Schiffer was normally a pleasant, easy-going man, but at the moment there was a grim expression on his face. The Schiffers and the Ashleys were in the middle of their weekly bridge game, and the Schiffers were 10,000 points behind. For the fourth time that evening, Florence Schiffer had reneged.

Douglas Schiffer slammed down his cards. ‘Florence!’ he exploded, ‘which side are you playing on? Do you know how much we’re down?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said nervously. ‘I – I just can’t seem to concentrate.’

‘Obviously,’ her husband snorted.

‘Is anything bothering you?’ Edward Ashley asked Florence.

‘I can’t tell you.’

They all looked at her in surprise. ‘What does that mean?’ her husband asked.

Florence Schiffer took a deep breath. ‘Mary – it’s about you.’

‘What about me?’

‘You’re in some sort of trouble, aren’t you?’

Mary stared at her. ‘Trouble? No. I – what makes you think that?’

‘I’m not supposed to tell. I promised.’

‘You promised who?’ Edward asked.

‘A federal agent from Washington. He was at the house this morning asking me all kinds of questions about Mary. He made her sound like some kind of international spy.’

‘What kind of questions?’ Edward demanded.

‘Oh, you know. Was she a loyal American? Was she a good wife and mother? Was she on drugs?’

‘Why the devil would they be asking you questions like that?’

‘Wait a minute,’ Mary said excitedly. ‘I think I know. It’s about my tenure.’

‘What?’ Florence asked.

‘I’m up for tenure at the University. The University does some sensitive government research on campus, so I suppose they have to check everyone pretty thoroughly.’

‘Well, thank God that’s all it is.’ Florence Schiffer breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I thought they were going to lock you up.’

‘I hope they do,’ Mary smiled. ‘At Kansas State.’

‘Well, now that that’s out of the way,’ Douglas Schiffer said, ‘can we get on with the game?’ He turned to his wife. ‘If you renege one more time, I’m going to put you over my knee.’

‘Promises, promises.’

Chapter Five

Abbeywood, England

‘We are meeting under the usual rules,’ the chairman announced. ‘No records will be kept, this meeting will never be discussed, and we will refer to one another by the code names we have been assigned.’

There were eight men inside the library of the fifteenth-century Claymore Castle. Two armed men in plainclothes, bundled up in heavy overcoats, kept vigil outside, while a third man guarded the door to the library. The eight men inside the room had arrived at the site separately, a short time earlier.

The chairman continued. ‘The Controller has received some disturbing information. Marin Groza is preparing a coup against Alexandros Ionescu. A group of senior army officers in Romania has decided to back Groza. This time he could very well be successful.’

Odin spoke up. ‘How would that affect our plan?’

‘It could destroy it. It would open too many bridges to the West.’

Freyr said, ‘Then we must prevent it from happening.’

Balder asked, ‘How?’

‘We assassinate Groza,’ the chairman replied.

‘That’s impossible. Ionescu’s men have made half a dozen attempts that we know of, and they’ve all failed. His villa seems to be impregnable. Anyway, no one in this room can afford to be involved in an assassination attempt.’

‘We wouldn’t be directly involved,’ the chairman said.

‘Then how?’

‘The Controller discovered a confidential dossier that concerns an international terrorist who’s for hire.’

‘Abul Abbas, the man who organized the hijacking of the Achille Lauro?’

‘No. There’s a new gun in town, gentlemen. A better one. He’s called Angel.’

‘Never heard of him,’ Sigmund said.

‘Exactly. His credentials are most impressive. According to the Controller’s file, Angel was involved in the Sikh Khalistan assassination in India. He helped the Macheteros terrorists in Puerto Rico, and the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. He’s master-minded the assassination of half a dozen army officers in Israel and the Israelis have offered a million-dollar reward for him, dead or alive.’

‘He sounds promising,’ Thor said. ‘Can we get him?’

‘He’s expensive. If he agrees to take the contract, it will cost us two million dollars.’

Freyr whistled, then shrugged. ‘That can be handled. We’ll take it from the general fund we’ve set up.’

‘How do we get to this Angel person?’ Sigmund asked.

‘All his contacts are handled through his mistress, a woman named Neusa Muñez.’

‘Where do we find her?’

‘She lives in Argentina. Angel has set her up in an apartment in Buenos Aires.’

Thor said, ‘What would the next step be? Who would get in touch with her for us?’

The chairman replied, ‘The Controller has suggested a man named Harry Lantz.’

‘That name sounds familiar.’

The chairman said drily, ‘Yes. He’s been in the newspapers. Harry Lantz is a maverick. He was thrown out of the CIA for setting up his own drug business in Viet Nam. While he was with the CIA, he did a tour in South America, so he knows the territory. He’d be a perfect go-between.’ He paused. ‘I suggest we take a vote. All those in favour of hiring Angel please raise your hands.’

Eight well-manicured hands went into the air.

‘Then it’s settled.’ The chairman rose. ‘The meeting is adjourned. Please observe the usual precautions.’

It was a Monday, and Constable Leslie Hanson was having a picnic in the greenhouse on the castle’s grounds, where he had no right to be. He was not alone, he later had to explain to his superiors. It was warm in the greenhouse, and his companion, Annie, a buxom country lass, had prevailed upon the good constable to bring a picnic hamper.

‘You supply the food,’ Annie giggled, ‘and I’ll supply the dessert.’

The ‘dessert’ was five feet six inches, with beautiful, shapely breasts and hips that a man could sink his teeth into.

Unfortunately, in the middle of dessert Constable Hanson’s concentration was distracted by a limousine driving out of the castle gate.

‘This bloody place is supposed to be closed on Mondays,’ he muttered.

‘Don’t lose your place,’ Annie coaxed.

‘Not likely, pet.’

Twenty minutes later, the constable heard a second car leaving. This time he was curious enough to get up and peer out of the window. It looked like an official limousine, with darkened windows that concealed the passengers.

‘Are you comin’, then, Leslie?’

‘Right. I just can’t figure out who could be in the castle. Except for tour days, it’s closed down.’

‘Exactly what’s going to happen to me, love, if you don’t hop it.’

Twenty minutes later when Constable Hanson heard the third car leave, his libido lost out to his instincts as a policeman. There were five more vehicles, all limousines, all spaced twenty minutes apart. Because one of the cars stopped long enough to let a deer run by, Constable Hanson was able to note the licence-plate number.

‘It’s supposed to be your bloody day off,’ Annie complained.

‘This could be important,’ the constable said. And even as he said it, he wondered whether he was going to report it.

‘What were you doing at Claymore Castle?’ Sergeant Twill demanded.

‘Sight-seeing, sir.’

‘The castle was closed.’

‘Yes, sir. The greenhouse was open.’

‘So you decided to sight-see in the greenhouse?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Alone, of course?’

‘Well, to tell the truth –’

‘Spare me the grotty details, Constable. What made you suspicious of the cars?’

‘Their behaviour, sir.’

‘Cars don’t behave, Hanson. Drivers do.’

‘Of course, sir. The drivers seemed very cautious. The cars left at intervals of twenty minutes.’

‘You are aware, of course, that there are probably a thousand innocent explanations. In fact, Hanson, the only one who doesn’t seem to have an innocent explanation is yourself.’

‘Yes, sir. But I thought I should report this.’

‘Right. Is this the licence number you got?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very well. Be off with you.’ He thought of one witticism to add. ‘Remember – it’s dangerous to throw stones at people if you’re in a glass house.’ He chuckled at his bon mot all morning.