Windmills of the Gods - Sidney Sheldon

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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

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