WINDMILLS OF THE GODS

BY SIDNEY SHELDON

Synopsis:

It all began with an astounding call from the White House. One minute
Mary Ashley, Kansas housewife and political science teacher, was
chatting over dinner with her family; the next minute the President of
the United States was asking her to become the new ambassador to
Romania! That call changes everything for Mary Ashley. She becomes an
instant celebrity, hounded 'by the press, courted by politicians.

Finally Mary arrives in exotic Bucharest to take up her duties,
confident, refreshingly candid-and dangerously innocent. For watching
her closely is an in- visible network 'of powerful men whose aim is to
sabotage the President's bold new peace plan. They are about to set a
diabolical trap. And the inexperienced young diplomat is the perfect
bait.

"We are all victims, Anselmo.

Our destinies are decided

by a cosmic roll of the dice,

the winds of the stars,"

the vagrant breezes

of fortune that blow from

the windmills of the gods."

-H. L. Dietrich

A Final Destiny

Prologue

Perho, Finland. The meeting took place in a comfortable weatherproofed
cabin in a remote wooded area two hundred miles from Helsinki. The
members of the Western branch of the Committee had arrived discreetly at
irregular intervals. They came from eight different countries, but
their visit had been quietly arranged by a senior minister in the
Valtioneuvosto, the Finnish Council of State, and there was no record of
entry in their passports. Upon their arrival, armed guards escorted
them into the cabin, and'when the last visitor appeared, the cabin door
was locked and the guards took up positions in the full-throated January
winds, alert for any sign of intruders.

The members, seated around the large rectangular table, were men in
powerful positions, high in the councils of their respective
governments. They had all met before in their official capacities, and
they trusted one another because they had no choice. For added security,
each had been assigned a code name.

The meeting lasted almost five hours, and the discussion was heated.
Finally the chairman decided the time had come to call for a vote. He
rose, standing tall, and turned to the man seated at his right.
"Sigurd?"

"Yes."

"Odin?"

"Yes."

"Balder?"

"We're moving too hastily. The danger-"

"Yes or no, please."

"No."

" Freyr?"

"Yes."

"Sigmund?"

"Nein. If this should be exposed, our lives would be-"

"Thor?"

"Yes."

"Tyr?"

"Yes."

"I vote yes. The resolution is passed. I will so inform the
Controller. We will observe the usual precautions and leave at
twenty-minute intervals. Thank you, gentlemen."

Two hours and forty-five minutes later the cabin was deserted. A crew of
experts carrying kerosene moved in and set the cabin on fire, the red
flames licked by the hungry winds.

When the fire brigade from Perho finally reached the scene, there was
nothing left to see but the smoldering embers that outlined the cabin
against the hissing snow.

The assistant to the fire chief approached the ashes, bent down, and
sniffed. "Kerosene," he said. "Arson."

The fire chief was staring at the ruins, a puzzled expression on his
face. "That's strange," he muttered.

"What?"

"I was hunting in these woods last week. There was no cabin."

Chapter One

Stanton Rogers was destined to be President of the United States. He
was a charismatic politician, highly visible to an approving public, and
backed by powerful friends. Unfortunately for Rogers, his libido got in
the way of his career.

It was not that Stanton Rogers fancied himself a Casanova. On the
contrary, until that one fateful bedroom escapade he had been a model
husband. He was handsome, wealthy, and although he had had ample
opportunity to cheat on his wife, he had never given another woman a
thought.

There was a second, perhaps greater irony: Stanton Rogers' wife,
Elizabeth, was social, beautiful, and intelligent, arld the two of them
shared a common interest in almost everything, whereas Barbara, the
woman Rogers fell in love with, and eventually married after a much
headlined divorce, was five years older than Stanton, pleasant-faced
rather than pretty, and seemed to have nothing in common with him.
Stanton was athletic; Barbara hated all forms of exercise. Stanton was
gregarious; Barbara preferred to be alone with her husband, or to