Windmills of the Gods. Sidney Sheldon
not been impressed at first, as Ellison moved up the political ladder, Ben Cohn began to change his opinion. This politician was nobody’s ‘yes’ man. He was an oak in a forest of willows.
Outside, the sky exploded into icy sheets of rain. Ben Cohn hoped the weather was not an omen of the four years that lay ahead. He turned his attention back to the television set.
‘The Presidency of the United States is a torch lit by the American people and passed from hand to hand every four years. The torch that has been entrusted to my care is the most powerful weapon in the world. It is powerful enough to burn down civilization as we know it, or to be a beacon that will light the future for us and for the rest of the world. It is our choice to make. I speak today not only to our allies, but to those countries in the Soviet camp. I say to them now, as we prepare to move into the twenty-first century, that there is no longer any room for confrontation, that we must learn to make the phrase “one world” become a reality. Any other course can only create a holocaust from which no nation would ever recover. I am well aware of the vast chasms that lie between us and the Iron Curtain countries, but the first priority of this administration will be to build unshakeable bridges across those chasms.’
His words rang out with a deep, heartfelt sincerity. He means it, Ben Cohn thought. I hope no one assassinates the bastard.
In Junction City, Kansas, it was a pot-bellied stove kind of day, bleak and raw, and snowing so hard that the visibility on Highway 6 was almost zero. Mary Ashley cautiously steered her old station wagon towards the centre of the highway, where the snowploughs had been at work. The storm was going to make her late for the class she was teaching. She drove slowly, careful not to let the car go into a skid.
From the car radio came the President’s voice: ‘… are many in government as well as in private life who insist that America build more moats instead of bridges. My answer to that is that we can no longer afford to condemn ourselves or our children to a future threatened by global confrontations and nuclear war.’
Mary Ashley thought: I’m glad I voted for him. Paul Ellison is going to make a great President.
Her grip tightened on the wheel as the snow became a blinding white whirlwind.
In St Croix, a tropical sun was shining in a cloudless, azure sky, but Harry Lantz had no intention of going outside. He was having too much fun indoors. He was in bed, naked, sandwiched between the Dolly sisters. Lantz had empirical evidence that they were not truly sisters. Annette was a tall, natural brunette, and Sally was a tall, natural blonde. Not that Harry Lantz gave a damn whether they were blood relatives. What was important was that they were both expert at what they did, and what they were doing made Lantz groan aloud with pleasure.
At the far end of the motel room, the image of the President flickered on the television set.
‘… because I believe that there is no problem that cannot be solved by genuine goodwill on both sides, the concrete wall around East Berlin and the Iron Curtain that surrounds the other Soviet Union satellite countries must come down.’
Sally stopped her activities long enough to ask, ‘Do you want me to turn that fuckin’ thing off, hon?’
‘Leave it alone. I wanna hear what he has to say.’
Annette raised her head. ‘Did you vote for him?’
Harry Lantz yelled, ‘Hey, you two! Get back to work …’
‘As you are aware, three years ago, upon the death of Romania’s President, Nicolae Ceausescu, Romania broke off diplomatic relations with the United States. I want to inform you now that we have approached the government of Romania and its President, Alexandros Ionescu, and he has agreed to re-establish diplomatic relations with our country.’
There was a cheer from the crowd on Pennsylvania Avenue.
Harry Lantz sat upright so suddenly that Annette’s teeth sank into his penis. ‘Jesus Christ!’ Lantz screamed. ‘I’ve already been circumcised! What the fuck are you trying to do?’
‘What did you move for, hon?’
Lantz did not hear her. His eyes were glued to the television set.
‘One of our first official acts,’ the President was saying, ‘will be to send an Ambassador to Romania. And that is merely the beginning …’
In Bucharest, it was evening. The winter weather had turned unexpectedly mild and the streets of the late marketplaces were crowded with citizens lined up to shop in the unseasonably warm weather.
Romanian President Alexandros Ionescu sat in his office in Peles, the old palace, on Calea Victoriei, surrounded by half a dozen aides, listening to the broadcast on a short-wave radio.
‘… I have no intention of stopping there,’ the American President was saying. ‘Albania broke off all diplomatic relations with the United States in 1946. I intend to re-establish those ties. In addition, I intend to strengthen our diplomatic relations with Bulgaria, with Czechoslovakia, and with East Germany.’
Over the radio came the sounds of cheers and applause.
‘Sending our Ambassador to Romania is the beginning of a worldwide people-to-people movement. Let us never forget that all mankind shares a common origin, common problems, and a common ultimate fate. Let us remember that the problems we share are greater than the problems that divide us, and that what divides us is of our own making.’
In a heavily guarded villa in Neuilly, a suburb of Paris, the Romanian revolutionary leader, Marin Groza, was watching the President on Chaine 2 Television.
‘… I promise you now, that I will do my best, and that I will seek out the best in others …’
The applause lasted fully five minutes.
Marin Groza said thoughtfully, ‘I think our time has come, Lev. He really means it.’
Lev Pasternak, his security chief, replied, ‘Won’t this help Ionescu?’
Marin Groza shook his head. ‘Ionescu is a tyrant, so in the end, nothing will help him. But I must be very careful with my timing. I failed when I tried to overthrow Ceausescu. I must not fail again.’
Peter Connors was not drunk – not as drunk as he intended to get. He had finished almost a fifth of Scotch when Nancy, the secretary he lived with, said, ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Pete?’ He smiled and slapped her.
‘Our President’s talkin’. You gotta show some respect.’ He turned to look at the image on the television set. ‘You communist son-of-a-bitch,’ he yelled at the screen. ‘This is my country, and the CIA’s not gonna let you give it away. We’re gonna stop you, Charlie. You can bet your ass on it.’
Paul Ellison said, ‘I’m going to need a lot of help from you, old friend.’
‘You’ll get it,’ Stanton Rogers replied quietly.
They were seated in the Oval Office, the President at his desk with the American flag behind him. It was their first meeting together in this office, and President Ellison was uncomfortable.
If Stanton hadn’t made that one mistake, Paul Ellison thought, he would be sitting at this desk instead of me.
As though reading his mind, Stanton Rogers said, ‘I have a confession to make. The day you were nominated for the Presidency, I was as jealous as hell, Paul. It was my dream, and you were living it. But do you know something? I finally came to realize that if I couldn’t sit in that chair, there was no one else in the world I would want to sit there but you. That chair suits you.’
Paul Ellison