Windmills of the Gods by Sidney Sheldon Read Free Book Online Page A

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 license-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 behavior, 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 license 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.
    When the report on the license plate came back, Sergeant Twill decided that Hanson had made a mistake. He took his information upstairs to Inspector Pakula and explained the background.
    “I wouldn’t have bothered you with this, Inspector, but the license-plate number—”
    “Yes. I see. I’ll take care of it.’”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    At SIS Headquarters, Inspector Pakula had a brief meeting with one of the senior heads of the British Secret Intelligence Service, a beefy, florid-faced man, Sir Alex Hyde-White.
    “You were quite right to bring this to my attention,” Sir Alex smiled, “but I’m afraid it’s nothing more sinister than trying to arrange a royal vacation trip without the press being aware of it.”
    “I’m sorry to have bothered you about this.” Inspector Pakula rose to his feet.
    “Not at all, Inspector. Shows your branch is on its toes. What did you say the name of that young constable was?”
    “Hanson, sir. Leslie Hanson.”
    When the door closed behind Inspector Pakula, Sir Alex Hyde-White picked up a red telephone on his desk. “I have a message for Balder. We have a small problem. I’ll explain it at the next meeting. Meanwhile, I want you to arrange for three transfers. Police Sergeant Twill, an Inspector Pakula, and Constable Leslie Hanson. Spread them out a few days. I want them sent to separate posts, as far from London aspossible. I’ll inform the Controller and see if he wants to take any further action.”
    In his hotel room in New York, Harry Lantz was awakened in the middle of the night by the ringing of the telephone.
    Who the hell knows I’m here? he wondered. He looked blearily at the bedside clock, then snatched up the phone. “It’s four o’fucking clock in the morning! Who the—?”
    A soft voice at the other end of the line began speaking, and Lantz sat upright in bed, his heart beginning to pound. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Yes, sir…No, sir, but I can arrange to make myself free.” He listened for a long time. Finally he said, “Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll be on the first plane to Buenos Aires. Thank you, sir.”
    He replaced the receiver and lit a cigarette. His hands were trembling. The man he had just spoken to was one of the most powerful men in the world, and what he had asked Harry to do… What the hell is going down? Harry Lantz asked himself. Something big. The man was going to pay him fifty thousand dollars to deliver a message. It would be fun going back to Argentina. Harry Lantz loved the South American women. I know a dozen bitches there with hot