SIDNEY SHELDON
WINDMILLS OF THE GODS
For Jorja
Contents
We are all victims, Anselmo. Our destinies are decided by a cosmic roll of the dice, the whims of the stars, the vagrant breezes of fortune that blow from the windmills of the gods.
A Final Destiny H. L. Dietrich
Ilomantsi, Finland
The meeting took place in a comfortable, weather-proofed cabin in a remote, wooded area some 200 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 met before and under less clandestine circumstances, 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?’