(1980) The Second Lady

by Irving Wallace

‘A problem, a serious problem,’ Petrov grumbled. ‘Our invincible lady, our Vera Vaviiova, is in trouble.’ ‘But everything was anticipated,’ said Garanin. ‘Not everything,’ snapped Petrov. He fixed his glare on his American expert. ‘Comrade Razin overlooked one thing.’

  ‘But we were assured there would be no sex for six weeks,’ Razin protested.

  ‘To be assured is not to be certain,’ said Petrov. He saw the bewilderment on the faces of the others. ‘Mrs Bradford had an appointment with her gynaecologist. The reason was unknown to Comrade Vaviiova. Nevertheless she kept the appointment in the First Lady’s place. She saw it through successfully. She learned that she had been suffering from vaginal bleeding. This was the reason she was not to have sex with the President for six weeks, meaning not for four more weeks from now. This meant Comrade Vaviiova would have had time enough to fulfil her Summit mission, be exchanged, and returned safely to us, before the President would have sexual relations with her. Now Comrade Vaviiova has learned that she is cured of her vaginal complaint, and that her gynaecologist has informed the President that he can resume the sex act with his wife in five days; exactly

  five days from today. Do you see the precarious position in which our agent has been placed?’

  ‘Too clearly,’ said Dr Lunts. ‘It is unfortunate —’ ‘You understate, Dr Lunts,’ said Petrov. ‘This is a potential disaster. Five nights from tonight, when we are all in London, our Vera Vaviiova must go to bed with the President to enjoy sex again. But she is ignorant of their previous relationship. How did the real First Lady perform in bed with her husband? Our Second Lady does not know. But she must know — or run the risk of being exposed. Either we learn the truth and help her - or we abort the entire project.’

  ‘Can we abort on such short notice?’ said Colonel Zhuk.

  ‘Why not? A day or two before the President is to have sex with her, we get Vera Vaviiova out of London and fly her back to Moscow — at the same time replacing her with Billie Bradford. It can be done. Only I don’t want it to be done. I don’t want Vera Vaviiova back here until she has obtained the information the Premier requires for the Summit.’

  ‘Bringing her back,’ Garanin complained, ‘three years of wasted work.’

  ‘Worse,’ said Petrov, ‘it would leave the Premier unarmed at the Summit, leave him in the dark, possibly forcing him to capitulate to the capitalists. No, I can’t have that. I won’t have that. We must find out how the First Lady performs in bed with her husband and transmit our findings to Vera Vaviiova.’

  ‘How, possibly?’ Razin asked no one in particular.

  ‘That is why you are all here, to think of something.’

  ‘Some secrets are impossible to penetrate,’ said Razin. ‘Sex between a husband and wife is such a private matter.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Petrov. ‘Perhaps one of them has visited a psychoanalyst?’

  ‘Neither has,’ said Razin.

  ‘Or confided in a close friend?’

  ‘Doubtful,’ said Razin. ‘Even if one did, we don’t have time —’

  ‘Then let us say only two persons on earth know how

  Billie Bradford performs in bed with the President,’ Petrov conceded. ‘Obviously, we can’t interrogate the President. That leaves us his wife. We have his wife here. Maybe we can get the information from her.’ ‘Unlikely, General.’

  ‘Come now, Razin, your Billie Bradford, she is hardly a vestal virgin. I know from our profile of her some of her previous involvements.’

  ‘Did she have sex with every man in her past?’ said Razin. ‘I don’t know, ‘ admitted Petrov. ‘We have no proof. And we don’t dare to go to the various men.’

  Dr Lunts spoke up. ‘Has she ever committed adultery since marrying the President?’

  ‘No evidence of that,’ said Petrov. ‘But I’m sure there are other possibilities.’

  ‘What possibilities do you have in mind?’ inquired the KGB psychiatrist.

  ‘One is the direct route. Go to her. Tell her frankly what we need from her. Tell her that her future safety depends on her cooperation.’

  Dr Lunts shook his head. ‘Her profile indicates that she would never cooperate. Sanctity of marriage. Privacy. Puritanism. She would defy you to the end with silence.’

  Petrov frowned. ‘Then we should treat her as we would any obstructionist.’

  ‘Torture?’ said Dr Lunts. Petrov shrugged. ‘Why not?’

  Razin quickly intervened. ‘Begging your pardon, General, but any physical harm to her could not be explained when we return her to the Americans.’

  ‘Who spoke of physical harm?’ said Petrov innocently. ‘There are other forms of persuasion. Starvation, for one.’ Tt would leave its marks.’ ‘Drugs, then.’

  ‘Not reliable,’ said Dr Lunts. ‘They would probably distort any normal response. Hypnosis would be just as untrustworthy, especially if she had strong resistance.’

  Petrov had become progressively impatient. ‘Enough of

  this,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you simply what should be done. I say go in there and fuck her by force. We’ll see how she behaves. We’ll find out first-hand.’

  ‘Find out what?’ said Razin. ‘Do you think she’ll react to violent rape in the way she reacts to natural sex? Never.’

  Dr Lunts supported Razin. ‘He is right, General. Rape would not give you a dependable response.’

  Petrov showed his exasperation. ‘All I get from you nay-sayers is nothing. Not one constructive idea. Only nyet. Why have I assembled you here? Because I regard you as the best brains in the KGB. We must chart a course today. We must act on it. We must succeed. Or everything is lost.’

  This was followed by silence, as all of them assumed postures of deep thought.

  Razin, lifting a hand for attention, broke the silence. ‘General Petrov,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There is one possibility. I — I think I have an idea. Please listen to me.’

  He began to speak slowly, and soon everyone in the office was absorbed.

  In her secured Kremlin suite — her jail, her prison, her camouflaged Lubyanka, why dignify it with any other name? — Billie Bradford, in grey T-shirt and white slacks, sat picking at the vomitous Russian breakfast of salami slices, cottage cheese with sugar, a heavy pancake topped with sour cream, yogurt, and black bread, on her tray. The food revolted her. Besides, she was not hungry. She ate what little she did merely to sustain her strength for whatever might come up.

  She had been taken by surprise when General Petrov appeared a few minutes ago, actually cordial, the animal, announcing that he thought he might drop in to join her for a cup of coffee. He had disappeared into the kitchen to heat and pour his coffee.

  She had been surprised by Petrov’s arrival because she no longer expected any official visitors. In the last three or four days — she was muddled about the time that had passed -

  there had been only one caller. The interpreter, Alex Razin, had come by the second day, for a brief visit, to drop off the latest American newspaper and magazines. He had inquired after her health and had departed. She did not count the daily visits, three times a day, of the two unspeaking, armed and uniformed, KGB guards. They brought the three meals — the breakfast; the lunch, usually red caviar on hard-boiled egg halves, oily lox, vegetable soup flavoured with bits of dill pickle, chicken Kiev; the dinner, usually pork or beef stroganoff on rice, cabbage rolls, ice cream with fruit sauce. They also delivered new videotapes, cigarettes, bottles of drinks, her laundry and cleaning. One guard stood at the door keeping his eyes on her. The other deposited the trays of food, inspected the suite, and they both left.

  She had been alone for endlessly long periods. She had always, in her life, been able to cope with loneliness, but the unreality of this experience made it more difficult to handle. She had tried to divert herself from introspection by exercising, making her bed, puttering in the kitchen for an unwanted snack, dusting, reading, viewing the day-old American network ne
ws on videotapes, watching movies, listening to the Voice of America and BBC.

  But for the most part, she lived inside her head. Over and over she kept telling herself what had happened had not really happened, that it was a mad dream from which she would awaken. When she admitted that it was not a dream, she tried to imagine how the enemy could have conceived this improbable caper, how the Soviets could have found and trained another woman to be her double. Then, as always, her imaginings brought her to that other woman, the bogus First Lady, and what that other woman was doing in her place and with her husband.

  Not everyone would be fooled. Someone would find out. The thoughts always came to that. She had counted on Andrew’s realizing the truth. Or Nora or Guy or Wayne Gibbs or one of the Secret Service men, someone. Certainly, her father. He would see something wrong immediately. He would sound the warning. The imposter would be exposed.

  The scandal would be worldwide, beyond belief. She listened to the English radio news (especially taped for her) religiously, because she thought the expose would top all the news for days. She waited hourly for her prison door to open, for Razin or Petrov to come in and admit they had been found out and that she was being returned home. Or Ambassador Youngdahl. He would come through the door to tell her the imposter had been arrested, that she could leave with him for the plane that would take her to the White House.

  But no one had come with the news she expected.

  Now, at last, one of them had come. The monster who had engineered the plot and her imprisonment. He might have the news of her release. Yet, he had appeared too self-satisfied to be the courier of his own defeat.

  She looked up to see him walking from the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee in hand.

  General Petrov settled himself in the sofa across from her, put his cup and saucer on the coffee table, spooned the coffee, took a sip.

  He knew, she decided, that his so-called Second Lady had failed, had been found out, yet he would not tell her. He was toying with her, the sadistic beast. She would never, never in a million years, give him the satisfaction of asking.

  But out it came. ‘It failed, didn’t it?’ she blurted.

  ‘What?’ He seemed genuinely puzzled.

  ‘Your plot,’ she said. ‘My father - in Los Angeles — you didn’t fool him?’ she watched Petrov anxiously.

  ‘Oh, that!’ He threw back his head and laughed heartily. ‘My dear Mrs Bradford, your father loves you, always has, always will. He was thrilled to see you in Los Angeles a few days ago. You two got along famously. And you and your husband, you’ve never been closer.’

  She sat stricken.

  It was as if every organ in her body was shrivelling.

  Petrov eyed her over his cup of coffee. ‘Really, Mrs Bradford, you didn’t think, after all our endless months of preparation, our Lady would be found out? I’m sorry to disappoint you - but you are more popular than ever

  throughout America. Surely, you heard that your speech from Los Angeles was applauded everywhere?’

  She had seen it on videotape, heard it on the radio, yet blotted it out of consciousness.

  ‘You are not missed, Mrs Bradford,’ Petrov said with a grin. ‘How could you be when you are there, where you’ve always been in recent years, in the White House and intact, and soon in London.’

  She bit her lip, knowing she was as crazy in her imagining as they were in their unreality.

  ‘It still won’t work,’ she said doggedly. ‘It won’t work.’

  ‘Do I have to repeat myself, Mrs Bradford? Do I have to tell you again it is working?’

  ‘It can’t go on, don’t you see? Sooner or later your insane plot will unravel. End it before it ruins the Summit, destroys relations between your country and mine. Think of what would happen if you and your people found out that America had kidnapped Mrs Kirechenko, replaced her with an American woman agent posing as your Premier’s wife, and that we held Mrs Kirechenko in captivity at Camp David. Don’t you see the danger if that were found out?’

  Petrov was amused. ‘I respect your imagination, Mrs Bradford, but you miss the main point. It could not happen the other way around. You Americans do not have our mentality. You are not clever enough for such an undertaking, you are not audacious enough. Your CIA is clumsy, amateurish, crude. Your supposed democratic freedom - not real freedom, only licence — makes your people soft. They could not even entertain a scheme like this. As to our risking the Summit with our undertaking, yes, the gamble aspect of it has been carefully considered. If we win, we will have the power to maintain peace in the world. If we lose - well, to be honest with you, there is no contingency plan if we lose, because we cannot lose, we cannot and we will not.’

  ‘We shall see,’ Billie said stubbornly.

  ‘Mrs Bradford, we’ve already seen.’ Petrov gulped down the remainder of his coffee. ‘The proof is plain in the progress we’ve made so far. Here you are. Outside of Razin and our

  Politburo no one on earth knows you are here. Our Second Lady is in the White House. No one else knows she is there. I’ve already told you that your husband, your friends, your father and sister, accept her as you. Tomorrow, in London, the British will be welcoming the First Lady.’ He paused. ‘Mrs Bradford, if you have hopes there will be a slip, forget them. Accept your fate, be cooperative, and you will be back where you came from in two weeks or less. Cooperate with us and you will not be sorry.’

  ‘Cooperate with you?What does that mean?’

  ‘Don’t be difficult. Don’t try to escape or try to communicate with someone on the outside. Do answer all questions we put to you. In fact, I have several questions for you right now. They are not important. We know everything we need to know. But to verify what is in our files, we wish to hear what you have to say.’

  ‘About what?’ she said. She was aware that they had at last reached the purpose of Petrov’s visit.

  ‘About your husband,’ said Petrov, unpeeling the wrapping from a cigar. ‘About the President of the United States.’ He meticulously clipped off an end of the cigar. ‘Is he always as calm, as unruffled, as he appears in public?’

  ‘You claim to know everything,’ Billie said. ‘Why waste my breath repeating what you already know?’

  ‘We hear he has a terrible temper in private.’

  ‘You do?’ She smiled crookedly. ‘How interesting.’

  Her attention was diverted to the door behind Petrov. The interpreter, Alex Razin, had admitted himself. He gave her a short nod, and went quietly to a chair nearby. Petrov ignored him, his eyes narrowing on her.

  ‘That, Mrs Bradford, is what I mean by being uncooperative.’

  She compressed her lips and met his stare.

  Petrov scowled. As he spoke, his voice became harsh. ‘Young lady, I suggest you reconsider your attitude. You have much at stake. Your health, for one thing.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘It is whatever you take it to be.’ He busied himself lighting

  his cigar. ‘Yes, it is a threat. Know this - we have the means to make you talk. I would prefer not to use them, but if I am forced to, I shall. This is no polite parlour game, Mrs Bradford. This is not a social visit. We are not equals, you and I. At this moment, you have no rights, no choices. If you remain obstinate, you will be punished.’ He took a puff of his cigar. ‘Very well, I’ll give you one more chance to show your goodwill. Let us try your husband again. Is he interested in sex? Does he like to go to bed with you?’

  She was immediately furious. ‘It’s none of your goddam business,’ she spat out. ‘How dare you!’

  Petrov rose menacingly. ‘Lady, everything is my business, you hear? I will ask you the question once more. If you refuse to answer me, I will see that you answer the guards. I will bring them in -‘

  Razin leaped to his feet, placed a restraining hand on Petrov’s shoulder. ‘General, please -‘ He tried to draw the KGB director away from the coffee table. ‘You promised, sir, no - no force -‘

&nbs
p; ‘If she was reasonable,’ Petrov said angrily. ‘But she is a stubborn bitch -‘

  ‘Wait, please listen,’ Razin protested. He had succeeded in moving Petrov away from the seating arrangement, leading him toward the door. Razin continued to speak to his superior in an undertone.

  Billie sat immobilized on the sofa, watching, waiting, frightened.

  She heard Petrov snort, and saw him jerk away, regarding Razin with contempt. ‘Stop your whining. There is still too much of the American in you, I see. Weak and sentimental.’ He puffed hard on his cigar. ‘This once, all right. Talk to her alone. But don’t try my patience too far, Razin.’ Petrov glared at Billie, swung away and stalked out of the room.

  After the door had slammed, Razin’s attention remained fixed on it, until he slowly turned around and walked back to Billie and sat near her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘God, I hate him,’ Billie burst out. ‘He - he’s subhuman.’

  She looked at Razin gratefully. ‘What did you say to him to make him stop?’

  ‘I simply told him he does not understand American women. I told him torture would get him nowhere, in fact get him the opposite results. I told him you were a decent woman, a nice woman, and a sensible one, and that you would be reasonable - that it was his questions that were unreasonable.’

  She favoured Razin with a smile of appreciation. ‘Thank you.’

  He stood up. ‘I think we both could use a drink.’ He paused at the radio, turned it on, raised the volume. At the sideboard, preparing a Scotch for her, a vodka for himself, he said, ‘Most men here, men with the authority of a Petrov, they have no understanding of women in the Western world. I was raised by American women. As an adult, I dated them. I understand them. When I was brought back to Russia, I saw at once that the Russian attitude toward women was different. Men here, while they allow women in the work force, really regard them as chattels. To Russian men, women are to be treated as captives, servants, pliable sex objects. It was one thing I always disliked about Russia, one more reason why I always wanted to return to the United States.’

  ‘If you care for the United States so much, how could you let yourself get involved in this plot?’