(1980) The Second Lady

by Irving Wallace

  ‘You know, except for the suspicions of some White House people — and these suspicions need not be taken seriously

  because no one could actually ever prove you are not the authentic First Lady — except for that, you have successfully deceived everyone imaginable in these past weeks, haven’t you? The President, his staff, the politicians, Mrs Bradford’s closest friends, the press, all have accepted you as America’s First Lady.’

  ‘Completely.’

  ‘Well then. How would you like to continue to be the First Lady for life?’

  ‘For life?’ She had no comprehension of what he was leading up to.

  ‘Yes, for as long as Bradford remains in the White House, the rest of his term, his next four-year term, and after that remain the former First Lady, honoured wherever you go, a celebrity for as long as you live. Wouldn’t you like that?’

  Vera had not really thought about such a possibility, or rather about the pleasure her First Lady role gave her. Not thought about it? Simply not true. She had thought about it. She had thought about it frequently. From time to time, these past weeks, she had entertained fantasies about going on with her role. Sometimes, she would forget altogether that she was a spy and a Soviet citizen. She would see only golden America wrapped around her, America with its riches, luxuries, easy living. And herself, as America’s First Lady, and her possessions of power, respect, fame, the most famous female on earth. Even marriage to the President, later the ex-President, was pleasant. Andrew Bradford was relatively undemanding, easy to live with, even attractive in some ways. Of course, she could never love him as she loved Alex, and she would have to forfeit Alex, but still power could never be bought without some sacrifice. As for her acting career, it would be lost, but in her real-life role she would always be in the limelight and before cameras and the public. Oh, she had fancied it all in these past weeks. It looked even better to her now, especially now, when she could never live safely in the Soviet Union again, or safely anywhere in the world. Her part in the plot had made her a threat to her masters.

  Her only invulnerability lay in her role as First Lady. Was the Premier hinting he might convert her fantasy into reality?

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ she said warily. ‘How could I possibly be First Lady of the United States for life?’

  He bent closer to her. ‘By being the only First Lady, Comrade Vavilova. By our eliminating the other First Lady. If we liquidate Mrs Bradford, you ‘would be the one remaining American First Lady in the world. For you, that would be the ultimate guarantee of your safety. Could there be a better guarantee?’

  It shocked her a little, the casualness of suggesting the sudden death of an international figure. The ruthlessness of it appalled her.

  ‘I don’t like the idea of killing,’ she said.

  ‘Self-preservation is what counts in this world. Her life for yours. She will die anyway, some day, heart failure, stroke, cancer. We are merely speeding up nature. A quick and painless end to an unknown actress, while the First Lady lives on. What do you say?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You wanted a foolproof guarantee? Here it is. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I agree it would be foolproof.’

  ‘Once done, it would allow you to tell me what you’ve learned and still know you are safe.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Then it shall be done. We will quietly do away with Mrs Bradford.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Immediately. Let us say within twenty-four hours.’ He paused. ‘She will be dead and buried. You will give us what we need. Have we made a bargain?’

  Vera shivered. She must push Billie, the vibrant, beautiful Billie Bradford, from her mind. She must consider no other thing except her own survival, and her fantasy come true.

  She nodded. ‘I am ready to make the bargain — but on one condition.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I must have proof you have killed her.’

  ‘You are difficult, Comrade Vavilova. You remain suspicious.’

  ‘With good reason. My life is at stake.’

  The Premier appeared to consider this not unreasonable. ‘Very well,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You shall have indisputable proof. I will have photographs taken of her corpse after the execution. I will have them flown here. You will see them. Would that satisfy you?’

  ‘It would.’

  ‘You shall see the photographs tomorrow.’

  ‘One thing —’ She had exiled herself to real First Ladyhood, to an American life, too quickly. It would be lonely without anyone who had been close to her. Meaning, without Alex. True, she had been ready to sacrifice him, for her own safety, for power and wealth. But if she could have him at no cost to herself, why not? It was possible she could have all this and Alex, too, now that she had bargaining strength. ‘You say the proof will be flown here?’

  ‘By courier on a special aircraft. You will be notified when you can see the proof you require.’

  T should like to designate the courier,’ she said.

  ‘Whomever you wish.’

  ‘Alex Razin of the KGB.’

  His eyebrows went up. ‘Razin? Your mentor?’

  ‘And friend. I trust him. In fact, I would have him admitted to the United States, so that I could have someone, not far, to talk to from time to time.’

  ‘You could complicate your American life.’

  T won’t,’ she said. ‘It must be Alex. He must bring me the photographs proving Billie’s death. When I see them tomorrow, and am assured she is gone and I am the only one, I will give you the information you need. I will do my part. But first you must do yours.’

  T will do my part.’ He rose to his feet. ‘By morning Billie Bradford will be dead.’

  An hour and a half ago, Guy Parker had caught a glimpse of Vera, as First Lady, leaving the presidential suite with her Secret Service guards. A third Secret Service agent, posted at the door of the suite, had told him that she was going to visit friends. Parker knew that she was not going to visit friends. Now that she had heard of her impending execution, he had no doubt that she was off to see someone high up in the Soviet delegation. Parker wondered how she would manage it. He also wondered how she would get the Soviets to rescind her execution. She must have some bargaining leverage now that she possessed American secrets. Maybe her Soviet superiors would permit her facial surgery and defection. Or maybe, with or without her information, they would kill her anyway.

  All this time, Parker had gone from the hotel corridor to Nora’s office and back to the corridor, an eye on the elevator, watching to see whether the First Lady would return.

  He had about decided that Vera had been liquidated, when he saw her emerge briskly, confidently, from the elevator, accompanied by her guards, and start toward her suite.

  Quickly, Parker ducked out of the corridor and into Nora’s office. By the time he reached Nora, she was busy on the intercom. The moment she hung up, he said, ‘Our Vera is still alive.’

  ‘I know,’ said Nora, finding pad and pencils. ‘She wants to see me. She wants to dictate some changes in her schedule.’ He took Nora by the arm. ‘It means —’

  Nora pulled free. ‘I know what it means. Right now, I’ve got to get in to her.’

  She started for the connecting hallway between the two suites. Parker chased after her. ‘See what you can pick up for us.’

  Nora nodded and disappeared into the Royal Suite.

  Parker put an ear to the door, but the voices beyond it -Vera’s and Nora’s — were too muffled for their words to be understood. Impatiently, Parker began to pace the short distance between Nora’s cubicle and the hallway that joined the two suites. He speculated on Billie’s standin, Vera, and what she planned to do. Then he tried to consider what else he might do to entrap her. He thought that, at the first opportunity, he might try to enter her bedroom to seek something that would implicate her. But he knew there would be nothing useful there, not in a room occupied also b
y the President of the United States. The only option open to him was to continue following her whenever she left the hotel.

  As Parker’s pacing brought him to the connecting hallway once more, the door from the presidential suite suddenly opened and Nora came through it. He looked at her questioningly. She said in an undertone, ‘Had to cut our work short. Fred Willis, the protocol person, just burst in unannounced for an emergency meeting.’

  ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘I suppose it is …. Oh, Guy, I didn’t shut her door completely. Will you please -‘ She saw his face and stopped. ‘Are you — are you going to try to listen in?’

  He went to the First Lady’s door, open half an inch, and placed himself behind it. A familiar male voice floated through the crack. Something about the voice caused him to stiffen. It was a strikingly familiar voice, a pseudo-English accent combined with a slight unforgettable lisp. In the living room next door, it must be Fred Willis speaking. Yet, it was the same accented, lisping voice he had overheard earlier from his hideout in Ladbury’s shop. Could it have been Willis conspiring with Ladbury and a Soviet agent? It had to be. The voices were the same.

  It hit Parker with a real jolt. Fred Willis, a Soviet agent? Could it be? But then, it had to be someone in the White House. It always was someone. So why not Willis?

  Parker remained stationary. He strained to hear the conversation in the living room. It was not easy. He could not see them, but he guessed that they were somewhere near the dining room that separated him from them. Also, their conversation was not at a normal pitch. It seemed to be hushed, confidential. Vera’s speech did not quite reach audibility. However, Willis, more excitable, his voice more high-pitched, erratically crossed the sound barrier to touch Parker’s ears.

  ‘- just came to me,’ Willis was saying. ‘ .. . you to know … going through with it.’

  Vera was replying, but she could not be understood.

  Willis again, the words rising, fading.

  ‘- will be transmitted … an hour from now at the usual place … you … informed tonight.’

  Gently, Parker closed the door. He turned away to find Nora staring at him. Taking her by the elbow, he led her into her office.

  He spoke close to her ear. ‘Fred Willis is one of them.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. How —’

  ‘He is, Nora. I’m positive. Willis was reporting something to her. In an hour they’re transmitting information, probably to Moscow, and they will keep our Vera informed. I intend to find out what it’s all about. I’m going.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Ladbury’s. I have to get there before they do. Wait up for me. I’ll be back —’ He paused at the door. ‘— I hope.’

  He was striding at a brisk pace toward Ladbury’s shop.

  It was a chance, Parker knew. Maybe the person he had originally overheard at Ladbury’s had not been Willis at all, only someone who sounded like him. Yet, the similarity between the voice he had heard at Ladbury’s and Willis’s voice just now speaking to the First Lady - to Vera — was striking. He could not ignore this lead. If his assumption was

  correct, someone would be at Ladbury’s shortly to transmit a message from a wireless secreted on the premises.

  It was dangerous coming here a second time. He was really pushing his luck. But it had to be done. He had the goods on them, perhaps enough to have them seriously investigated. But he had no one to go to. The President would not listen to anything so bizarre. If the President wouldn’t believe, neither would his aides or the CIA. The entire matter was in Parker’s own hands, his and Nora’s. If only they had something concrete to offer, one shred of proof, they could block whatever plan Vera had of passing her information on to the KGB or the Premier.

  He had come abreast of Ladbury’s shining entrance. Scouting both ends of the arcade, he could see no one, except one young couple strolling and window-shopping some distance away. He stepped forward, extracting the duplicate key from his pocket, inserted it, twisted it in the lock. The door opened. As he entered, the bell above sounded. Quickly, he closed and secured the door.

  The night lights were on in the showroom, but the illumination was poor. He considered detouring, going upstairs to hunt for the possible wireless set, but finally dropped the idea. Too time-consuming. And too much possibility that he might be caught upstairs with nowhere to hide. Better, his already proved listening post.

  Cautiously, he made his way to the corridor, and went into it. At the farthest fitting room, across from Ladbury’s office, he shoved aside the curtains and entered into total darkness. With one hand extended, he felt his way across the room toward the opposite wall. He groped, made contact with the rack of dresses, parted them, stepped between them and eased himself behind the section of formal gowns.

  If the transmission was occurring at ‘the usual place’ — if that had meant Ladbury’s — it would be happening in twenty minutes. There was not a thing he could do but wait.

  He stood there in his suffocating hideout, smothered by the voluminous dresses, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Time crept. The wait seemed interminable. His

  back began to ache. He was invaded by small doubts. Perhaps he had been mistaken about Willis. Perhaps he had chased a ridiculous false lead. Perhaps he should get out of here. And go where? There was nowhere else to go.

  He waited.

  His self-doubts had surfaced again, and he was trying to fend them off, when the silence was shattered by the ringing of the front doorbell. Parker’s spine went rigid against the wall.

  He listened. He thought he could hear the shuffle of feet approaching. The lights came on in the corridor, filtering into his fitting room. Peering out between the dresses, he detected a pair of patent-leather loafers beneath the curtains. Undoubtedly Ladbury.

  The office door across the way opened and the office lights were switched on. The office door closed. Dammit. Parker despaired, and waited.

  Suddenly the front doorbell again. Heavier shuffling. He had a flash of shoes. Two pairs. Cloddish shoes. The office door opened and again closed. Goddam. Was this it? Being shut out? That instant, the front doorbell rang a third time. Quick footsteps. Under the curtains he could see the brown suede shoes. The office door wide once more. The stream of light from inside the office. This time the light from the office was not shut off. Parker’s heart leaped. Ladbury’s door remained open. Parker held his breath waiting for the first to speak. The high-pitched voice with the lisp, Willis, if it was Willis, was speaking. ‘Ladbury… Baginov … Fedin. Okay, all present and accounted for. Let me have your full attention. This is important. I have the word from on high. The whole game plan has been changed. We’re instructed to move fast. Fedin, you’ll have to get right on the wireless the moment we break up.’ ‘I am ready.’ ‘What’s going on?’ It was Ladbury’s voice. ‘What’s

  changed? I’m told our lady saw the Premier earlier. Is that true?’

  ‘She saw him,’ Willis replied. ‘I don’t know any details, except that she found out she was slated for liquidation.’

  ‘My God, how could she possibly?’ Ladbury wanted to know.

  ‘No idea. Anyway, she’s blackmailing the Premier. She wants a guarantee on her life or she won’t hand over her information.’

  ‘A guarantee?’ Ladbury repeated. ‘There’s no way —’ ‘She got it,’ the Willis voice interrupted. ‘It’ll all be clear to you in a minute. Of course, the liquidation of Vera has been countermanded by the Premier himself. She is not to be touched.’

  ‘That I have heard already,’ growled Baginov. ‘More I do not know.’

  ‘I’ll tell you the rest,’ said Willis. ‘You sit tight, Baginov. It’s your partner my orders are for. Fedin —’ The response was a wordless snort.

  ‘Fedin, you are to transmit this in the latest code to General Petrov in Moscow.’ Willis articulated each word. ‘The First Lady Billie Bradford is to be executed before morning.’

  A shudder shook Parker’s bod
y. He grasped several of the dresses and retained his balance.

  ‘What?’ Ladbury exclaimed. ‘Billie executed? I can’t believe it. Are you sure?’

  ‘I am positive,’ said Willis testily. ‘We have a First Lady here. We don’t need another.’

  ‘Ahhh,’ Ladbury exhaled. ‘So that’s Vera’s guarantee.’ ‘It is,’ said Willis, ‘and rather clever. I’m told the Pre; thought of it himself …. Now, Fedin, here is the whole bag entirely. Better write it down.’ A silence, then Willis resumed] ‘Billie Bradford executed before morning. You’ve got that? After she is finished, before she is defaced, her corpse be photographed to indicate clearly she k dead. Alex Razin has been ordered to bring the package of photographs here. A special plane is to be assigned to take Razin to Westridge, your temporary air base. The new First Lady will be standing

  by to inspect the photographs. Once she is satisfied — well, that part has nothing to do with your message. You will go ahead with what I’ve told you. Is that perfectly clear?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said an unfamiliar voice that Parker supposed belonged to Fedin.

  In his hiding place, Parker stood stunned. The horror of what was taking place blotted out all rational thinking. When he had heard that the Russians had replaced the American First Lady with one of their own, he had believed himself immune to further shock. But now he found himself shaken beyond anything he had known in any previous experience. The immediate problem was to absorb this as a reality. That the Russians would kidnap the First Lady, replace her, murder her, was almost beyond belief.

  And tonight, it was happening tonight.

  He stood stock-still behind his barrier of female garments listening for more. There was no more. The lights went out in the office across the way. He could see shoes moving beneath the dressing room curtains.

  A receding voice, probably Baginov’s, said, ‘We’re going right upstairs to transmit. You have today’s code, Mikhail?’