‘In my briefcase,’ said Fedin.
‘One more thing,’ Willis called. ‘Find out exactly what time Razin will be landing at Westridge.’
‘Let you know later,’ said Fedin.
Another voice, Ladbury’s. ‘Both of you, turn out the lights when you’re ready to leave. Be sure to lock the door. You have keys?’
T don’t,’ said Baginov, ‘but Fedin has one.’
‘Stay in touch,’ said Ladbury.
In the fitting room, Parker heard the bell ring and knew that Ladbury and Willis had gone. He heard the two Soviet agents tramp upstairs. He heard no more.
Although eager to leave, Parker held back. He would give himself five minutes. He could not make out the time on his watch, so he counted seconds in his head. At last, he shook himself, pushed between the dresses in the wardrobe, and tiptoed into the corridor. He went down the corridor, past
the stairs, glancing upward. He could see a dim light above. He headed for the front door. He turned his key and the dead bolt retracted. Opening the door an inch, no more, he placed his foot on the rim of the window display, hoisted himself up, clamped a hand over the bell to muffle it, and with his free hand pushed the door back far enough to allow for his exit. Releasing the bell, he dropped down to the floor, eased himself outside, closed and locked the door.
The air was fresh and cool, yet for Parker everything was oppressive.
By now he was frightened, both by what was going on and by his own helplessness.
Hurrying to his car, he pondered his next action. He needed help. Whom to turn to? The same record played back in his head. There was no one. To convince someone in authority that what he had overhead was true, to convince them to stage a major confrontation with the Soviet Union, to have them accuse the Russians of the plot and the murder of the First Lady, was impossible. Even if possible, it would take too long. Billie would be dead. If only he and Nora knew someone in Moscow they could risk trusting, and could contact ….
By the time he had arrived at the hotel, he had thought of one possibility. The odds against it were mountainous. But if taken step by step, in haste, it might work, it just might. Besides, there was no other direction to go. Overlooking the odds, he concentrated on what had to be done. It had to begin with Nora. He parked his car and hurried into the hotel.
Nora was not in her room. He wondered whether she could be with the First Lady. Then he remembered the First Lady would be dining out. Nevertheless, he asked the Secret Service agent posted in the corridor whether Mrs Bradford was still out to dinner. He learned that the President had cancelled dinner, and Mrs Bradford had eaten alone in the suite and was still there. Parker went on to Nora’s office. He found her having a drink and waiting for him.
When she saw him, she almost collapsed with relief. ‘You’re alive,’ she gasped. ‘Thank God. I couldn’t imagine what had happened. Or rather I could. I pictured you stretched on a rack, while they extracted what you knew.’ She came out of her chair and hugged him. ‘Oh, I’m glad you’re back. Now I know what it’s like for those who sit and wait.’ She paused, searching his face. ‘Guy, what did happen to you?’
‘I’m not important,’ he said curtly, leading her back behind the desk. He pulled a chair over to her. ‘What I have to say is. Listen to me, and no interruptions. And believe every word I tell you.’
He addressed her in an undertone, revealing everything he could remember hearing in Ladbury’s. When he had finished, Nora was speechless and pale.
Gradually, she found her voice. ‘They’d kill her? It - it can’t be?’
‘It is,’ he said.
‘Guy, I know you refused this last time but you’ve got to reconsider you’ve got to go to the President once more.’
‘I have reconsidered. But what could happen? He’d say, “So you were hiding behind some dresses and you heard all that? Now you want me to protest to the Premier? You want me to invade Russian to save my wife when my wife is here with me this minute? Well, I don’t believe one goddam word you say.” ’
She was nodding sadly. ‘You’re right. Okay, no more of that. What about Ambassador Youngdahl? I mean, he is in Moscow. He might treat us more seriously than he did that lady tourist.’
‘No,’ said Parker. ‘It doesn’t play. Youngdahl would insist on checking with the President first presuming he believed us. But suppose we did get him to act - where would he go? Would he go to the Soviets and tell them to release the First Lady? They’d say - what First Lady? Are you mad? What if he tried to find her on his own? Where could he go? Even presuming he got a lead they could move her.’ He shook his head. ‘No, Nora, none of that makes sense. But something
else does. At least it makes a little sense. And it would involve Ambassador Youngdahl, but in a lesser role and in a role that would not tell him what’s going on.’ He paused. ‘It comes down to one thing. Whom do we know in Moscow?’
‘We met endless people when we were there.’
‘Can you remember one? There were so many introductions, handshakes, forgotten names. But there was one, at least one I remember well. I don’t know whether we can get to him. Or if we get to him, whether he’d lift a finger. But it so happens he wants something badly from me. We could give him what he wants if he’d give us what we want. He was the one who was closest to Billie when we were over there.’
‘The interpreter,’ she said quickly.
‘Exactly, Nora. Alex Razin. I told you they mentioned him at Ladbury’s. He’s the courier who’s supposed to bring the package containing the pictures of Billie’s corpse. My guess is he’d know where Billie is. He’s their American expert. Somehow, he’s involved. The question is is he on their side or ours? Does he know Billie is to be killed? Does he know the contents of the package he’ll be asked to carry? My hunch is he doesn’t know. If he doesn’t, if we can reach him before Billie is harmed and before he leaves Moscow for London, we might have a chance. Because we can promise Razin asylum in America, the one thing he seems to want more than anything else in life. I say it’s worth a try.’
‘How do we get to him?’
Parker jerked his thumb in the direction of the President’s office. ‘The President’s scrambler phone to our embassy in Moscow. We get a direct line to Youngdahl.’
‘The trouble is the scrambler phone. Only the President and First Lady are authorized ’
‘You’re the First Lady’s right-hand,’ Parker interrupted. ‘She asked you to act for her. You get the ambassador and I’ll come on with the rest of it.’
She stared at him a moment. ‘All right. I think Mrs Martin is still here. We’ll need her help.’
Nora left her chair for the next office. Parker followed
her. Dolores Martin’s grey hair and head were bent over some handwritten notes she was transcribing. A cup of black coffee rested at her elbow.
Nora said, ‘Mrs Martin, thank God you’re still here.’
‘I’ll be here until dawn,’ she said grumpily.
‘Mrs Bradford asked us to see you. She wants me to call Ambassador Youngdahl in Moscow for her. She wants me to use the scrambler phone.’
‘She should have told me about it.’
‘You’ll have to forgive her, since she’s tied up. She said you’d understand if I made the call for her.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s all right.’ She got up with a muttered complaint about her back. ‘I’ll unlock the phone for you.’
Mrs Martin led them into the President’s temporary office. There was a white telephone on his desk near two black ones, and it had a small padlock in the dial. Mrs Martin located her key, opened and removed the padlock. She picked up a pencil and jotted a number. ‘That’ll get you the Signal Corps operator here. Identify yourself, and tell the operator whom you want and where:- Let me know when you’re through.’
She left them, shutting the door behind her.
Immediately, Nora sat down at the President’s desk, drew the white phon
e to her, and dialled the number. A Signal Corps captain answered. Nora identified herself and announced that she had to speak to Ambassador Otis Youngdahl at the American embassy in Moscow. Following instructions, she hung up and waited.
She observed Parker standing over the desk composing a message on a sheet of paper. ‘What are you going to tell him, Guy?’
‘A message for Alex Razin,’ he said. ‘You’ll hear it soon. I don’t know whether it’ll work, but we’ve got to give it a try.’
The telephone rang. Nora snapped up the receiver. ‘Hello.’
Parker lowered his head and put his ear to the receiver close to Nora’s. He heard Ambassador Youngdahl’s tinny
voice. ‘Hi, Nora. They said it was you. I was expecting the President on this line.’
‘He couldn’t get to the phone. Neither could Billie, and Mrs Martin is away from her desk. They wanted me to buzz you for them. I presume it’s urgent. Did I wake you?’
‘Naw, I stay up late. What’s so urgent?’
‘There’s a message they wanted you to pass on to someone in Moscow. They spelled it out for Guy Parker -‘
‘Who?’
‘Guy Parker, one of the President’s speech writers he’s helping Billie with her book you met him a few weeks ago when we were in ’
‘Yes, of course. I remember the young man.’
‘I’ll turn the telephone over to him. He’ll pass on the President’s message.’
‘One second. Let me find a pencil.’
Nora handed the receiver to Parker. ‘He’ll be right on the line.’
Standing at the President’s desk, Parker took the telephone to his ear, and continued writing alterations in the message he had prepared on a note pad.
Ambassador Youngdahl’s voice came back on. ‘Hello. Parker?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m ready. What is it the President wants done?’
‘Mr Ambassador, do you remember when the First Lady was in Moscow last month? The Soviets assigned an American-born Russian interpreter to her. A man named Alex Razin.’
‘Razin, Razin? I’m not sure ’ There was a silence. ‘Yes, I think I can picture him. Rather tall, black hair brushed to one side. Spoke excellent English. He sat beside Billie at the-‘
‘That’s the one,’ said Parker. ‘Do you think you can run him down?’
‘Our Intelligence should have him on file. I’ll check with them tomorrow.’
‘Not tomorrow, sir. It has to be tonight. Right now.’
There was a pause. ‘It’s that important?’ T believe the President and First Lady feel it is that important. Anyway, I’m merely repeating their instructions.’
‘Very well,’ said Ambassador Youngdahl. ‘I’ll get Intelligence right in on it. Once we locate Razin, what do we do with him?’
‘Give him a message.’
‘Give Razin a message. Okay. What’s the message?’ Parker had been drafting it, and had it on the note paper. The message had to be cryptic enough to excite no suspicion from the ambassador. Yet, it had to be clear enough to be understood at once by Alex Razin. And it had to be strong enough to inspire Razin to act at once, assuming he knew where Billie Bradford was being kept.
‘The message,’ said Parker. ‘I’ll read it to you slowly so that you can get it all down.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Tell Alex Razin the following: “The First Lady needs your help desperately. She has personal concern about KGB execution taking place Moscow tonight. Your person Vera would remain permanently in place. First Lady hopes you can and will intervene on her behalf. In return for helping her you will be guaranteed entry to United States. If possible, report results to me in London Claridge’s hotel via the American Ambassador in Moscow. Signed, Guy Parker.” ‘ He paused, ‘End of message.’
T don’t understand this at all,’ a puzzled voice came back.
‘Alex Razin will understand.’
‘Is this a code or what?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Well, whatever you say. I’d better read it back to you.’ ‘Please.’
Haltingly, Ambassador Youngdahl read it back word for word.
Parker found it letter perfect. ‘That’s it exactly, sir,’ he said.
‘Soon as we locate Razin, I’ll have someone deliver this to him.’
‘No,’ said Parker. ‘The President wants you to deliver it yourself, personally.’
‘Me?’ said Ambassador Youngdahl with surprise. ‘Isn’t that somewhat irregular? Are you sure he wanted me to deliver it?’
‘The President emphasized that he wanted you, yourself, to deliver it to Razin.’
‘It really must be important. Well - I suppose I could take it to Razin.’ He hesitated. ‘I’d have to be very careful, you know.’
‘Understood,’ said Parker. ‘I must also emphasize that the President wanted the message delivered at once.’
Parker heard the ambassador’s sigh. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said.
Although late night in Moscow, the older building facing Dzerzhinsky Square was dotted with lights. The night shift of the KGB was busily at work. Some of the lights, however, did not represent the night shift, but illuminated the offices of tireless agents who worked both the day and night shift, and Alex Razin was one of these.
At this moment, Razin was feeling in a particularly good mood. He had finished the last of an overload of paper work, and would have a few hours to relax at home, enjoy a drink or two, catch up on his reading, and get some well-deserved sleep.
He fell back in his swivel chair, hands clasped behind his head, and soothed by the pale green walls he allowed his mind to caress Vera once more. He had missed her terribly in recent days, but now their separation was almost ended. Through the usual grapevine he had heard that tomorrow would be the crucial day at the Summit in London, and that Premier Kirechenko would be dealing with the Americans from strength. This certainly meant that Vera had survived her sexual test (with his own perceptive collaboration), had obtained information on the American strategy, and passed it on to the Premier. It also meant that Vera, having concluded her assignment in triumph, would be returned to
Moscow in a day or two in exchange for Billie Bradford. He would be relieved to have Vera safely in his arms again, and to be free of his responsibility of caring for Billie. He had decided to tell Vera that he wanted to be married at once, and to have her for ever and to father their children.
There was nothing on earth, he felt, that could mar his cheerful frame of mind, not even his awareness that Billie Bradford had recently become more morose and depressed. Her growing depression was understandable, and he knew its source. He had continued to see the First Lady daily on a social basis since their night of lovemaking. They had not repeated their coupling, nor had either of them ever mentioned it. But he sensed that Billie, after her aggressive performance in bed, had expected results from it. Vera would imitate her performance. The President, to say the least, would be suspicious. The Red plot would unravel. She would be freed. She would have outwitted him, outwitted all of them. At each visit from Razin, she had greeted him expectantly. When he had offered no word of hope, she had fallen into longer and longer silences. Hours ago, when he had seen her, she had seemed in the pit of despair, drinking too much, refusing to eat. But tonight he could not feel sorry for her, because he knew that in a day or two she would have what she wanted. She would be released, reunited in London with her husband, back in the White House in her First Lady role. He wished that he had been able to console her with this news today, but he was not empowered to do so. In fact, her imminent release and exchange was still only gossip, not yet official. But he sensed her freedom was near.
He had risen to pack his briefcase when his telephone buzzer interrupted him. he reached for the phone.
The speaker was General Petrov’s male secretary. ‘General Petrov would like to see you immediately on an urgent matter.’
Here it was, he told himself, wor
d of the exchange of the First Lady for the Second Lady.
Pausing briefly before the wall mirror to comb his hair, Razin left his office, clattered down the stairs, entered
General Petrov’s ante-room. The KGB chairman’s secretary pointed him on inside.
Coming into the room, Razin saw Petrov studying what appeared to be a lengthy wireless message. Quickly, Petrov turned the message face down on the desk, and indicated a chair. Razin took it, eyes on the general, wondering whether the urgent matter was what he was expecting to hear.
‘Razin,’ Petrov said, ‘I’m afraid you aren’t going to get any sleep tonight, unless you can sleep on a plane.’
‘A plane, sir?’
‘I have an immediate assignment for you. I need a courier to deliver a package by hand to London tonight. You are to deliver the package.’
‘But am I allowed to enter England?’
‘Your destination, Westridge airport outside London, is temporarily Soviet soil, just as the Soviet embassy in London is considered our own territory. In a sense, you will not be setting foot in England. Except for British air controllers, and two uninterested British immigration agents at the depot entrance, there will be only Soviet personnel on hand. One of our people will meet you and accept the package, then you will board your plane and return to Moscow.’
‘An immediate turn-around?’
‘Immediate.’
‘But, General, if I may - couldn’t any ordinary courier handle this job?’
‘Of course. But Premier Kirechenko requested you by name. So that’s it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You will follow these instructions. I have arranged for a private military aircraft to fly you to England. You will be the only passenger on the plane. Your plane will be standing by at Vnukovo airport, and leave with you in precisely three hours. Meanwhile, go home and have your dinner. Then wait for me there. I’ll come by to give the sealed package to you. My driver will drop me back here and will take you straight to the airport. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Razin knew better than to ask what this was all about. ‘I’ll be waiting for you, sir.’
(1980) The Second Lady Page 34