(1980) The Second Lady (18 page)

‘The tests. Oh, yes.’ Vera’s voice was hollow. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking of. Of course - of course, it’s important. I’d better see him, after all.’

The puzzlement left Nora’s face. ‘I’m glad,’ she said with relief. ‘It would have been difficult -‘

‘Never mind. … Now about these other appointments tomorrow.’

They discussed them briefly. They had just finished when Nora’s purse, on the floor beside her, began emitting tiny squawks.

Nora jumped to her feet. ‘My beeper. Excuse me, Billie, I better see who it is.’

She hastened to the telephone and dialled the central number of the Signal Corps office in the building. At last she came away from the phone. ‘It’s Tim Hibberd. He wants me to attend his press briefing. Quite an honour from that chauvinist. I guess, since your speech yesterday, he’s decided to recognize the women’s East Wing.’ She snatched up her purse. ‘Unless you have anything else, Billie?’

‘Thanks, Nora. You go on.’

‘You have a half-hour to yourself before I return with the foreign students.’

‘I’ll be waiting in the Blue Room.’

The moment that Nora had departed, and she was alone, Vera’s poise evaporated. She could feel her agitation grow. She left the table, went into the hall, and walked thoughtfully to the Blue Room. It had gone so well up to now. True, the visit to Los Angeles had not been smooth. She had committed a series of small slips and blunders, yet, consummate actress that she was, she had overcome them. She was confident no one had noticed anything amiss. Certainly, Billie’s father and Billie’s sister had accepted her unquestioningly. Only the dog, the sonofabitching dog, had known, but thank heavens he was a dumb animal. No, despite Los Angeles, she had managed fine. And London, situated far away from those who knew Billie intimately, should offer no problems, provided - provided she could surmount this new and unexpected obstacle. Only Dr Murry Sadek stood between her and a successful mission. The unplanned ‘major’ visit to her gynaecologist could lead to her ruination.

She entered the Blue Room, still thinking, turned a Bel-lange armchair towards the white Carrara marble mantel, and slumped into it, staring grimly into the fireplace. She felt distraught, but tried to contain her feelings. She must not panic. She must consider her precarious situation, and act with calmness. Obviously, her only protection existed in somehow being forewarned of the reason Dr Sadek wanted to see her tomorrow. Why was she going to him? Why did he consider it important? What was it all about?

She had a mere and frightening twenty-six hours to learn the reason she was going to Billie’s - to her own — gynaecologist. Would General Petrov call this an emergency? He certainly would. She had been briefed not to contact KGB agents in the United States, except if she was confronted with an urgent problem that might lead to a disastrous misadventure. Well, this was an urgent problem if ever there was one. She must take the risk of making contact to seek help.

Her mind revived the procedure to be followed in case of trouble. It involved two telephone calls, both outgoing. She would give the switchboard operator one number. When a voice answered she would ask for Mr Smith. She would be told she had the wrong number. Hanging up, she would give the operator the same number, except for a different last digit. When another voice answered, she would again ask for Mr Smith, and again be told she had the wrong number. This done, it would be a signal to the KGB that she needed help. It would mean that the KGB would contact one of their undercover agents planted in the White House. This residence agent would soon approach her and say, ‘It is served at Disneyland.’ She would tell him as quietly as possible, as quickly and briefly as possible, her problem. Later, another safe KGB agent would respond with a solution to her problem.

Vera’s wristwatch revealed that there was still twenty minutes before Nora appeared with her tour of foreign students.

Losing no time, Vera left her armchair and stepped over to the telephone on the table beneath the Gilbert Stuart portrait of President James Monroe. The portrait was unreal,’ Monroe’s eyes gazing over her head, so she did not feel observed. She raised the receiver to her ear, gave the number, asked for Mr Smith, and was advised that she had the wrong number. Hanging up, she repeated the procedure. Once more, wrong number.

She dropped the receiver in the cradle, and felt relieved. Her call for help had been heard. Somewhere, in some way, someone in this mansion, an ally, a friend, was being contacted, and he in turn would contact her. She was no longer alone.

How and when she would be reached, and by whom, she did not know. She only knew that in a mysterious way it would happen.

She circled the Blue Room thoughtfully, trying to formulate a condensed means of informing the White House agent of her appointment with Dr Sadek and what she must know before she kept the appointment.

Waiting for Nora’s tour group, Vera knew that she would continue to dwell on her problem. It was too unsettling. She needed some distraction. She decided to go to her bedroom and change from her frilly blouse into a sweater, and then return. She had moved to the door, when the telephone behind her rang. It sounded loud as a siren. She spun and ran for the phone.

‘Madame Bradford?’ A man’s voice with a French accent.

‘Yes?’

‘I am your chef Maurice in the kitchen.’

She remembered the pudgy Frenchman, a product of Lyons, who supervised and headed the White House kitchen staff. She had met him twice, and had found him amiable.

‘Hello, Maurice.’

‘I am sorry to disturb you, Madame. But I thought you would like to go over the menu with me for the dinner tonight.’

She had no patience for this. ‘Not necessary,’ she said. ‘I trust you with the menu. Prepare whatever you think is best.’

‘Pardon, Madame, but I thought the main course might amuse you. It is served at Disneyland.’

At first she did not understand, almost missed it, and then realized he had flippantly spoken the key code sentence. It is served at Disneyland. The French chef!

She tightened her hold on the receiver, brought the mouthpiece closer. ‘I don’t know, Maurice. That may be too unusual a dish. Perhaps we should consult after all. Please bring your suggestions to me this minute. I’ll be in the President’s sitting room.’

She hung up, feeling weak. Stirring herself, she hastily headed for the bedroom.

After sending her maid Sarah off to inform Nora that she would be a few minutes late, Vera changed into a sweater. She was straightening the sweater, when several short knocks brought her to the door. She admitted the potbellied chef without a greeting, closed the door carefully, gestured him to a chair. She dragged a free chair so close to him that its edge touched his thigh.

She leaned towards him. The menu for tonight?’ she said softly.

He placed a yellow pad in her lap. ‘My suggestions,’ he said in almost inaudible croak. ‘I listen to whatever you have to say.’

‘Trouble,’ she whispered.

‘Go ahead, Madame.’

‘An unexpected doctor’s appointment made a few weeks ago,’ she whispered. ‘I must see my gynaecologist, Dr Murry Sadek -‘

‘Dr Murry Sadek,’ Maurice echoed.

‘— at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I will leave the White House fifteen minutes earlier. An important appointment, I am told. Some tests were taken previously. I must know why I am seeing Dr Sadek, what I am to expect. Without knowing, I could make a serious mistake.’

The beefy face beside her remained immobile. ‘It is understood.’

‘I must know everything,’ she said.

‘I will report.’

‘And one more thing,’ whispered Vera. ‘It is likely Dr Sadek will give me an internal examination. He has examined the First Lady’s vagina inside many times before. He is familiar with it. To a gynaecologist this could be as individual and telltale as is a fingerprint to a detective. After the pelvic examination with the speculum, he will palpate, examine inside by feeling with his fingers, pressing ovaries, so forth. I do not know how much a gynaecologist can tell by this, what differences he may feel from one female’s organ to another. But it is possible he may realize that the size or texture of my vagina is different from the First Lady’s, and he could become suspicious. Of the two dangers, this may be the lesser one, but the danger exists nevertheless. It would be better if Dr Sadek himself did not examine me. You understand, Maurice?’

‘Perfectly, Madame.’ He rose with a grunt. ‘All will be taken care of tonight. By morning you will be notified. Do

not worry. Have a good evening and dinner tonight. Bon appetit.’

‘Thank you, Maurice.’

He took his yellow pad from her lap, bowed, and waddled out of the bedroom.

With the problem off her mind, in other hands, capable hands, the rest of Vera’s day went swiftly. At dinner, she was even gay.

Only later that night, when she and Andrew were in bed, was she reminded of the problem. She had got into bed first and was waiting for Andrew to join her, when she casually brought up the subject of the Summit.

‘Are you primed for the Russians?’ she had asked.

‘Not yet,’ he had said, buttoning his pyjamas. ‘But we will be.’

‘Is it going to be a serious confrontation?’

‘I can’t say.’

‘Can there be a compromise?’

‘I hope so.’

He was being maddeningly cryptic and vague. She decided not to pursue the matter further.

‘Will it be all work and no play in London?’

‘Probably. I’ll catch you up on the whole thing, Billie, once I’m sure where we’re going.’

Now they were in bed together, lights out. He kissed her lips. He kissed the nipples of her breasts. He fondled one breast.

‘You must be nervous about tomorrow,’ he said.

‘A little.’

He tried to reassure her. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. Dr Sadek’s the best there is.’

‘I’m trying not to worry. I think any woman gets a bit apprehensive before she sees her gynaecologist. It’s automatic. I’m not terribly worried.’ She made a try for more information. ‘Are you, Andrew?’

‘Of course not.’ He fell back on his pillow. ‘Let’s just wait and see. Whatever happens, happens. Let’s trust the doctor. Good night, beautiful.’

‘Good night,’ she said weakly.

What had he meant? Whatever happens, happens.

It was frustrating, frightening, not to know.

Before her apprehension intensified, a second thought soothed her.

She would know.

This moment, the KGB was finding out for her. Its agents never missed. When they sought something, they found it. They were all-knowing. They had set out to put her in the White House, and here she was in the White House, in the bed of the President of the United States. They had set out to tell her why she was seeing Dr Sadek. By morning, they would tell her.

She felt safer, and ready for sleep.

It was a modern, ten-storey office building on 16th Street, one of the newer buildings in Washington DC and occupied during the day by professional people, attorneys, accountants, physicians. At this hour, midnight, the place was darkened and devoid of humanity, except for the illuminated lobby where the uniformed private guard perched on a stool at a tall narrow table set against a marble pillar near the glass entrance doors.

Two janitors in overalls, one moustached, middle-aged, husky, carrying a heavy-duty vacuum cleaner, the other clean-shaven, young, slender, carrying a wooden box of supplies, opened the doors and trudged into the lobby towards the checkin table.

The guard glanced from one to the other. ‘Don’t think I’ve seen you before. You new here?’

‘Yup,’ said the younger of the pair. ‘First time. Kleen-up Janitorial Service assigned us to do extra work on some suites on the fourth floor. Last stop for tonight.’

‘Funny,’ said the guard. ‘The building manager didn’t give me no notice. Guess she forgot. Got a business card?’

The older janitor fumbled about inside a pocket of his overalls, at last pulled out a bent and soiled business card, passing it over to the guard.

As the guard studied the card, the younger janitor wandered off a few yards, whistling, then came back towards the table. The guard put the card down in front of him and reached for his telephone. ‘Let me give your outfit a call, just to confirm -‘

‘You’ll get the answering service at this hour,’ the older janitor said.

‘I’ll just check anyway.’

As the guard’s fingers touched the receiver, he suddenly jerked straight on his stool and winced.

The younger janitor had a snub-nosed black revolver jammed into the guard’s back. ‘Okay, now,’ said the younger janitor in a hard, low voice. ‘Do what we tell you and you won’t get hurt. First, let’s relieve you of that extra weight.’ He reached around, tugged the police special from the guard’s holster, checked the safety catch, and handed the gun to his companion, who pocketed it. ‘Okay. Don’t be a hero. Get off that stool easy like, and walk real natural to the first elevator. We’ll be right behind you.’

The white-faced guard stepped off the stool and stiffly started for the first of a row of elevators, its doors open. The older janitor trotted ahead, and entered the elevator with his cumbersome vacuum and the box of cleaning supplies. The younger one prodded the guard. ‘In you go.’

The older janitor punched the eighth-floor button. The doors closed and the elevator glided upward.

On the eighth floor, they emerged into the dim empty corridor. The younger janitor prodded the guard with his weapon again. ‘To your right, to the ladies’ room.’

Going into the lavatory, the older janitor set his equipment down inside the door and turned on the lights. He dug into the covered supply box, came up with two pieces of rope and a roll of wide tape. As if experienced at this, the two janitors proceeded efficiently, quickly. They yanked the unresisting guard’s arms behind him, bound his wrists tightly. To silence the guard’s protests, they slapped tape across his mouth. The older one pulled him into a booth, pushed him down on the toilet seat, while the younger one knelt and tied his ankles together.

Then the two janitors backed out of the booth. The older one said, ‘Have a good night, mister. Some lady is sure going to be surprised in the morning when she comes in here to pee.’