(1980) The Second Lady (42 page)

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 body. 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?’

‘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.’