(1980) The Second Lady (43 page)

‘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 phone 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, word 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.’

Leaving Petrov, Razin was confused about the purpose of the unexpected trip, but decided not to give it another thought, simply to follow orders as he had always done.

He climbed the stairs to his office, finished packing his briefcase, took it along with his light raincoat, and made his way out of the building to the public parking lot a few minutes away off Furkosov Alley.

The weather was cool. With one hand, he buttoned his raincoat as he walked, turned into the lot, found his black Volga sedan, bent down and got into the driver’s seat. He laid his briefcase on the passenger seat, pulled out his ignition key, and started the car. He allowed the Volga to idle a minute, switched on the headlights, and looked over his shoulder to back out. Just then, he saw a tall, expensively dressed man hurrying in his direction. Unable to recognize the stranger, Razin was about to shift into reverse when the tall man came alongside the car on the passenger side, opened the door, pushed away the briefcase, and settled into the front seat.

‘Alex Razin, I presume?’ said the stranger in English.

Razin peered at his visitor, instantly recognized him, and did not try to conceal the surprise in his voice. ‘Ambassador Youngdahl. What are you —?’

‘I have a private and personal message for you,’ said Youngdahl crisply. ‘Let’s get out of this parking lot. Find some empty back street for us. I think it would be much wiser.’

Razin hesitated momentarily, puzzled, then curiosity overtook him and he decided to cooperate. Releasing his handbrake, Razin pulled out of the parking slot and wheeled the car toward the exit.

At the first red light, Razin glanced at the imposing, elderly American ambassador.

‘A message for me?’ Razin inquired.

‘Apparently an important one. I don’t understand the message. I’m told you will.’

With the change of the light, Razin shifted gears and drove up 25 October Street. The thoroughfare was desolate, empty of vehicles at this time of night. Razin slowed past the side streets, searching for one to his liking, found a dark, cobblestone street barely lit and turned into it. There were trees and weeds along the curbs and several weathered highrise apartment buildings. After about fifty metres,, with no sign of life anywhere, Razin pulled his Volga over to a curb in front of some temporary plywood fencing protecting a construction site. Applying the brakes, he shut off the motor, and half faced the American ambassador.