(1980) The Second Lady (47 page)

T don’t know,’ said Dogel. ‘Our orders were to wait. You might break in on him giving the lady one long last fuck.’

Mirsky opened the limousine door. ‘I’ll take my chances,’ he said, and stepped out and strode away.

Walking fast, Mirsky reached his destination in less than ten minutes. Approaching the Bradford suite, he saw the night guard still stationed before the door.

‘How are you, Boris?’ Mirsky called.

‘Fine, sir.’

‘Who’s inside there right now?’

‘Well, sir, the lady, of course. Then Mr Razin -‘

‘Mr Razin?’

‘He’s been inside maybe four hours. General Petrov came after him. The general’s inside, too.’

‘None of them has left?’ asked Mirsky. ‘They’re all still in there?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, I’ll have to interrupt General Petrov. Will you let me in?’

Boris found his key and unlocked the door to the suite.

The instant that Mirsky pushed the door open, he saw the bulky body of General Petrov — unmistakably Petrov — sprawled on the floor. This was so unexpected that Mirsky’s composure, usually stonelike, cracked.

Recovering, he bellowed over the thunderous music, ‘Boris!’

Mirsky leaped forward, went down on a knee beside his chief, as the guard Boris ran into the room.

Carefully, Mirsky turned the body on its side, revealing the blood and the ugly bullet wound. ‘He’s been shot —’ Mirsky lowered the body to the floor, reached for Petrov’s wrist and felt for the pulse. The beat was feeble. ‘He’s still

alive.’ Mirsky looked up at the guard. ‘Get an ambulance, fast as possible! Sound the alarm!’

The guard whirled and bounded out of the room.

When his shock had receded”, Mirsky came to his feet. Drawing his pistol from its holster, he surveyed the living room. There had been two others in the suite. Where were they?

Mirsky advanced swiftly to the bedroom, and cautiously entered it. The bedroom was empty. He hurried to the bathroom. Both bathroom and shower were empty. Retracing his steps, he looked into the kitchen. Empty. Their prisoner, the First Lady, was gone, and so was Alex Razin. There was no question in Mirsky’s mind about what had happened. But how had they got away?

Instantly, he remembered the trapdoor, and the previous effort to escape. He went into the kitchen. The trapdoor seemed in place, but then he realized that the nails had been removed. Tugging off the trapdoor and laying it to one side, he took a miniature flashlight from his pocket, dropped himself to the floor, and poked his light into the hole. The beam showed only a vacant storage room.

Mirsky stood up, putting away his light, certain that the fugitives had fled through the trapdoor. Dusting himself off, he tried to reason out why a trusted, veteran KGB agent like Alex Razin would do such a thing. Had the CIA bought him out? Or had he .been a double agent in the pay of the Americans all along? Or had he learned of the First Lady’s impending execution and agreed to save her for a reward? In any case, how did Razin imagine he could possibly get the American First Lady out of Moscow and Russia? Razin’s behaviour was baffling. It made no sense.

Turning back to the living room, he saw that Petrov’s body was surrounded by a medical crew consisting of a physician, two nurses, two stretcher-bearers. Mirsky hung back, until they were taking Petrov from the room. One doctor called out, ‘We’ll know how serious it is when we get him to the Kremlin Clinic’

As Mirsky left the suite, he was intercepted by Moscow

police investigators and several fellow KGB officers. Quickly, he recounted what he knew, and then hurried out toward the limousine. He stopped once to watch the ambulance, a white minibus with red cross emblems and a flashing light on the roof, gathering speed as it made its way toward the Borovitsky Gate.

In the limousine, Mirsky commanded Konstantin to take them to the Kremlin Clinic building only a few minutes away, as fast as possible. ‘The one just across from the Lenin Library,’ he added. While their limousine headed for the hospital, Mirsky told the mystified Dogel and Sukoloff what had happened. When they arrived at the five-storey red granite building, Mirsky concluded, ‘Only Petrov can answer our questions — if he lives.’ He opened the car door. ‘Come on,’ he said to Dogel, ‘let’s find out.’

The small, stifling waiting room was opposite the surgery. In the time that followed, Mirsky, more restless than ever, walked back and forth ceaselessly and chain-smoked steadily, while Dogel sat leafing through a magazine. Neither man spoke. It was more than an hour before the senior surgeon appeared, unfastening his white mask.

‘The odds are favourable that, barring unforeseen complications, General Petrov will recover,’ the surgeon said. ‘I know you gentlemen need information. However, do not expect anything from the general for two or three days. You will be kept informed daily - and privately — of his condition.’

Departing the hospital, Mirsky knew what had to be done next. He must order the driver to get them to KGB headquarters — Petrov’s office — immediately.

The flight time from Moscow to London was three-and-a-half hours, and the Antonov transport with its two passengers was over the North Sea, less than an hour from its destination.

Once the plane had been airborne, Alex Razin had not lost a moment in opening the trunk. He had found Billie Bradford curled and compressed inside, her eyes closed, her

features etched with pain. She had seemed only half conscious. Hooking his hands under her armpits, he had gently set her upright, lifted her out of the trunk, held her in a standing position beside the seats. Immediately, her knees had buckled and she had collapsed in his arms. He had helped her to a seat and settled her into it.

He had watched over her as she lay there, comatose, unable to speak.

Once, after a half-hour, she had partially opened her eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ he had asked worriedly.

‘I — I don’t know.’

‘Does anything hurt?’

‘Everything.’

‘Do you want me to massage you?’

She had nodded weakly.

He had begun by kneading her shoulders lightly, then had gone on to massage her sides and thighs and legs. By the time he had finished, she had been fast asleep.

He had taken the seat beside her, and smoked, and had reflected on his past and speculated upon his immediate future. Then he had dozed off.

Awakening with a start, he realized that two hours had passed, and that she, too, was awake and staring straight ahead.

‘How are you?’ he wanted to know.

‘Much better. Where are we?’

‘An hour or so out of London.’

‘Are we safe?’

‘I think so.’

‘Thank God.’ She turned her head toward him, and touched his cheek. ‘Thank you. I owe everything to you.’

‘Including getting you into the whole thing,’ he said bitterly.

‘And getting me out of it,’ she added. ‘It was so dangerous. Why did you do it?’

That’s a long story, Billie. I’ll tell you all of it before we land. But I think you need a stiff drink first.’

‘I think so, too.’

He produced the pint flask of vodka from his jacket, unscrewed the cap, and handed her the bottle. She took a gulp, choked and coughed, and sat up. She took a second swallow, and returned the bottle. ‘Potent,’ she said. ‘I’m awake now.’

He had one drink, then another, capped the flask and put it away.

Her eyes were on him. ‘Now tell me,’ she said.

‘Tell you what?’

‘Why you did it. Why we’re here. You said it was a long story.’

He smiled. ‘I’ll try to make it short. Yes, I suppose you should know every detail, because we’ll be walking into an extremely awkward and potentially dangerous situation. You know some of what happened already. I should fill you in on the rest.’

Razin started with General Petrov’s accidental discovery of the provincial actress, Vera Vavilova, in Kiev, and Petrov’s fascination with the fact that Vera looked almost exactly like the wife of one of the two United States presidential nominees. When that wife became the First Lady, Petrov got his Second Lady project under way. At the outset, Petrov had no specific purpose in mind, only the knowledge that several future crises loomed and that a Russian First Lady in the White House might be an espionage coup for the Soviet Union. Petrov spent almost three years, and a fortune in roubles, to convert Vera Vavilova into a replica of Billie Bradford.

‘I was in on the project from the beginning,’ said Razin. ‘Because, as you know, I was acquainted with America and spoke good English. I was put in charge of Americanizing our Vera Vavilova. Along the way, I fell deeply in love with Vera, and she with me. I hated sending her off to Washington in exchange for you, but I had to do so. After that, I had to see that she succeeded, went undetected, not only to protect her but to keep her safe for me.’

Meanwhile, the KGB had put him in charge of Billie during her imprisonment. As Billie now knew, every act he had performed - from assisting Billie in her first escape attempt

to preventing her from being punished for it — had been ordered by the KGB. Their biggest problem, he said, had been Vera’s need to know how to behave in bed with the President.

‘I was assigned to find out,’ said Razin. ‘I tried to use you. And you tried to use me. Yet, when it was over I came to the conclusion you had tried to mislead me, and so I gambled and instructed Vera to act completely opposite from the way you had acted. I was proved to be right.’

‘I was afraid of that,’ said Billie.

‘My duty,’ said Razin. ‘But today I forgot duty. I refused to obey them. Somehow, in London, your writer, Guy Parker, found out you were in Moscow and to be executed tonight. He conveyed the news to me using your ambassador in Moscow as an intermediary. Parker guessed I would not permit it. He was right. I would not. The men I had been blindly obeying, all at once I saw them as monsters. I decided to risk my life to save yours. I had two motives. The first was selfish. If you were murdered, Vera would remain the President’s mate as long as they both lived — and I would lose her for ever. The other motive was - well, a humane one — but the fact is that I had become genuinely fond of you and somehow come to regard you as Vera’s surrogate. The act of killing you was a barbaric act. I wanted no part of it. By saving you, I might restore my honour as well as save the woman I love for myself. There you have it, Billie, all of it.’

Throughout his confession, she had listened mesmerized, her feelings toward him seesawing from anger to affection. Now, more tolerant, accepting the change he had undergone, she appreciated the risk he had taken. She spoke, at last. ‘You shot General Petrov to get me out. What’ll happen to you?’

‘What will happen to me? That is entirely up to you, Billie.’

‘Me? What can I do for you? What do you want?’

‘I want my life and Vera’s,’ he said simply. ‘Vera will be there to meet our plane. I’ve arranged that. She’ll be extremely upset, even frightened, to see you, but I’ll calm her down.

You and Vera will trade places. I’ve even had her dress as you’re dressed to make the exchange easier. Then, to begin with, you must hide us briefly. You should be able to get us out of the airport without any trouble. No one will delay the First Lady and her entourage. You must hide us overnight -‘

‘I know a place in the West End. A flat that’s owned by a widower and his son —’

‘Get us American passports. You promised mine from the start. I’ll want another for Vera. Under new names.’

‘It can be arranged.’

‘And find us an out-of-the-way clinic and a plastic surgeon in England. Schedule us for immediate facial surgery. Vera must no longer look like you, or her old self, and I must never be recognized as Alex Razin. This will protect us from being found by the KGB.”

‘It will be done immediately.’

‘Once we are given permanent residence in the United States, help me get a reporting or teaching job and help Vera get back on the stage.’

‘I’m sure I can do it.’

‘One final thing,’ said Razin. ‘Never speak publicly or privately about what happened to you. No word of it must get out. Because if it did, if your husband or anyone in the American government ever learned of your abduction, of your double, well, then the United States and the Soviet Union -‘ He showed her his despair. ‘Friendship and peace would be impossible, and their relationship would become a nightmare.’

Billie fully understood. ‘Tempted as I might be, Alex - the desire for revenge is a powerful emotional force - I’ll try to keep my head. No Alex, don’t worry. I promise you I’ll never speak of this.’

He smiled slightly. ‘Then you will have repaid me.’ He looked out the window. ‘It’s getting light now.’ He sat back and his brow furrowed. ‘I wonder what’s happening in Moscow?’

At KGB headquarters near the Kremlin, Mirsky stood behind General Petrov’s desk, all of the previous evening’s memorandums and notes and decoded wireless messages from London spread out before him. Gathered across from him were Dogel and three other KGB officers who had known about Project Second Lady.

For a last time Mirsky reviewed General Petrov’s papers. The fuzzy picture of what had taken place was now sharply in focus. Not all of it, to be sure, but most of it, enough of it.

The significant fact was that, after the Premier had ordered Mrs Bradford liquidated, and after Alex Razin had been assigned to take a package (containing photographs of the corpse) to London, Razin had by some means learned of the pending execution. He had, for whatever reasons, undertaken to rescue Billie Bradford and bring her to London on the plane assigned to him.

Once this had become clear to Mirsky, he had telephoned Vnukovo airport and spoken to a Captain Meshlauk. Mirsky had been informed that the Antonov transport with Razin aboard had left for London more than three hours ago.

‘This Mr Razin, did he have a lady with him?’ Mirsky had inquired.

‘No, there was no one with him. He got aboard alone with his package - well, actually a large travelling trunk.’

‘Ah, a trunk, a large travelling trunk.’

At once, Mirsky had seen the horrendous inevitability of what would follow. The KGB had its First Lady, Vera Vavilova, safe in London. Shortly, the real First Lady, Billie Bradford, would also be in London. The confrontation between the two First Ladies would blow the KGB plot sky-high. The resultant exposure, and its consequences, were beyond calculation.