(1980) The Second Lady (6 page)

Between these labours, Vera Vavilova continued her lessons in voice and carriage. With an instructor playing tapes of Billie Bradford’s speeches and interviews over and over again, Vera Vavilova worked to pick up the First Lady’s slight Western American accent and to make her own voice deeper and throatier. She learned, too, to mimic the small lilt in the First Lady’s speech and to imitate her infectious laugh. From other instructors, in front of a montage of film of Billie Bradford, the Russian actress caught the First Lady’s stride in walking, her graceful pirouettes as she turned to hear someone, her poise when not in motion, her many gestures.

At the end of six weeks, Razin said to-his charge, ‘You will report on the White House set tomorrow morning at eight. We will begin shooting the film.’

‘Then there really is a film?’ she teased him.

He was charmed by her, but remained professionally serious. ‘Very much so, and you are the star.’

Four weeks later, when the film was done, and Petrov saw the final cut, he decided the time had come for the crucial step. He could go no further without official permission -and a considerably larger budget.

Petrov telephoned Premier Dmitri Kirechenko for a special appointment the following day in the Kremlin projection room.

The Premier, usually suave and imperturbable, sounded edgy. ‘The projection room? I have no time for movies. Can’t it wait?’

‘It is a matter of high priority.’

‘Mmm. I’m booked the entire morning and afternoon.’

‘The evening then?’

‘Evening, evening - Garanin, Lobanov, Umyakov - they are joining me for dinner.’

They were high-ranking members of the Politburo. Anatoli Garanin, especially, was a friend of the KGB and its projects.

‘Bring them, too,’ said Petrov. ‘I’ll need little more than a half-hour of your time before dinner.’

The Premier sighed. He sounded worn out. ‘Have it your way then. Seven-thirty tomorrow evening. Projection room.’

He hung up.

The following evening, Petrov was inside the splendid Kremlin projection room, seated at 7.28 p.m. in the front row of the half-dozen rows of deep red seats. He had brought Alex Razin along, and Razin was up in the booth giving minute instructions to the projectionist. At 7.34, Premier Kirechenko arrived, followed by his Politburo colleagues, Garanin, Lobanov, Umyakov. The Premier, as ever, was an imposing figure, 5 feet 11, solid as a marble statue, immaculate in a striped blue suit. His horse’s face was adorned with rimless glasses, moustache neatly clipped, short Vandyke

beard cut to a sharp point, a fleeting resemblance to an enemy of the state, Leon Trotsky. He found a seat, as did Garanin, partially bald and short, a scholarly type, and Lobanov and Umyakov, who looked like prosperous middle-aged businessmen.

Petrov was standing, welcoming them.

‘We are here,’ said the Premier. ‘What was so vital?’

‘A new project,’ said Petrov, ‘a superb one. If activated, it can change the face of the world. It begins with two short pieces of film.’

Seeing Razin hurrying down from the projection booth, Petrov sat, as Razin crossed in front of him, signalled up to the booth and settled behind the control panel.

The lights went dark.

The screen up front was filled with Billie Bradford gliding into the Lincoln Bedroom of the White House.

‘You recognize her, Mr Secretary?’ Petrov called over his shoulder.

‘The new American First Lady,’ replied the Premier. ‘A feast for the eyes.’

From the screen, the image of Billie Bradford began to explain the stories behind the eight-foot rosewood bed and the American Victorian furnishings purchased by Mrs Lincoln. The footage ran on as Billie Bradford”moved from the Lincoln Bedroom to the President’s Dining Room. After ten minutes, the film clip ended, and the lights went on.

Petrov half turned in his folding seat. ‘That was a recent television film of the United States President’s wife taking American viewers on a tour of the family headquarters of the American Executive Mansion. Now, one more showing of the film.’

‘Since when has my security chief become a film distributor?’ The Premier laughed, and the Politburo members laughed with him.

‘You shall see - you shall see my real purpose,’ said Petrov.

The lights went out again, and the darkened projection room was instantly illuminated by a picture of Billie Bradford on the screen, entering the Lincoln Bedroom of the White

House, pointing out the historic pieces, telling the stories behind them. As she finished, and went on to the President’s Dining Room, the Premier’s voice called down impatiently.

‘Petrov, what’s going on? You are running the same film again. We just saw it.’

‘I know,’ said Petrov. ‘Please bear with me a few more minutes. There is a reason for this.’

The clip featuring the American First Lady ran on, repeating exactly what had been shown in the initial clip. The Premier’s mutterings of annoyance grew louder. The film ran out. It was ended. The lights came on.

The Premier was more than annoyed. He glared at his KGB chief. ‘Petrov, are you mad? How dare you take our precious time showing the same film twice? If someone else had done that, I’d see that they were put in a mental hospital. You’d better have a good explanation.’

Unruffled, Petrov stood up and fully turned. ‘I have,’ he said.

‘Well, dammit, man, out with it.’

Petrov did not waver. He addressed the Premier softly. ‘You are sure it was the same film, Comrade Kirechenko?’

‘You think I am blind? The very same film shown twice.’

‘With the American First Lady in the first film?’

‘Of course.’

‘With the American First Lady in the second film?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said the Premier with exasperation.

Petrov waited a moment, and then said, ‘Forgive me, but you are quite wrong, Comrade. The first film showed the real American First Lady - Billie Bradford. The second film showed a Soviet actress — Vera Vavilova — playing the role of the American First Lady.’

Petrov could see shock and bewilderment in the four faces staring at him.

The Premier broke the silence. ‘You are joking?’

‘I am not joking, not at all. The first film was the American President’s wife, Billie Bradford. The second film was her Soviet double, an actress, Vera Vavilova, who impersonated the First Lady against a background we constructed to

duplicate some of the inner rooms of the American White House. My deputy here, Mr Razin, will confirm what I am telling you. You just saw the President’s wife in Washington DC. You just saw her double in Moscow.’

Garanin looked at the Premier beside him. ‘Remarkable,’ he said.

The Premier nodded. ‘Incredible.’ He sat up in his theatre chair. ‘All right, Petrov. A neat sleight of hand. A perfect deception. What do you have in mind?’

‘A bigger, more daring deception,’ said Petrov softly. ‘At some moment in the next few years, on the world political scene, there will arise a crisis, an inevitable confrontation between the US and the USSR. The confrontation, as we all are aware, will take place in Korea, Boende, or Iran. At that moment, they will back down or we will back down or there will be war. At that moment, to ensure our victory, we would want a secret weapon. What you have just witnessed on the screen can be our secret weapon. If we have a woman who cannot be told apart from the President’s wife, if we can install our woman in the White House in place of the President’s wife for a short time without detection, we have in place the greatest espionage agent in history. We would be privy to every design the American President and his chief of staff and his war-mongers have in mind. We would learn every plot and plan of the enemy in advance. Our triumph in any crisis would be ensured.’

For long seconds the room was quiet.

At last, Premier Kirechenko’s voice ended the silence. ‘Is it possible, really possible?’

‘Do you mean, could she really do it?’

‘Could she?’

Petrov nodded. ‘She can and will, given the chance. You’ve seen the evidence. She is Billie Bradford. Let me tell you how it came about, how we prepared her, how we plan to prepare her further, how we intend to use her.’

Then, for three-quarters of an hour, Petrov expounded without stop and without interruption.

When he finished, he was almost out of breath. ‘There you have it, Comrade Kirechenko.’

‘But what do I have?’ the Premier said in a low voice. ‘I have someone who actually wants to undertake this risky enterprise in life. Isn’t that what I have? A brief movie is one thing. But expecting her to sustain this for days - perhaps two weeks — and get away with it — it’s preposterous. She would have to slip, reveal herself. A mistake in a movie, it can be shot again, corrected, but in real life -‘

‘Comrade Kirechenko,’ Petrov interrupted urgently, ‘she made no mistakes - not one — in preparation of the film. She would make none in real life. She could sustain it for several weeks. I’d bet my entire career on her.’

Kirechenko studied his KGB chief.

‘It would be your neck, if she failed.’

‘I know.’

‘It would endanger your country, your countrymen, if she failed.’

‘I know that, also.’

‘And still you recommend it?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Petrov with assurance. ‘Because she will not fail. I am that certain of her. She will totally succeed. She will reap benefits for us that could not be gained otherwise. She will lay open their strategies, secrets, disarm them completely. Dangerous? Of course it is. But then, all great, historic enterprises are, Comrade.’

‘One slip,’ said Kirechenko, “could disgrace us in front of the world — lead us to the brink of war.’

‘That is true. But if we bring it off - and we are positive we can - it might guarantee the dominance of the Soviet Union over the United States for generations to come.’

The Premier sat lost in thought.

Garanin leaned over and whispered to him, ‘A priceless opportunity.’

Ignoring his adviser, the Premier raised his head and stared at his KGB chief. ‘You are very persuasive, Comrade Petrov.’ His gaze drifted to the blank white movie screen. ‘And so

was she, just now.’ His eyes held on Petrov once more. ‘What do you require?’ the Premier asked.

‘Two things. First, your permission to go ahead. Of course, the final option to proceed with the project or to abort it at the last moment will be your own. But, for now — your permission.’

‘You have it,’ said the Premier, almost inaudibly.

‘And the money.’

‘You have it.’

That had been nearly three years ago. Behind his desk, General Petrov came out of his reverie into the present. Tomorrow would begin the countdown. Actually, tonight, since his desk clock told him it was after one o’clock in the morning. Seventy-two more hours. The waiting was almost unbearable.

Restlessly, he rose from his desk. It was late, and he should try to get some sleep in the next room. Yet, he knew that his mind was too awake to let him sleep easily. His mind brimmed with the events of those three years. It had been, actually, a secret college he had set up, a college with a three-year course, one major subject, one student. The major subject had been Billie Bradford. The entire student body had been Vera Vavilova. Now, with graduation in sight, with the real world directly ahead, Petrov had a sudden urge to see the dean of the school. Alex Razin, alone, would know whether his student was ready for the real world. Petrov needed reinforcement, reassurance, that no area had been overlooked, that the graduate could cope. He wondered if Razin, a night person like himself, was still in his office.

Upstairs, on the fourth floor, in his monastic KGB office -shaded ceiling fixtures, pale green walls, bare parquet floor — Alex Razin held the scuffed brown leather briefcase straight on a corner of his crowded desk and stuffed red-lined beige file folders into it. He had told Vera that he might be late — and it was late - but she had insisted that she would remain awake for him. Now,‘preparing to leave his work to spend

the night with her — their last together for three weeks — he saw one of his hands tremble.

Tension clung to him unrelieved. While he had prepared this dangerous enterprise under Petrov, with many others, the sole responsibility for perfection had been totally his own. On the human level, he, more than anyone else involved, had everything at stake. His student, the pawn in this super espionage endeavour, was not merely an agent but the one person he cherished and loved more than any other on earth. This realization had made his job doubly difficult. Vera’s performance must be flawless, her immediate future safe, not only to achieve a cold war victory but to preserve her precious being for himself and themselves. The responsibility filled him with a chill of terror.

When the knock on the door came, and General Petrov unexpectedly appeared with the request that he wanted to review certain aspects of Vera’s training phase one last time, Razin felt a gust of relief. Although eager to enjoy the warmth of Vera’s body before she was taken from him, he was relieved to have the excuse to examine their handiwork one more time. Like Petrov, he wanted to be certain, beyond all certainty, that every possible surprise had been anticipated. He did not mind being even later for Vera. If she fell asleep, he could awaken her and know that because of his vigilance she would be safer.

‘I hope you are not too tired?’ Petrov added, settling into the chair across from his deputy’s desk.

‘Not for this,’ said Razin. ‘I hoped for some reason to review our preparations just one more time. We cannot be too cautious. It just has to be absolutely foolproof.’

As Razin started for his file cabinet, Petrov said, ‘Oh, it is foolproof, I am positive of that. I don’t know why I want to do it again. Maybe I just want to indulge myself, have pleasure in a job well done - before she is out of our hands.’

Out of our hands. Petrov’s last words sent another alarm through Razin. He opened the cabinet drawer, dug deep inside, and lifted out the file of three thick folders on Project Second Lady.

He brought them back to the desk, and lay them before Petrov. ‘Everything is here,’ Razin said. ‘You will find a copy of every memorandum, progress sheet, note on what we had to do to, what we did, covering every week’s activities from the day Kirechenko gave us the go-ahead and the special fund.’