The Strange Story of Linda Lee (36 page)

But the true circumstances had not been presented to her. The lawyer’s story about The Top selling out his Canadian interests to a rival group there had been thought up in case she had scruples if she were told the truth.

And she had scruples. Her two-year association with Rowley had been more than enough to bring home to her the immense importance of the Western Powers keeping ahead of Russia and the increasing menace of China, in know-how about the development of nuclear power. Those papers that the blonde woman on the far side of the table was scrutinising so carefully had obviously been stolen from one of America’s secret research centres, and their possession might well give Russia the lead which would enable her to impose her will on the free nations of the world.

Linda made a pretence of resuming the counting of the pile of banknotes in front of her. But she was not even attempting to do so. She was thinking how fortunate it was that a woman should have been sent to carry out the exchange—for somehow she must get back those papers, and she would stand a better chance against a woman than a man.

That a woman should have been sent dressed in the uniform of a chauffeur did not now surprise her. Although Eric had never let drop a word about his own job, he had often talked to her and Rowley in general terms about the Russians. She recalled his once saying that, in the majority of cases, Russian Ambassadors were only puppets. In every Embassy there was a secret nominee of the Politbureau, generally posing as a junior clerk, the butler or some other servant; and it was he, or sometimes she, as the Russians had a high regard for the abilities of women, who dictated all
matters of major policy. Greta Garbo’s film
Ninochka
flashed through Linda’s mind. Possibly this woman was the key figure at the Soviet Embassy in Ottawa or, more probably, a nuclear scientist who had been sent over specially to collect these papers.

For a moment Linda considered stepping on the siren device that lay near her foot under the table. The loud wail would result in Gerta’s alerting the two strong-arm men outside and herself running into the room with them behind her. But what good would that do? When they learned the reason why she had refused to go through with the transaction, they would knock her out, bind and gag her, lock her up in her bedroom, complete the business themselves and make off as quickly as they could.

No. Some way she had to get the better of the woman by herself. But if she snatched the papers back, a fight would ensue. The woman might be armed and, perhaps, shoot her. Anyway, if she was attacked she would almost certainly shout. That would bring Gerta into the room and Linda could not possibly overcome the Russian, Gerta and the two gunmen who would probably follow her in.

To give herself more time to think, Linda exclaimed, ‘Oh, damn!’ and, as though she had miscounted, began to count the notes all over again. By the time she had done the Russian had finished examining the papers and had put them in her attaché case. By then Linda had decided what she must do. Putting the pile of notes into her beauty box, she expressed herself satisfied.

The woman gave an abrupt bow and said, ‘I also. Now I will go.’

Linda did not attempt to show her visitor out, but followed her toward the door. On the far side of the table stood a chair. As the woman walked past it,
Linda grasped its top rail, swung it sideways and up, then brought it crashing down on the Russian’s head.

One of the chair legs hit her above the left ear. She gave a gasp, fell to the floor and rolled over, her blue eyes glaring upward. Dropping the chair, Linda launched herself upon her and, before she could shout, seized her by the throat. The Russian was already only half-conscious from the blow, so the struggle was brief. In less than a minute she had been choked into insensibility.

Coming to her feet, Linda quickly locked the door, to prevent Gerta from coming in should she think the transaction was taking unnecessarily long and that something had gone wrong. Turning back, Linda saw that her victim’s cloak had fallen open, revealing a black leather belt that carried a pistol holster on her left hip. Kneeling down, she undid the flap and took out the weapon.

Linda had not ever handled a pistol, so she held it carefully. It was of a type she had never seen, small and stubby, with an unusually short, very wide barrel. It occurred to her that this might be a silencer, but it was only about a third of the length of silencers she had seen in gangster films. Gingerly she took out the magazine to make certain that it was loaded. It was, but not with the sort of bullets she had expected. They were transparent capsules, three-quarters full of a yellow liquid. Clearly, the gun fired some kind of chemical which would become gas and temporarily blind or paralyse anyone whose face was within a few feet of the muzzle.

Laying the gun down on the table, she took the unconscious Russian by the ankles and dragged her into the bathroom. As quickly as she could she shed her
own clothes, then took off the woman’s cloak, uniform and long, black boots, and put them on. The tunic and skirt were too full for her, and the boots were on the tight side; but the cloak would hide the looseness of the tunic, and the boots gave a little when she flexed her toes.

Meanwhile, the Russian had been breathing stertorously and now showed signs of coming round. Seizing a towl, Linda gagged her with it and used another to tie her feet together. To secure her hands Linda cut off the blind cord with a pair of scissors.

Running back to the sitting-room, she picked up the attaché case which the Russian had dropped when struck down. It had not got a combination, but two separate locks. While putting the notes in her beauty box Linda, out of the corner of her eye, had seen the Woman lock the case and slip the key into her left breast pocket. As she fished for it, she could not get her fingers to the bottom of the pocket on account of what felt like a hard piece of cardboard. Pulling it out, she found it to be a Russian passport in the name of Anna Zubarova.

There was also something in the right breast pocket. It proved to be a notecase holding a wad of Russian notes and three Canadian dollar bills. Folded flat inside it was an air ticket in Anna’s name. It bore that day’s date and was for Moscow via Oslo. The time of departure was 22.15 hours. Evidently the Russians had sent Anna over specially to vet the nuclear papers and meant to lose no time in getting her back with their haul.

Linda’s heart leapt. If only she could reach the airport and pass herself off as Anna she would be out of Canada, could leave the plane in Oslo and be safe in Norway with a fortune that would last her a lifetime.

Again dipping her fingers in the pocket she found the key, unlocked the attaché case, took out the precious packet, threw it into her still open beauty box and slammed down the lid.

Quick as she had been in dealing with the Russian, changing into her clothes and tying her up, considerably more time had elapsed than should have been taken to count two hundred and thirty banknotes, so she dared not delay in tackling Gerta. Righting the chair, she pulled it behind the door and put on it both the beauty box and Anna’s peaked cap. Picking up the pistol, she held it in her right hand behind her back. With her left she unlocked the door, opened it a few inches and called to Gerta:

‘Will you come in? There has been a misunderstanding.’

As Gerta, all unsuspecting, pushed the door open, Linda stepped back behind it; then, the moment Gerta was in the room, gave it a swift push that shut it again.

A second later, they stood face to face. One look at Linda dressed in the Russian’s uniform and Gerta realised that she had fallen into a trap; but before her face even had time to register surprise and anger, Linda had the pistol levelled at it. She pressed the trigger. Nothing happened.

Instantly Gerta’s hand went down to a pocket in her skirt. There was a pistol in it. She pulled at it and her hand, clasping the butt, came out. The awful bitterness of defeat seared Linda’s mind. She had overcome the Russian, got possession of the scientific secret that might even give the Communists the power to dominate the world, secured a passport that could get her out of Canada, and a fortune for herself. Now, at only the second hurdle, she had failed. Under the threat of
Gerta’s gun she would be despoiled of everything—even her fine collection of new clothes and the two thousand dollars with which she was to have been paid off.

During the past few months fate had played Linda many scurvy tricks, but now it suddenly turned in her favour. Some part of Gerta’s pistol had caught in the lining of her pocket. Wrench at it as she would, clutching at her skirt with her free hand, she could not get it out. That hitch proved Linda’s salvation. It flashed upon her that, being unused to weapons, she had neglected to put the safety catch off.

Still unable to get her pistol free, Gerta turned toward the door, and opened her mouth to shout for help to the gunmen out in the passage. At that instant Linda flicked up the safety catch on the Russian’s pistol, and again pressed the trigger.

The gun gave a faint plop, a jet of liquid spurted from the wide muzzle, dissolving almost instantly into a white mist that entirely enveloped Gerta’s head and face. She gave one gasping cough and slumped to the ground. As the mist dissolved, Linda saw that she was out cold.

For a moment, breathing heavily from the emotions that had racked her, Linda stood there staring down at her second victim. Then she pulled herself together. She had no idea how long the effect of the gas would last. If Gerta came to within a few minutes she might succeed in preventing her from getting away from the hotel. As she had done with the Russian, she took Gerta by the ankles and dragged her squat, ungainly body across the sitting-room and into the bathroom, alongside Anna. Gerta looked completely out, and if she came round fairly soon and shouted, it was unlikely
that she would be heard out in the passage; but Linda tied her wrists and ankles with two more towels, and gagged her.

Locking the door of the bathroom behind her, Linda spent a couple of minutes arranging most of the hair in her fair wig so that it would be hidden by Anna’s peaked cap. She then picked up the beauty box. But, just as she was about to leave the room, she suddenly remembered that, apart from the huge sum it contained, she had no Canadian money, except the three dollars in the Russian’s notecase. She would require more than that and restaurants or taxi-drivers are in no position to cash thousand-dollar bills.

Gerta had left her bag on a chair. Linda knew there was a billfold in it, because she had seen Gerta tip the porters. Opening it she took out the billfold. It contained a fifty and several fives and ones. Slipping it into her own bag, she thrust her arm through the strap and pushed it right up under the cloak until it fitted tightly over her shoulder so that she would have both hands free. Opening the door, she picked up the beauty box with her left hand. In her right, under cover of the cloak, she clutched the gas pistol.

As she stepped out into the corridor, she glanced swiftly to left and right. Seventy feet away, a man was standing at the top of the stairs. Although he was now wearing a checked suit, she recognised him by his broad shoulders as being the boyish-faced chauffeur who had driven them from the airport the previous evening. In the other direction, only thirty feet off, a thick-set, bearded man, smoking a cigarette, was lounging near the lift. With a firm stride she walked toward him, praying that he either had not seen Anna Zubarova come up in the lift or had caught only a
glimpse of her so that, with the peak of her cap pulled well down, her own impersonation would not be detected.

When she reached the lift, the man stood aside for her. With the thumb of the hand that was holding the beauty box she pressed the bell. She now had her back to the man, but it seemed to her an age before the lift came up, and she tried to keep her breathing steady. The moment the lift stopped, she pushed back the gate and stepped into it. On the opposite wall there was a mirror. In it she found herself staring straight into the eyes of the bearded man behind her. His face showed sudden surprise, and he exclaimed:

‘Cherril Chanel! Where are you off to in that uniform?’ At the same moment he thrust his foot forward, so that she could not close the lift gate. Her right hand came out from under the cloak. Raising the pistol she fired it at his face.

He took a quick step back, staggered about wildly for a moment, then collapsed. She closed the gate and pressed the button, sending the lift up instead of down; for she had realised in time that the boyish-faced man must have seen what had happened and by now be dashing down the stairs to intercept her.

Two floors higher up she got out and, brushing past a couple who were waiting for the lift, ran the whole length of the corridor to another lift she knew to be there, because she and Gerta had been brought up in it on their arrival. As she waited for it to come up, she put the safety catch down on the pistol and thrust it into the side pocket of her tunic.

She took the lift down to the ground floor and found to her relief that the big lobby was so crowded that she could not be seen from the further end where, by now,
the boyish-faced thug would be waiting for her at the other lift. Pushing her way past a batch of new arrivals, she left the hotel. Inside it had been beautifully warm; outside it was freezing and a bitter wind was blowing. Hurriedly she looked about for a taxi. Seeing one about fifty yards away just being paid off by a woman, she began to walk quickly toward it. Then she heard a voice crying behind her:

‘Anna. Anna,’ followed by some words in a foreign language, which she had no doubt was Russian.

Turning her head, she saw a bulky man wearing a coat with an astrakhan collar and a hat to match, standing beside a stationary car which had the C.D. of the Diplomatic Corps next its number plate. Clearly, he was from the Russian Embassy. No doubt, although Anna was actually his superior, she had driven him to the hotel, then had gone in as though sent by him on some errand, and he was waiting for her to come out. Thinking she had taken the wrong direction by mistake, he was shouting to catch her attention.