The Strange Story of Linda Lee (38 page)

Could she possibly carry out the plan that had flitted through her mind when she had first come upon Anna Zubarova’s passport? If only she could get to Oslo she could hand over the papers to the British Ambassador there.

Besides, as long as she remained in Canada she would never feel really safe. After Sid’s act of idiocy had put the police on to her, it was certain that her story would have got into the Press under some awful heading such as ‘
Young mistress of elderly scientist steals fortune in jewels
’, and her photograph would have been published; There had been several of her that she had left behind at the house in Park Side West. Elsie would have given them to the police, and they would have sent copies to Canada.

That she would now be recognised from one was unlikely. But from the time the hunt had been up for her in Canada, most of the people she had met while there would have read about and remembered her.

There were the residents at the Astley, people who had seen her with Big Bear in the restaurants in Vancouver,
at the Empress on Victoria Island, and many more she had met with him in Montreal. In addition there were the people up at Lake Louise, shop assistants from whom she had bought things to be sent round for her to the Ritz-Carlton, chambermaids, waiters and porters there and at other hotels at which she had stayed, taxi-drivers and attendants on trains. People were always moving from city to city. One way and another, there must be hundreds who would know her again if they saw her in the street. Ruefully she realised that this was a penalty of being both unusually tall and beautiful. With the added interest of crime, her face must have stuck in the memories of innumerable men and women.

Getting out the passport and air ticket again, she examined them more carefully. The flight was definitely for that day, and due to take off from Ottawa at 10.40 hours. The passport was made out in both Russian and English. She learned from it that Anna was seven years older than herself. Her height was five foot nine. Fortunately, she had a broad forehead and oval face. Her mouth was fuller than Linda’s and her eyes green. Her nose Linda knew to be flatter, but that did not show in the photograph. Except for the shape of the two faces there was not much likeness. Still, if she altered her appearance in certain ways, Linda felt there was a sporting chance that she might pass for her.

Although she had been flown in to Ottawa, as it had been dark when the aircraft landed she had no idea on which side of the city the airport lay. But in a pocket of the car she found a map. It showed her that, having crossed the river to the western side, she had driven through a considerable suburb called Hull, and must now be out in the country beyond it. By far the greater
part of the city was east of the river. To the north there was a large area marked Rockcliffe Park, and to the east of it was the airport.

For a long while she sat in the car, trying to decide what to do. One thing was certain—she must procure a change of clothes. Anna’s chauffeur’s uniform: cloak, black, shiny top-boots and peaked cap were identifiable at a considerable distance. Gerta and the two thugs had all seen her in them, so had the girl who owned the car and the policeman at the cross-roads. The Russian, too, still believing her to be Anna, would have all his people out looking for her dressed as she was.

If she was to attempt to get out of Canada, she would have to effect a difficult compromise—become unlike Anna in general appearance, yet retain such blonde likeness as she could in order to bluff her way past the Immigration officials. Another half-hour passed while she made a mental list of all the things she must buy to give herself the best chance of succeeding in her plan.

All this while her leg had been paining her badly. The engine was shut off, so it had become very cold. Anna’s cloak was a poor substitute for her own mink, which she had been forced to abandon at the Château Laurier; and, having counted the money in the billfold she had taken from Gerta’s bag, she found she had only eighty-seven dollars—not enough to buy a really good-quality cloth coat in addition to all the other things she needed.

Starting up the car, she drove back to Hull. By the time she found a car park off one of the main streets, it was three o’clock. Loath as she was to leave the precious beauty box, she knew she would need both hands for her shopping, so she locked it up in the boot. It was long past lunchtime, so she limped along to a delicatessen she had noticed. There she warmed herself up with two
cups of steaming coffee, and made a meal off hamburgers and apple pie. She also bought some ham rolls, biscuits, chocolate and a tin of Coca-Cola, so that she could picnic in the car that evening instead of having to go to a restaurant.

Further along the street there was a good-sized store. Her first purchase there was a cheap suitcase. Next she went to the shoe department. Getting her left leg out of Anna’s long boot was painful, but the easing of its pressure brought her relief, and she left the department in a pair of low-heeled brown shoes. During the following half-hour she bought the thickest woollen pullover she could find, a muffler, a raincoat, a rainproof hat with a brim that turned down all round, a nightdress, dressing gown and slippers, a modest selection of washing and make-up things, a pair of semi-dark glasses, a walking stick with a crook, a pair of scissors, a packet of labels and a Biro.

With the black boots and the things she had bought in the suitcase, she walked back to the car, then drove out again to the country lane where she had first pulled up.

Being unable to afford a thick coat, she had decided to continue wearing Anna’s tunic; but, hidden under the long pullover and with the raincoat over it, she would at least be protected from the wind. Anna’s cloak and cap she put with the boots in the suitcase, then wrote a label for it, giving the flight number and adding, in large letters, OSLO.

Her next concern was her wig. Being blonde, the difference in colour from that in the passport photograph would not show, but it was elaborately dressed in the style favoured by Cherril Chanel, whereas Anna’s hair was straight and cut short in an untidy bob. Taking off
the wig, Linda cut off two-thirds of the long hair with the scissors, and tried it several times on her head until she was satisfied from her reflection in the driving mirror that, under the rim of the rain-hat, it looked much as Anna’s hair would have done. Lastly, she touched up her eyebrows and used the lipstick to give her mouth a squarer appearance.

By the time she was finished it was past five o’clock, but she still had over four hours to go until reporting time for her flight and, as the number and description of the stolen car would have been given by the girl to the police, she felt she would stand less risk of the car being spotted if she did not drive through the city until after dark, so she shut her eyes and tried to sleep.

Her mind was much too active with apprehension for her to drop off properly, but she managed to doze at intervals for a couple of hours. By then darkness had fallen, and she was again feeling the cold so badly that she made up her mind to run the gauntlet of the city.

Driving very carefully, for an accident would have been disastrous for her, she passed through Hull, seeing now in front of her the heights of East Ottawa, on which stood the square gothic towers of the Parliament buildings and, rising from them, lofty and narrow against the darkening evening sky, the Peace Tower. Crossing the river she turned left, along a broad highway which she hoped, from her study of the map, was Rideau Street. After a short distance her hope was confirmed, as it curved north-east. Further on it crossed another, smaller river and eventually brought her to Rockcliffe Park. After driving for half a mile through the park, which at that hour was almost deserted, she drove off the road and pulled up among a group of tall trees.

There she slowly ate her supper and drank the Coke, while wishing longingly that she had with her something stronger to fortify her for the big risk she must soon run. But, although she had spun out her picnic meal as long as possible, there was still over an hour to go before reporting time at the airport. The waiting seemed to drag as though every minute were ten and, even when she could have started, she forced herself to wait another twenty minutes, in order to cut the time she would have to hang about the airport as short as possible. At last she made up her mind to start and face whatever fate had in store for her. Ten minutes later, she pulled up in the airport car park.

Before leaving the car, she scribbled with the Biro on the back of the map:
So sorry to have deprived you of your car for a few hours, but it was a case of real necessity
, then put the map back in the side pocket where the girl would, sooner or later, find it.

Carrying the suitcase in one hand and her beauty box in the other, she walked across to the airport building and entered the great central hall. She had the brim of the rain-hat pulled well down, so that tufts of fair hair showed only covering her ears. Tucked into the raincoat the woollen muffler hid the lower part of her chin—for which the bitter cold was an adequate reason—and she was wearing the tinted glasses which, without being dark enough to arouse suspicion, obscured the colour of her eyes. In the hand that held the beauty box she also carried the stick, leaning heavily upon it with every step she took. That, and her low-heeled shoes, disguised her height, so that at a casual glance she appeared to be no more than Anna’s five foot nine.

On reaching the desk for her flight, she produced
both the passport and the ticket. It was, she had noticed, economy class, so evidently, if distinguished Russian scientists went about dressed as chauffeurs, they had to travel in accordance with the role they were playing.

The woman behind the desk checked the ticket with her list, then handed it back with the passport and a boarding card. Linda’s suitcase was well under the allowed weight, but the label caught the woman’s eye and she said, ‘You change aircraft at Oslo, but this will not be transferred to the other plane unless you label it MOSCOW.’

Making her voice as husky as she could, Linda replied, ‘Et is all right. I break journey two night in Oslo.’

An official led her to another counter where she was screened as a precaution against her being a hijacker. Knowing this would happen, she had left the little gas pistol in the car; but, as the beauty box was steel under the blue leather covering, she had to open it. Since it contained only papers and banknotes, she was passed through.

So far, so good. But now she must face the really big hurdle: the Immigration people. At the gate there was a short queue. When she was within thirty feet of the end of it, she halted abruptly and turned about. Standing near the gate were the Russian, another well-dressed man wearing glasses, and a hospital nurse. As the women were passing through the gate the Russian, his head thrust forward, was scrutinising their profiles.

The blood drained from Linda’s face and her pulse was racing. She had failed to take into account the fact that the Russian would know that Anna was booked on the plane leaving for Oslo that night. Naturally he had come there to stop her.

That he had a nurse with him strongly suggested that the other man was a doctor. She had heard of cases of people being carried off against their wills by someone, accompanied by others posing as a doctor and a nurse, who declared that he was a relative of the person they wanted to get hold of and that he, or she, was a mental case escaped from an asylum. The Russian, as an official of the Soviet Embassy, would state that he was responsible for her and insist on her showing Anna’s passport.

He would get a shock when he realised that she was not Anna. But he would immediately assume that Anna, having given her the passport and ticket, had also passed the papers on to her. As she could produce no proof that she was not Anna, he would swear that she was and, just the same, carry her off to the Russian Embassy where she could be searched and ‘grilled’.

Linda cast a quick glance over her shoulder. The Russian was so close to the queue that, even if she kept her face averted, he could not fail to recognise the tuft of blonde hair over her ear, which she had taken such pains to make look like Anna’s.

Perhaps she could pass by staring him straight in the face, so that he would at once realise that she was not Anna. But no! That would not do. She was carrying the blue beauty box. It was too large to conceal under her raincoat. He would recognise it instantly as the one he had fought to get hold of outside the High Commissioner’s that morning.

What could she do? How, in heaven’s name, could she get past him? Beyond the barrier lay Norway, final escape from the Canadian police, those nuclear calculations safe in the hands of the British Ambassador there, and a new life with sixteen hundred pounds in her purse.

For a good three minutes she stood with her back turned to the queue, striving with all her wits to devise a means of getting past the Russian. At last one came to her. But it entailed another risk—that she might not be allowed to board the plane. Should she take it, or leave the airport while the going was good, and try to find a hide-out, or get away from Ottawa?

But, apart from thousand-dollar notes, the things she had bought that afternoon had reduced her ready money from eighty-seven dollars to five. Nowhere, except at a bank, could she change a thousand-dollar note; and by now the Russian might have sent in the numbers of the notes that Anna had taken to the Château Laurier and asked that anyone who tried to change one of them should be detained.

Now she was wanted by the police not only on account of the jewels, but also for having stolen a car. It was certain that the Russians would have their people watching for her at the railway and bus stations. Still worse, there was Gerta, her two thugs and probably a score of other men under The Top’s orders in Ottawa searching hotels and eating-places for her. And if they got her, it would be not prison, but death.

She could not possibly hope to escape for more than a few hours from being recognised and caught by the police, the Russians or the gangsters. She must take the gamble she had thought of. It was the only conceivable chance.