The Zebra Network

Chapter 23

McAllister waited outside the baggage pickup area at the BaltimoreWashington Airport for the next available taxi. The airport was much busyer now than it had been earlier this morning. Some flights had already been canceled or delayed because of the deteriorating weather, and the disappointed passengers were irritable, pushing and jostling for transportation back into the city.

If this kept up, he and Stephanie would have to take the train to New York. With luck they still would be able to get a flight out to the West Coast first thing in the morning.

He glanced over at a man dressed in a business suit, an overnight bag and attache case at his feet as he got a newspaper from one of the machines lined up by the doors. For just a split second McAllister caught a glimpse of the front page and he stepped back, stunned.

The businessman folded the newspaper without looking at it, picked up his bags and came over to where McAllister was standing. “They canceled my flight, what about yours?” the man asked. “I’m waiting for someone,” McAllister mumbled, and he turned and went back into the terminal, the man staring after him.

He took the escalators back up to the main departures hall, his heart racing. His and Stephanie’s photographs had been plastered all over the front page of the newspaper. He hadn’t caught the headlines, but they were big.

The message had been sent two days ago with a false description of him. What had happened in the meantime to change all of that? He approached one of the magazine and smoke shops where he could see several newspapers. All of them carried the same photographs beneath similar headlines: MASSACRE IN COLLEGE PARK. The clerk behind the counter was reading a newspaper. McAllister backed away without going in, turned and hurried across the terminal to thefront doors where cabs and buses were drawing up dropping off anxious people still hoping to catch a flight out.

Massacre-the word kept running through his head. Massacre of whom, and when? On the way up they’d heard a lot of sirens: Had that something to do with this?

He dug some coins out of his pocket, and before he caught one of the departing cabs, bought a newspaper from one of the machines. “The Historical Society,” he told the driver, avoiding any eye-to-eye contact.

“You got it,” the cabbie said, and pulled away from the curb. “Some weather, huh?”

“Right,” McAllister said absently, his eyes riveted on the front page of the newspaper.

The photographs looked like standard Agency head shots out of their files, Stephanie’s more recent than his, but both of them very recognizable except for the fact that his hair was much shorter now, and he still wore the clear-lensed glasses Stephanie had bought for him. He quickly scanned the lengthy article with a growing disbelief. Innes and Reisberg had been killed outright. Quarmby was in critical condition at Bethseda Naval Hospital where he was not expected to live, and Highnote was in guarded condition, but was expected to recover.

Highnote was not Zebra One. He was not a part of the network after all.

Look to Washington. Look to Moscow.

The penetration agent was not Highnote. Whoever he was, the mole was still in place. Highnote had tried to help and he had nearly lost his life for his effort. Carrick and Maas had been killed in New York, then Sikorski in Reston, Ballinger in Washington, and Stephanie’s father here in Baltimore. Now Innes, Reisberg, and probably Quamnby. It was nearly beyond belief. The story had been released just a few hours ago by a spokesman for the FBI, who reported that the meeting had been called at the home of Paul Innes, associate deputy attorney general, because of the overnight slaying of James and Liam O’Haire at the federal penitentiary outside of Marion, Illinois. “See related story on page 2A.“McAllister turned the page. The O’Haires had been found very early this morning stabbed to death. There were no clues as to the identity of the murderers, but prison officials said they believed that there had been trouble between the two brothers and some of the other prisoners.

Back on page one, McAllister continued with the main article. “Neighbors of the McAllisters, in their posh Georgetown neighborhood, reported seeing McAllister and a woman matching the description of Stephanie Albright, leaving in a white Peugeot sedan registered to McAllister. Tire tracks at the scene of the multiple slayings matched those of the Peugeot.

“In addition to the four government officials, also killed were two FBI officers, as well as Caroline Innes, wife of the associate deputy attorney general.”

McAllister, the article went on, had been named in connection with four other recent murders; two in New York, one in Washington, and the fourth near Reston.

According to an “unnamed source within the CIA,” McAllister, who had recently returned from assignment in Moscow, had worked with the Russians as a source for the O’Haire’s spy network. It was believed that McAllister and Stephanie Albright were still at large in the Washington area, and were to be considered armed and extremely dangerous.

McAllister let the paper drop to his lap. There was no going back for either of them now. Whatever faint hope he had held for using Stephanie as a backup should he fail-having her approach Dexter Kingman with the entire story-was completely shattered now. According to the article, two weapons had been used in the massacre. The implication was that both McAllister and the woman had participated in the killings.

Stephanie, he thought, what in God’s name have I done to you?

The lobby of their hotel was mostly deserted, and no one paid the slightest attention to McAllister as he crossed to the elevator. He could not hide this from her, of course, but he had no idea how she was going to take the news that she was wanted for murder. If she folded on him it would make things impossible. Coming so soonon the heels of the shock of seeing her father’s mutilated body, however, he was worried about her.

Stephanie opened the door for him, her eyes going from his face to the overnight bags he was carrying, and then to the newspaper folded under his arm.

“You’ve seen it, then,” she said. She was pale and obviously frightened.

“Was it on the television?” he asked coming in and putting down the bags. But then he spotted the newspaper spread out on the bed and he turned on her. “Christ, I told you to stay in the room. I told you not to leave the hotel under any circumstances.”

“I’m sorry,” she cried. “But it was something I had to do.”

“What was so important?” he asked, raising his voice. “My father,” she replied, turning away. Her breathing was erratic, and she was holding her hands together to stop them from shaking.

“What about him?” McAllister snapped, realizing the moment the words escaped his lips how callous and insensitive he must sound to her. “Listen, Stephanie, I’m sorry…

“Don’t be, you were right. I shouldn’t have left the hotel. But I didn’t know about this.” She turned to face McAllister. “I couldn’t just leave him like that, David. I don’t know if you can understand, but he was alone, and when someone shows up at the house, I didn’t want them to see him like… that.”

McAllister fought to control his sudden fear. An Did you call someone?” She shook her head. “I was going to, but then I saw the paper. “What did you do?”

She told him in a halting voice, and his heart broke for her. But there was simply nothing he could do to make it any easier.

“I understand,” he said when she was finished. “I really do.” She looked at him, searching his eyes to make sure that he wasn’t patronizing her. He managed a slight wan smile and she came across the room to him. He took her in his arms and held her close, her entire body shaking.

“Where does it end, David?” she asked softly. “There were witnesses who say they saw us.”

“Either they were lying, or they were mistaken. Whoever did thekillings may have dressed up to look like us. They went to my house, took my car and went out to College Park.”

She looked up at him. “Highnote isn’t a part of it, then,” she said, her eyes wide and moist.

“No,” McAllister said.

“They’ll try again to kill him, won’t they?”

“Probably. But I’m sure he’s being closely guarded now. It won’t be so easy for them the next time. But now we’ve got an ally. Someone to trust.”

“If he recovers.”

“Yes,” McAllister said, his mind drawn for just a moment back to the years and years he and Highnote had been friends. To the good times and the bad. They’d accomplished so much together, had confided so often in each other; Highnote the mentor, Mac his brightest pupil. It hurt that he had ever doubted his friend.

“I’m sorry,” Stephanie said. “I was wrong about him from the beginning.”

“You were going on what you knew. On the apparent facts,” he said, trying to think it out.

“Did you know any of those people?”

McAllister focused on her. “Just Quarmby over at NSA. He was a good man.”

“I knew Alvan Reisberg from the old days. The question is, David, what were those four doing meeting together?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Think about it. The O’Haires were killed last night, and this morning those particular four men held a meeting. Whatever it was they were talking about had to involve us. And it had to be important enough for Zebra One to want to stop them and blame their deaths onus.”

“Now there’s an all-out manhunt for us.”

“But why kill Innes and the others unless Highnote was there to convince them that we were innocent?”

Suddenly McAllister did see it. “You’re right. Christ, it was staring me right in the face. Whoever arranged the killings has just proved Highnote wrong.”

“It’s another message.”

“It’s more than that,” McAllister said, suddenly seeing everything. “There is a common thread. Zebra One is someone highly enough placed so that he knows not only Highnote’s movements, but he also knew about Innes at the Justice Department, Reisberg at the FBI, and Quarmby at NSA.”

“My God, who?”

“I don’t know, but the list has got to be small,” McAllister said, his thoughts still racing. “From the deputy director of the CIA all the way up… as far up as you want to go.”

Stephanie was shaking her head in disbelief. “You may have been right when you said we couldn’t fight them,” she said. “What are we going to do?”

“Pray to God that Highnote recovers so that I can talk to him, warn him. He’s our only hope now.”

“That’s going to take some time.”

“Time we don’t have. For the next forty-eight hours every cop on the Eastern Seaboard is going to be looking for us. At least as long as they think we’re still on the move. We’ve got to go to ground for a few days.”

“We still have to get to California. Besides Highnote, the list is our only lead.”

“Not now,” McAllister said, thinking. “We’d be too visible on an airplane, too confined. If we were recognized the pilot would only have to radio ahead and we’d be taken the moment we landed.”

“If we took a plane,” Stephanie said. “What are you talking about?”

“The train, David,” she said excitedly. She looked at her watch, it was a few minutes past three. “We have a little more than an hour.”

“What train?”

“Amtrak from Union Station. I saw the schedule when I was there this afternoon. It leaves at twenty after four to Chicago, and from there to Los Angeles. It’s got to take at least three or four days to get to the coast, time enough with luck for Highnote to recover, and time to let things die down here.” They’ve trained me well. I know all the moves for staying alive behind enemy lines; the subteles, the little ploys; when to run, whento freeze like a rabbit in the woods whose only two defenses are his speed and his ability to remain absolutely still, blending with the environment.

She was looking at him. “David? Are you all right?” McAllister nodded. “We’ve no other choice.” He managed another slight smile.

She returned his smile though he could see the deep pain in her eyes. Then let’s stop the bastards once and for all,” she said.

Stephanie left the hotel the back way and waited outside while McAllister paid their bill to a harried clerk. Because of the mounting storm, which already was making travel nearly impossible, a lot of people were booking rooms against the likelihood they would be stuck in the city.

The wind had risen and whipped snow in eddies around buildings, and in long, ragged plumes down the streets on which traffic had thinned dramatically in the past hour or so.

They had to walk nearly three blocks before they found a cab on Cathedral Street. McAllister’s appearance was different enough from the photograph in the newspapers so that he didn’t think he’d be so easily recognized. And Stephanie had pinned her hair back in a severe bun, had removed all of her makeup and had tied a scarf over her head, giving her a spinsterish look. The slight alteration in their appearances wouldn’t fool a trained observer, but it would be enough, he hoped, to get them onto the train unnoticed. “Are the trains still moving?” McAllister asked the driver. “You got me, buddy,” the cabbie said, glancing at their reflection in the rearview mirror. “If they are, they’re the only things going anyplace. Where are you folks headed?”

“New York,” McAllister said, glancing at Stephanie. “We’ve got to catch a flight to Paris first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah, well good luck.”

Sooner or later they would be traced to Baltimore. It was possible that the cabbie would remember the couple he’d taken to the train station who were on their way to Paris. It wasn’t much, but the ruse might buy them a little extra time if it came to that.

It was nearly four by the time they made it to Union Station. Thetrains were indeed moving, and the station was crammed. Just inside Stephanie stopped him.

“Get our tickets and wait for me downstairs on the boarding platform,” she said.

“What?”

“Do as I say, David,” she snapped. She looked up at his hair. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“There’s a drugstore around the corner, I’ve got to pick up a few things.” She handed him her bags. “I know what I’m doing, it’s okay,” she said. She turned on her heel and went back out into the storm.

McAllister waited for only a moment then he headed across the departures hall to the ticket windows, walking with an exaggerated limp, his eyes downcast.

The line moved very slowly and it took nearly ten minutes before it was his turn, and another five minutes before the irritated clerk had booked him a double compartment first class to Chicago, returning next Tuesday.

“Why didn’t you wait until the last minute?” the clerk said sar-castically. “Baggage?”

“Three, all carryon.”

“You’d better hurry, pal, or you’ll miss your train,” the clerk said handing him his tickets. “We’re running on time.”

McAllister looked at his watch as he crossed the big hall; it was ten past four. He looked for Stephanie at the escalators but she was nowhere to be seen. She should have been back by now unless she had run into some trouble. Anything was possible.

He debated with himself for a moment whether he should go outside to try to find her. She said she was going to a drug store around the corner. For what? But there was no time now. She was either waiting for him down on the platform or she wasn’t. At the bottom he saw her standing just beyond a knot of people. She was clutching a paper bag in her left hand, her right stulfed in her coat pocket where she had her gun.

When she saw him she hurried over, pulling a wool knit cap out of the bag. “Put this on,” she whispered urgently. He pulled the cap on without question, and together they hurried down the platform along the line of their train.

“I think our cabbie recognized us,” she said. “Are you sure?”

“He was out front when I came back, talking to a couple of cops.”

“Did they spot you?”

“No,” she said. “At least I don’t think so.

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough,” McAllister said, as they reached their porter and he handed over the tickets.