powerful, dark force threatened to engulf him.
“McAllister cannot be allowed to continue.”
“No.”
“God help us all if he succeeds,” the American said. “Or even convinces someone else that he’s not crazy.”
After a successful strike you must wait and watch for the enemy’s reaction before you make your next move. It is essential that this order of battle be strictly adhered to, especially when the odds are so heavily stacked against the operative in the field.
McAllister looked up from the last of the newspapers he had been reading. Stephanie was already finished.
“Anything?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing yet,” he said wearily. He was tired of being cooped up in their hotel room, and he could see that she was too. Yet it was far too dangerous for either of them to wander far from the hotel now. After last night the Agency, the FBI, and the District police would be searching for them both. But until something happened they could do nothing but wait.
They’d both managed to get some sleep, and in the morning neither of them had mentioned her outburst of the night before. But her confession hung in the air between them like a thick veil that neither of them was ready to part. For his part, McAllister didn’t know what to say or do, because in fact he didn’t know how he felt about her or his wife; except that he found Stephanie very attractive and sincere, and that his marriage had been failing for a long time before his wife had called him a traitor and had tried to kill him. He was confused, and hurting. Everything had been turned upside down for him in Moscow. No matter what happened or didn’t happen, though, he knew for a fact that his life would never be the same, could never be the same. The circumstances had changed, but so had he.
“What makes you so sure that they’ll say anything to the news media?” she asked. “They haven’t so far.”
“The Bureau is involved now, and so are the District police. It’s bound to attract some attention. They’ll have to make some kind of a statement.”
“It could be anything. It might mean nothing.”
“Even their silence could tell us something,” McAllister said, though he wasn’t at all sure what that might be. Something inside of him, however, some instinct told him that it was not time yet to move. They needed more information.“We have four names,” Stephanie was saying. “It’s what you were looking for. let’s follow up those leads at least.”
“Not yet,” McAllister said. He glanced at his watch. It was nearing noon, time for the television news broadcasts. He got up, crossed the room and turned on the television to the local ABC affiliate. A commercial was playing.
“What are you waiting for?” Stephanie asked, her voice rising. “A message.”
“What?”
“I did the unthinkable as far as they are concerned,” he said, turning back to her. “I broke into headquarters and outsmarted their restricted-access codes. They’re going to have to strike back. They’re going to have to react, publicly. It’s the only way they can let me know one of two things. A-that they want to make a deal with me, in which case it’ll mean that someone is running scared, that I’m getting too close.”
“We’re getting too close,” Stephanie corrected. He nodded. “Or, B-that they’re going to pull out all the stops and come after me as if I were public enemy number one.”
“And what will that tell you?”
“It’ll tell us who is conducting the investigation-someone legitimate, who honestly believes I’m a traitor. Or, the penetration agent who knows that I’m onto him and must be stopped.”
“How can you be sure?” Stephanie asked, her frustration mounting. “I can’t,” McAllister said. “Anymore than you can be sure of me, especially after last night.”
She had picked up one of the newspapers, then slammed it down
on the table. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I planned it? I ought to have my head examined!”
“Me too.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me. Something else you found out last night besides those four names.”
He said nothing.
“Don’t you think I deserve at least that much? The truth at least? My life is on the line too. If there is an APB on you, then there certainly is one on me. I made it clear to Dexter that I was not being coerced.”
“Even the strongest would have cooperated if there had been a gun pointed at her head.”
“I’m not getting out of this! You’re not going to push me away. Goddamnit, talk to me! Let me help you. Trust me.”
Trust me.
It came down to that. It always did in the end. “There,” she said pointing at the television, sudden fear in her voice.
McAllister turned around, and for a moment he was totally confused. What appeared to be a police composite drawing of a thicknecked, heavily jowled man with thick gray hair, long mustache, and square glasses filled the screen behind a news announcer. Beneath the picture was his name. But it wasn’t him. He turned up the sound.
…considered armed and extremely dangerous. In a tersely worded announcement, the Federal Bureau of Investigation named McAllister as one of the top control officers of the O’Haire spy network. The O’Haires, as you remember, were recently sentenced to life imprisonment for their part in a spy ring that stole SDI secrets and turned them over to the Russians.
“Allegedly, McAllister worked with Soviets in Moscow to learn which areas of SDI technology the Russians most needed. It was his job, the Bureau spokesman said, to relay these questions back to the O’Haires. When the information had been gathered here in the U.S., it was transmitted to McAllister who had been stationed with the Central Intelligence Agency at the American Embassy in Moscow.
“The CIA refused to comment this morning, except to say that it was their understanding an arrest was imminent.
“McAllister was recently recalled to Washington for questioning, but disappeared two weeks ago from New York City. It is believed, however, that now he is in the Washington area. In other news.
“It’s not your picture,” Stephanie said.
McAllister had been staring at the television screen. “No,” he said absently.
“It’s your message, though,” she said breathlessly. “But what are they trying to tell you?”
“I don’t know,” he said. His head was spinning. He had expected anything but this. They’d obviously insulated the public from anyinvolvement. There would be no chance passerby spotting him and turning his description over to the police. But what else was going on here? Was it possible they were trying to lull him into a false sense of security? Not likely, he thought. The drawing was so obviously wrong, and had been supplied by someone who obviously should know what he looked like, that there had to be some meaning to it.
“The Russians know your face, and so does the Mafia,” Stephanie was saying. “They’ll see this, and they’ll know that it’s open season on you.” Was that it? Was that the message? Perhaps it wasn’t meant for him. Perhaps it was meant for those trying to stop him. Go ahead and catch McAllister, we won’t interfere. Was that what it meant?
“let’s get out, Mac. Before it’s too late for both of us.” Stephanie looked up at him, her eyes wide.
It was tempting, considering everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks. Yet he wondered if there was anyplace they could run that would be very safe for long. If the CIA or KGB wanted you badly enough, they would find you. Their networks were simply too extensive worldwide for anyone to hide from them. Sooner or later someone would come. For the rest of their lives they would be constantly looking over their shoulders, constantly tensing their muscles waiting for the bullet from a sniper’s rifle.
“I’ve spent my life working for the Company. I can’t give it up now.”
“What has it gotten you?” she cried. “I won’t turn my back on it, Stephanie.”
