were no presents beneath it. A corridor led to the right past another bathroom to the three bedrooms. The lowering sun sent shafts of light through the windows at the rear of the house.
McAllister had to rouse himself to do what he had come here to do. Starting at the back of the house, he quickly and efficiently went through all the rooms, searching the closets, the chests of drawers, the cabinets, behind pictures on the walls, in the medicine cabinets and behind the toilet tanks, beneath the beds and behind the curtains and even in the refrigerator, stove, and dishwasher. But there was nothing here that would in any way tie Kathleen O’Haire with her husband’s spying activities. One closet was completely filled with his clothes, as was one of the chests of drawers, but there was nothing among those things that provided any clues either.
It was well past six and getting dark when the telephone in the living room rang twice, Stephanie’s warning call. McAllister stepped out of the kitchen his gun in hand as Kathleen O’Haire began to speak.
“Hello, you have reached the 0’Haire residence. I’m sorry that I can’t be here to take your call. But if you ‘Il leave your name, number, and a brief message after the tone, I’ll be happy to get back to you as soon as possible.”
It was an answering machine.
A long beep sounded, followed immediately by the dial tone, which cut out after a couple of seconds.
McAllister stared at the machine. He had seen it but had dismissed it on his first go around. He rewound the message tape, and hit the play button.
The unit beeped, a dial tone sounded for a second or two, cut off, and the unit beeped again, another dial tone coming on. These were callers who had not wanted to talk to the machine, and had immediately hung up once Kathleen O’Haire’s message had started.
The machine beeped again, this time a woman’s voice came from the speaker. “I hate that damned machine, Katy. This is Chris, give me a call as soon as. Bye.”
Two more series of beeps and dial tones cycled through the machine until the sixth caller who did not hang up.
At first McAllister could hear little or nothing from the speaker and he turned up the volume. There was a soft, hollow hiss on the line. Long distance. Then a man spoke.
“Mrs. O’Haire, I would like very much to talk to you as soon as possible. You don’t know me, but I assure you this is of the utmost importance to your safety… especially in view of what has recently happened in Washington and of course in Illinois.”
The voice was vaguely familiar to McAllister. But from where? He couldn’t place it.
“Please call me anytime day or night, but very soon. It’s extremely important that we talk. My extension is 273, and the number is 202-456-1414.”
McAllister stared at the answering machine, his mouth half open. Suddenly he could not breathe. This was impossible to believe. Completely. He hadn’t been able to put a name to the voice, but he had recognized the number immediately. The area code was for Washington, D.C. The number belonged to the White House!
The connection was broken, the dial tone buzzed for a second or two and then was cut off. The rest of the tape was blank. It had been the last call. But when had it come? And had Kathleen O’Haire listened to it? Had she gone out in response to telephone the number away from the house?
How could it be possible that someone from the White House was calling the wife of a convicted spy so openly, and then leave his number for her to return the call? What was he missing?
Look to the anomalies, Wallace Mahoney, the old sage of the Company had taught them at the Farm. Look for the bits and pieces that don’t seem to fit in the natural order. There you will likely find the truth, or at least a clue to the correct direction.
Kathleen O’Haire’s Camaro pulled up in the driveway. She got out with a bag of groceries and walked into the garage.
McAllister waited out of sight in the living room until he heard the kitchen door from the garage open and then close a moment later.
He stepped around the corner. Kathleen O’Haire, the bag of groceries still in her arms, stood at the counter. Her eyes widened when she saw him and she dropped the bag with a loud crash, something breaking inside of it.
“Oh,” she said in a small voice, her eyes going to the gun in McAllister’s hand.
Chapter 27
“I’ve come to talk to you about the Zebra Network,” McAllister said.
“My husband’s dead,” she cried, holding out her hand as if to ward him off. “It’s over.”
McAllister put away his gun and spread his hands to show her he meant her no harm. She glanced toward the door. She wanted to run; only her immediate fear and uncertainty kept her in place. Her eyes were red. It looked as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep in days.
“Too many people have lost their lives besides your husband and his brother. I want to end it.”
“Who in God’s name are you?” she asked. “I don’t know you. What are you doing here in my house? I’ll call the police. leave!”
“My name is David McAllister, and I’m afraid I can’t leave. Not yet. I need your help.”
“Oh, my God,” she cried. “Jim’s not even in the ground yet. go!”
“Please.”
She bolted suddenly, but McAllister reached her before she got the door open, and he pulled her back into the kitchen, shoving her up against the refrigerator, holding her hands behind her back, pressing against her body with his. She was a big, athletically built woman; still she was no match for his superior strength. After a few moments her struggles ceased, and she looked into his face, her eyes blinking, her lips parted.
“I mean you no harm, Mrs. O’Haire, I swear to you. But I need answers. And I can’t afford to be delicate.”
“I don’t know anything, I swear to God. I wasn’t involved.”
“With what?”
“They’re dead! leave me alone!”
“They were spies for a long time, you must have suspected something.”
“No,” she cried, again trying to push him away, but he overpowered her, shoving her back against the refrigerator. Her breathing became erratic, and he could feel her heart hammering against his chest.
“I just want to talk.”
“I’ll scream. The neighbors will hear me, they’ll call the police.”
“Ang before the police came you’d be dead,” McAllister said harshly. “My life depends upon your cooperation, Mrs. O’Haire, and now so does yours.”
“I don’t know anything,” she wailed.
“I think you do, starting with the message on your answering machine.” Slowly he released her arms and eased his weight off her body, finally stepping back away from her. “Did you return his call?”
She rubbed her wrists where his fingers had caused red marks, as she studied him. For a half a minute she didn’t speak. He could feel the heat radiating off her.
“What message?” she asked finally. “On your answering machine.”
She looked toward the living room. “From Chris?”
“No, the other one. From the man, the one who left his telephone number.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was obvious she was not lying, at least not about this. “After the call from your friend, Chris, did you go out?”
“Yes, I went over to see her. She lives… nearby.” The call had evidently come while she was out, and she had not bothered to check her answering machine afterward. “Then I think you’d better listen to the message.”
“I want you to get out of my house.”
“I can’t, not until I get my answers.”
“What answers?”
