a bag, we’re leaving immediately.”
“For New York?”
“Washington direct. They won’t be expecting us so soon.” The neighborhood had quieted down for the evening as two men got out of a gunmetal-gray Cadillac convertible parked in front of Kathleen O’Haire’s house. It was well past ten and they had raced up from Los Angeles as soon as they had gotten word that McAllister and the woman had probably slipped out of Chicago and might be headed thisway. Their instructions were simple: Kill all three of them, then confirm.
They separated, Nick Balliterri going up to the front door, and Frank Pearce hurrying around to the back. The house was dark, and Balliterri had a feeling that they were on a wild goose chase here. The woman wasn’t home, she had already skipped.
He waited for a few seconds to give Pearce a chance to get into place, then rang the doorbell. He held his silenced.357 Magnum out of sight at his side.
From the back he heard the very slight noise of breaking glass, and he rang the doorbell again.
Sixty seconds later Pearce opened the door for him, and Balliterri stepped inside.
“Car’s in the garage, but the bedrooms are empty,” Pearce said. “Closets?” Balliterri asked softly.
“One of them is open in the big bedroom. Looks like maybe some clothes are missing.”
“She skipped,” Balliterri said, holstering his big gun, his eyes scanning the room. “Search the place.”
“Right,” Pearce said, holstering his weapon and heading down the corridor to the bedrooms.
Balliterri crossed the room to the answering machine, rewound the message tape and hit the play button.
Chapter 28
Stephanie went to retrieve their baggage while McAllister went with Kathleen O’Haire across to the Dulles Airport Avis counter where she rented a car in her own name. It would be safe enough, he figured, at least for a little while. No one would expect her to be here like this, so openly.
He hung back as she completed the forms and was given a key. No one was watching her, but the clerk had given her an odd look when she had signed. Had he recognized the name from the newspaper and television stories?
“They’re bringing the car around front,” she said coming back to McAllister.
She was tired, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. None of them had gotten any sleep on the overnight flight from Los Angeles, nor had they talked very much. She had sat between Stephanie and McAllister with her eyes closed and her hands clenched in her lap. He’d felt genuinely sorry for her, but there was nothing he could do or say to alleviate her fears.
It was nearly ten, which left them two hours before her meeting with Harman. The man would be expecting her to show up alone, and no one knew that he and Stephanie had changed their appearances, yet being back in Washington made him extremely wary.
“I’ll meet Stephanie downstairs at the baggage area,” he said. “As soon as you get the car, drive around to the pickup area.”
Kathleen O’Haire nodded nervously.
McAllister stepped a little closer to her. “Don’t leave without us. You wouldn’t last very long alone in this city. Not now. Not with Harman and his people expecting you.”
Her eyes were wide. She was convinced. She nodded again.“And for God’s sake, try to act normal.”
She looked at him. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, and she turned on her heel and headed for the doors.
McAllister watched her leave, then turned and went back down to where Stephanie was just collecting their bags. She looked beyond him for the woman.
“Where is she?”
“Bringing the car around,” McAllister said, taking two of the bags. “Do you trust her?”
“We don’t have much of a choice at this point, do we?” She looked shyly at him. “What’s to prevent her from running?”
“Nothing,” McAllister said curtly, heading for the doors. “She’d probably be better off if she did.”
It was fairly warm outside. The storm had finally abated, the roads had been cleared and the temperature had risen so that the snow was melting. The air smelled of exhaust fumes and burnt jet fuel. The flight had been full, and quite a few passengers, bags in hand, were scrambling for the available taxis and shuttle buses.
McAllister and Stephanie held back out of the traffic pattern as they waited for Kathleen O’Haire to show up.
Look to Washington. Look to Moscow. Zebra One, Zebra Two. If Harman was Zebra One, the Washington man, then who was the Russian? Someone in the KGB or someone high in the Soviet government who had somehow made contact with Harman and had turned him? It made him sick to think what harm the White House man had been able to do in the years he had been so close to the President.
The O’Haires’ Zebra Network, he suspected, was only the tip of the iceberg. For a man such as Harman, there would have to be other ongoing operations. Possibly he had contacts within the CIA, or perhaps the Pentagon as well. Kim Philby, after all, had very nearly become the head of the British Secret Intelligence Service. How much higher would Harman rise within the government?
“Here she comes,” Stephanie said softly at his side. He looked up out of his thoughts as Kathleen O’Haire, driving a dark-blue Taurus, pulled up to the curb. They got in; Stephanie in the front seat and McAllister in the back with the bags.“Where do you want me to drive?” the O’Haire woman asked looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Out to the park. Stephanie will direct you.”
“Do you want me to drive?” Stephanie asked. “I’ll be all right.”
They pulled away from the curb and headed down the long ramp toward the airport exit. McAllister opened their bags, pulled out the disassembled guns and quickly put them together. When he was finished he handed Stephanie hers.
She’d been watching him. “Do you think he’ll show up alone?”
“As long as he thinks she’s alone, he will,” McAllister said. “He’s going to want to talk to her.”
“What are you saying now?” Kathleen O’Haire asked, alarmed. “What if he sends someone else?”
“Then you’ll get the hell out of there, and we’ll take care of the situation.”
“He could be sending someone to kill me.”
“No,” McAllister said. “If he wants you dead, he’ll do it himself, but after he finds out what you know, and what we supposedly told you.”
“Oh, damn… oh, damn,” she said, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. As before, on the airplane, there was nothing he or Stephanie could say or do to make it any easier for her. The die had been cast the moment she’d returned Harman’s call.
The property around McMillan Reservoir formed a rough triangle; Howard University to the west across Fourth Street; the Washington Hospital Center to the east across Michigan Avenue; and a pretty park along the base leg. The park entrance, off First Street, led to a road that wound around the water’s edge. The trees at this time of the year were bare and it looked as if cross-country skiers had used the rolling parklands over the last few days, leaving behind their narrow tracks crisscrossing the snow-covered expanses.
They parked the car a half a mile from the entrance after first passing once completely through the park and coming around past the university, along Bryant Street and back up First. The water looked cold and dark-gray beneath the still-overcast sky.
A few whitecaps were raised by the wind and a piece of newspaper tumbled and slid up the road. Very few people were around.
It had taken them better than an hour to drive across town from the airport, still they were early. Benches and picnic tables were set here and there along the water, trash barrels chained to the trees. A small cement-block building that housed public restrooms was just ahead of them. It was probably closed at this time of year.
A car entered the park and passed, McAllister holding his gun at the ready until he could see that they were
