The Zebra Network

by Sean Flannery

  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.

  Chapter 24

  Snow streaked diagonally past the window as they slid south through the outskirts of Baltimore, the train swaying and lurching gently as they picked up speed. Several last-minute passengers had boarded, but there had been no police, no delays, no suspicious people.

  Their options were fast running out. It was as if they were being directed by unseen hands toward something. But what?

  McAllister stood at the window and he could see Stephanie’s reflection in the glass. She stood with her back to the door, her right hand still in her coat pocket. She was shivering. They’d not spoken a word to each other since they’d boarded. He lifted his left arm and looked at his watch; it was four-thirty. The train had departed on time, and it would take them at least overnight to get to Chicago and another two days to reach Los Angeles.

  Co to ground, that was the drill. Get out of the line of fire when it becomes so intense, so well directed that there is no defense. The train was the Cardinal. Their accommodations were on the upper level, with a large window looking trackside and an even larger, curtained window looking out on the corridor. A sofa and armchair faced each other on the opposite side on which was a small door that opened onto a tiny bathroom complete with a toilet, sink, and shower.

  Someone knocked on the door. McAllister spun around. Stephanie stepped away from the door as if she had been shot out of a cannon, the gun in her hand.

  He motioned for her to keep silent. “Yes?” he called. “It’s the porter, sir. Will you and the missus be needing anything this evening? May I turn down your beds later?”

  “No thanks,” McAllister called. “We’re just fine. I think we’ll turn in now.”

  “Yes, sir,” the porter said after a hesitation.“What time will we reach Chicago?”

  “Eight-fifteen, sir. In the morning.”

  “Will we be on time?”

  “I expect so, sir.”

  “Thanks,” McAllister said.

  “The dining car will be serving until ten, and the club car until two. Are you folks sure you won’t be needing anything tonight?”

  “We’re tired, we’ll be going to sleep now. Thanks again.”

  “Yes, sir,” the porter said, and he sounded disappointed. Moments later they heard him knocking on the door of the next cabin, and Stephanie let out the breath she had been holding.

  “We’re all right,” McAllister said softly.

  Stephanie glanced at him, but she cocked an ear to listen to the exchange between the porter and the passengers in the next cabin. After a while they heard him knock on the next door down the line and she finally relaxed, tossing her gun down on the couch. She looked as if she were on the verge of collapsing.

  “They would have stopped the train if I’d been spotted, wouldn’t they?” she asked.

  “Probably,” McAllister said, but again he was thinking ahead. They’d be in Washington within the hour where they would meet their first big test. If Stephanie had been spotted entering the station, and if the ticket clerk had remembered him, they might be putting it together now. Someone would be coming aboard when they pulled into the station and there would be no escape for them.

  He looked out the window again. They had continued to pick up speed. If they were going to jump, it would have to be now. But then what? Where would they go? It was possible that one of them would be injured in the fall. If that happened they would have lost. There were four names on the list he had taken from the Agency computer. Only one of them, Kathleen O’Haire would be easily accessible. The others, by virtue of their jobs and their locations, would be difficult if not impossible to approach. Was she the weak link? Or would they have someone watching her around the clock, expecting him to show up sooner or later. It was very possible, he thought, that they could be walking into another trap.“They must have thought my father had some answers for them,” Stephanie said.

  He turned back to her. “They were sending us another message.”

  “What message, David?”

  “Just how important they think we’ve become.”

  “By killing him? By torturing him?” Her voice was rising. She was working herself up.

  “let it go,” McAllister said gently. “There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “Oh yes there is,” she said, her nostrils flared, color coming to her cheeks. “Oh yes there is, David. Only now they’re going to have to kill me, and it’s not going to be so easy.” He went across to her and tried to take her in his arms, but she pushed him aside.

  “Do you remember when we went to my father’s house this morning and you told me that if the FBI or the Agency or anyone in authority showed up, I was to lay down my gun and give myself up?” Her lips compressed. She shook her head. “I’m not going to do it. I’m not. Anyone who gets in my way-anyone, David-I’m going to kill without hesitation.”

  “Stephanie..

  “Kill or be killed, that’s the routine isn’t it? Well, I’m waiting for the opportunity. I’m waiting!” She turned away raising her hands to her face.

  He took her shoulders. For a moment she resisted, but then she allowed herself to be drawn back against him, her body still tense. He thought he understood why she had gone back to see her father’s body, but it had not done her any good. She had turned her own morality corner, as a result. It was the first major crisis that any field operative had to face sooner or later. The point came when the agent suddenly saw that what he was doing, the actions he was taking fighting the enemy, were no different from the actions his enemy was taking.

  There came the time when the good operative began to have difficulty seeing any difference between his country and the enemy’s. For a lot of operatives it was their first and last crisis; many of them quit at that moment. Others got past it somehow. While still othersbecame tainted. Their hands were dirty and they could never get them clean. They were the ones who ended up being fired in disgrace, committing suicide, or being shot down in some alley somewhere.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly into her ear.

  She pulled away and looked at him, her eyes filled with anger. “So am I,” she said. “For you, for me, for everybody.”

  “But it doesn’t change anything.”

  “No,” she said. She glanced toward the window. It was already very dark outside. “We’ll be in Washington soon.”

  “Yes.”

  “Go wash your hair,” she said, pulling off her coat and dropping it over the chair. “What?”

  “I said wash your hair, we don’t have much time.” She opened the bag she’d brought with her and pulled out a pair of scissors, a small hair dryer, and a frosting kit.

  “Now,” she said looking up at him. “Unless you want to spend all night at this.”

  At that moment McAllister didn’t think he knew her.

 
; Stephanie was in the tiny bathroom when they pulled into the station in Washington to pick up passengers. McAllister sat in the dark compartment, his gun beside him, the window shade open a crack so that he could see the platform. “Are we there?” Stephanie asked, opening the door. “Turn out the light,” McAllister said without looking up. She did it, and he felt her come across to him. She perched on the edge of the couch. “How does it look?”

  “Busy, but there are no cops,” he said. “At least not yet.”

  “If they had spotted us in Baltimore they would already be here.”

  “You’d think so,” he said absently. There was a lot of activity on the platform, people coming and going, most of them carrying suitcases, some of them with little children, several of them military men in uniform toting duffel bags. He let the window shade fall back, picked up his gun, and moved silently to the corridor window, where he parted the curtain slightly. The porter stood with his back to the window, talking to a man and a woman. McAllister could hear the voices but not the words. They seemed to be arguing about something.

  He let the curtain fall back. Everything was normal. No alarms had been raised, no men rushed across the platform, guns drawn. Nor had the platform been emptied of passengers. Was it too normal out there, or was he imagining things? Something whispered at the back of his head. Some undefined danger signal was ringing. He could see Stephanie’s silhouette outlined by the light filtering through the window shade. She was looking at him.

  “What is it?” she asked softly. “I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing.”

  “No one got a good look at us as we boarded,” she said. “Not even the porter. He won’t notice the change.”

  The gun still in his hand, he went back to the outside window and looked out on the platform. Stephanie stood beside him. He could smell the lingering odor of the strong chemical solution she had used to streak her hair. She looked different. Aged by twenty years. She stood with a stoop and tottered a little as she walked. The change was startling in her. There’d not been enough time to dye his hair, but she had cut it very short, and with a little pancake makeup and the glasses he looked different enough from the photographs being published in the newspapers that no one would be likely to give him a second glance. Already the crowds had begun to thin out. The train would be pulling out very soon. What was it? he thought glumly. What was he missing? What if they had been spotted in Baltimore? What if it had taken this long to question the ticket clerks to find out what train they had boarded? Someone would be meeting the train farther west. As far as Chicago.