by David Wind
Carla finished her grapefruit, and buttered a slice of toast. She raised the triangle of bread to her mouth, but lowered it untouched. “Could Savak be the mole?”
Steven thought about last night’s breakthrough, and about one of his two closest friends. “I don’t think being a traitor is in Arnie’s character.”
“But you said he’d felt betrayed by us. Maybe—”
“Betrayed by the army brass, not by his country. Carla, Arnie Savak has devoted the last sixteen years of his life to developing policies to keep our country out of wars—any wars.”
“Which still doesn’t tell me why Savak isn’t the mole,” Carla countered. “Giving information to the Soviets, helping them become more powerful than us, while crippling our own efforts, can accomplish the same thing.”
Steven shook his head. “The odds that it’s Savak are astronomical. Arnie Savak’s hate of the Soviets and the Chinese is so deeply personal and so passionate that only someone who has been through what he has could come close to comprehending. Carla, he gave up information once, and he has never forgiven himself for it.”
“But he was supposed to talk.”
Steven gazed at her, wondering if he could make her understand with words. “That makes no difference. He didn’t know the intention of the mission. To Arnie, giving up of information to the enemy, whether under drugs or torture, was a sign of failure. He believed he wasn’t strong enough to resist.”
Carla finally ate some of her toast. “And Simon Clarke?”
Steven shrugged. “Clarke may have access to Pritman’s papers, but he doesn’t have the background, training, or the balls. We did the usual background checks before we hired him. He was never in the service. Clarke went straight from college to a national magazine. He spent five years there before joining us.”
“Well, if neither Savak nor Clarke are suspects, where do we go from here?”
Steven leaned back in the chair. His eyes swept the occupants of the coffee shop. “I’m not sure yet. But I need you to make a call,” he said telling her about his phone conversation with Banacek.
“All right,” Carla agreed without voicing the disapproval of last night’s phone call that Steven saw in her eyes.
After finishing their breakfast, Steven escorted Carla to the pay phone in the lobby. She called Banacek and, holding the receiver away from her ear so Steven could listen, gave the sheriff the same story Steven had.
“I know he didn’t try to kill my sister,” she finished.
“That’s very accepting of you,” Banacek’s down home drawl made Steven smile. “But he could be pulling the wool over your eyes.”
“He’s not,” Carla stated. “But if it will help, I have a phone number for you to call that will help clarify things.” She gave him the number, said goodbye, and immediately dialed the Priority One number at the agency.
Reacting quickly, Steven put his hand over the receiver. “What are you doing?”
“I have to let them know about Banacek.”
“Carefully,” Steven warned.
Carla nodded and drew the phone away from him. she spoke with her new control supervisor about Banacek. But when Steven heard the man on the other end ask where they were, he took the receiver from her and hung up.
She gave him an amused smile. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“Yes it was,” he stated. “Not because you would say anything, but because I wanted to give them a message. I want them to understand who’s running this now.”
Outside, while Steven guided Carla toward the car, he kept remembering yesterday morning at the motel in Washington. He listened intently for any out-of-sync sounds, relaxing only when they were driving out of the parking lot.
When they reached the outskirts of Pittsburgh, Steven took a highway paralleling the Pennsylvania Turnpike. He drove cautiously, always checking the rear view mirror. An hour later, he found what he was looking for: Two cars that kept changing positions every few miles.
“Your people are driving a blue Chevrolet and a silver Dodge,” Steven told Carla. “I’m going to lose them.”
Carla touched his arm lightly. “If they’re ours,” she warned. “Pull into the next gas station.”
Startled because he hadn’t been thinking along the same line as Carla, Steven didn’t argue. They found a Shell station three miles down the road. The blue car was the closest, about a hundred yards back. Without signaling, Steven pulled into the station. The blue car drove past without slowing. The driver and his passenger didn’t turn their heads.
Watching Carla’s face, he saw the recognition of the car’s inhabitants reflected in her eyes.
“They’re ours,” Carla said as they both looked for the silver car.
The silver car never passed the gas station.
At the full service island, Steven shut off the ignition. “I had really hoped that Grange understood,” Steven said, disappointed at the agency’s blatant stupidity.
Carla shook her head adamantly. “It’s part of the original plan. Paul didn’t set this up. He’s out of it. The agency is following normal operation procedure.”
“Damn it Carla, that’s the point! Whoever is behind this is well versed in your normal operating procedures: He knows your moves and anticipates them. He probably knows your people as well. Do you understand?” he asked, staring hard at her.
“That’s impossible, Steven.”
He took her hand and squeezed it gently while staring into her eyes. “Impossible? Carla, we’re in a gas station in Pennsylvania, not in the safe house in Maryland. Why?”
Drawing her hand from his, she turned away. “Steven—”
He cupped her chin, turned her face back to his. “You have to make a choice, Carla.” His voice was low and flat. “You either believe in me or you go back to the agency. If you stay it’s because you’re working with me, not for them.”
As he waited for her decision, he saw the conflict on her features. Finally, she moistened her lips and said, “With you.”
When the attendant came over to the car, Steven signaled for a fill up. After paying for the gas, he pulled back onto the highway. A minute later, he spotted the silver car in the rear view. The blue car came out of a junction a quarter mile farther down.
Steven played with them for a half hour, making sure to keep both in sight, while Carla worked with the map.
“There’s a small town coming up. Right after it, you’ll find a road going into the mountains. It may be a good spot to lose them.”
“We’ll find out.”
Carla’s words proved accurate. Two-thirds of a mile onto the twisting and winding road, Steven knew the road was perfect. When he was on a straight stretch near the crest of the mountain, he slowed to a crawl. Once he had both cars in the rear view mirror, he speed up and went into a long climbing curve. He spotted a side road just before the crest.
He checked his rear-view. The cars were out of site on the curve. Turning sharply onto the single lane road, Steven drove off the road and U-turned behind a clump of trees. A half-minute later the blue car sped by. The silver car was almost on its bumper.
“Now,” Carla said.
Steven shook his head. “Wait.”
Two minutes later, the cars went by again, heading back toward the town. Steven pulled back onto the main road, and continued in the original direction.
He saw Carla smile. A moment later, her mouth had turned pensive. “That was too easy.”
This time he smiled. “I know. We were supposed to spot them and lose them.”
She turned to stare at him. “I don’t think they have any idea of how good you are.”
“Is the car bugged?”
“It’s an agency car. Standard issue is a driver-activated transmitter with a twenty-five mile range. It has remote capabilities.”
“Procedure?”
“They’ll keep back five miles so there will be no slip ups. Figure a fifteen-minute difference.”
“Time enough.”
At the bottom of the hill, they drove into a small village. Steven pulled into the general store’s parking lot, and went to the phone booth. With his back to Carla, he made his call, and returned to the car.
“Where to now?” Carla asked as he pulled onto the road.
“Back to Pittsburgh.”
“Pittsburgh. Why?”
“To confuse them.” He asked Carla to look at the map and find a route to Pittsburgh that kept him off the turnpike and the road they had taken out of the city. He had no desire to be involved in turnpike traffic where he would be unable to keep track of who was or was not following him.
While Steven drove, his mind revolved around Grange’s cautioning words about his being the key to the puzzle. With the passing miles, Steven played out the different angles of his past. Each time he sought a path toward understanding, he found himself thinking about the prison camp.
The thoughts scared him. If what was happening was a part of that time, then despite his belief in Savak, Arnie might be the mole.
The possibility shook him terribly, taking away the certainty of his belief in his friend. Steven knew himself well enough to understand the doubt he’d raised would fester and grow in his mind until he was able to regain the assurance of his friend’s innocence.
Steven realized, with an even deeper shock, he had the means to find out if Savak was the one. Sweat broke across his forehead. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Can I do it? Steven exhaled sharply. He had no choice.
Carla turned to him at the sound. “What?”
Steven shook his head. “Just thinking.”
She went to back watching the passenger side mirror.
Twenty miles outside of Pittsburgh, Carla stiffened, and took a quick look over her shoulder. “There’s a brown car, two behind us, I’ve seen it a few times on the trip.”
Feeling his nerves tighten, Steven glanced in the rear view mirror. He spotted the car, riding a couple of lengths in back of the car behind them. Steven slowed to forty. The two cars maintained their speed and passed him a few moments later.
Steven kept his speed steady, within minutes the brown car had opened a half-mile lead. “I think we’re okay,” he said, relaxing slightly.
They reached the outskirts of Pittsburgh at noon, without spotting the brown car again. Steven drove downtown, and parked across the street from the hotel they’d stayed at last night.
“There’s a car reserved in your name,” he told Carla, pointing to the rental car agency. “Pick me up in front of the hotel.”
She left the car without a word and, when she entered the rental agency, Steven drove across the street and parked near the rear of the hotel. At the lobby desk, he changed a ten into silver and went to the bank of phones.
He stared at the telephone for several seconds before picking up the receiver. Again, sweat broke out across his forehead. He almost hung up, stopped himself, and called Washington information. He got the number, dialed, and deposited the amount of money the operator asked for.
When the phone was answered, he spoke quickly and urgently. They put him on hold for almost a minute, until the man he’d asked for came on the line. Steven spoke softly but urgently, without letting the man speak.
A half-minute later, he hung up and returned to the front desk where he asked for a room. He registered, using his real name, and paid for two nights. He took both keys, put them in his pocket, and went outside to the car.
He took out his bag and Carla’s from the trunk. As he closed the trunk, he saw the brown car pull into the parking lot.
Steven froze, and then realized he might give himself away if the driver was indeed following him. Moving casually, he closed the trunk, picked up the suitcases, and returned to the lobby through the parking lot entrance.
The instant the door closed, he watched the driver get out and head toward the lobby. Steven walked across the lobby and out the front door. He found Carla sitting behind the wheel of a nondescript burgundy Chevy Corsica. He got into the passenger seat.
“Which way?” Carla asked, her eyebrows raised in question.
Steven pointed west. “We’ll stop for some lunch on the highway.” He glanced at the motel entrance and saw the man framed in the glass doors. The instant their eyes met, two simultaneous events occurred: Carla pulled away from the curb and the man spun and raced back toward the rear entrance.
Watching the side mirror, Steven waited for the brown car to appear. He spotted it four blocks later.
“We’ve got company.”
“Who?” Carla asked, her eyes flicking to him.
“The brown car you made earlier. He pulled into the motel right after me. He’s behind us now.”
“My people wouldn’t be—”
“No,” Steven agreed with a half-smile, “they wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“The mole?”
Steven shook his head. “I’ve never seen the man before. Maybe one of his men. We’ll find out soon enough.” He took Grange’s nine-millimeter and checked the magazine.
“How do you want to do it?” Her voice was tense.
Again, Steven smiled. “The first fast food place you see will do fine.” Then he explained what he intended to do.
They found what Steven was looking for at the base of the highway. Signaling well in advance of the place, Carla turned into the drive through lane. She followed the lane to the rear of the building, turned, and drove up to the pedestal menu and ordering stand.
As a faceless adolescent voice asked for their order, Steven told Carla to order, and opened the door. “Pay, and then go back to the street. Wait for me on the next corner.”
“Steven, be—”
He didn’t wait to hear what she was going to say. Rather, he ran to the edge of the building, flattened himself against the wall, and looked out. The car was at the curb: the driver’s eyes fixed on the exit lane of the drive through.
Moving quickly, Steven blended in with several people walking toward the side door. At the door, he got behind two other people who were carrying takeout.
As he neared the sidewalk, and the brown car, his pulse sped up. He was conscious of the weight of the pistol in his belt. He saw the man look around. Steven tensed, hunching down behind the man he was following. The driver didn’t spot him.
Then Steven saw Carla driving toward the street. The instant the driver’s eyes marked Carla; Steven split from the people in front of him, and headed toward the brown car. He had the pistol concealed in his jacket.
When he was three feet from the car, the driver leaned forward. He reached for the shift lever, and then stopped when he saw that Carla was alone.
The man started to turn, and Steven lunged at the car. Praying the passenger door was unlocked; he grasped the handle and pulled. The door opened and Steven slid into the passenger seat.
He pressed the nine-millimeter into the driver’s side. “Keep your hands on the wheel, and don’t even think about moving.”
The driver stared at Steven, his pupils dilated. “Please,” he said, “I don’t have much money. I—”
“Shut up,” Steven snapped. “Who are you? Why are you following us?”
“I’m not fol—”Steven jabbed the barrel of the Browning into the driver’s side. The man grunted, and cried, “Wait.”
“Who are you?”
The man’s brown eyes narrowed a fraction of a second before he started to turn. His right hand came away from the steering wheel.
Anticipating the man’s move, Steven blocked the swing with his forearm, raised his pistol, and chopped once on the driver’s temple. The man slumped forward.
“Damn it.” He leaned toward the man and did a quick search. He found a Browning in a quick draw shoulder rig, just like the one he was using. He pulled the man’s ID case from his inside jacket pocket. Next to the photo was a gilded eagle symbol he recognized instantly.
“What the hell is happening?” he asked as he dropped the ID on the seat, got out of t
he car, and ran to where Carla waited.
“Go!” he ordered, pointing to the highway ramp.
As she speed up, Steven leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.
“What happened?” Carla asked, her voice laden with anxiety.
Steven looked at her. “Our tail was a man called Jacob Lowenger. He’s CIA. Get off and make a U turn,” Steven said suddenly.
Exiting at the next ramp, Carla went underneath an overpass, and got back on. As she entered the flow of the highway, he saw her glance at the large overhead signpost.
“Washington?” she asked.
“I have a meeting set for tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Steven drove along M Street, passing the closed shops and open pubs lining the main district of Georgetown. Three blocks later, at exactly ten fifty-five, he pulled into an outdoor public lot that served a self-contained mini-mall. He drove to the center of the last row and backed in against the abutment. He did not shut off the engine.
Behind them flowed the Potomac River; before them an empty parking lot fronted a row of darkened and closed stores. Old-fashioned street lamps, casting more shadow than light, dimly lit the parking area. Steven had chosen this spot, because it was far enough away from the bustling mainstream of Georgetown’s nightlife to keep most people from parking there.
“Now we wait,” he told Carla after sweeping the lot to make sure there was no movement. On the ride from Pittsburgh to Washington, Steven had explained parts of his plan to Carla.
“Steven, it’s not too late to get out of here,” she said, looking around nervously. “Coming back to Washington was crazy. The whole idea was to get you to draw the mole after us, not have you going to him.”
“It’s necessary,” Steven reiterated without going into detail. Although his instincts told him he could trust Carla, he hadn’t wanted to tell her exactly what he was doing.
“Steven,” she whispered, putting her hand over his on the seat, “I—”
She stopped speaking when a black Mercedes entered the parking lot. Behind it came a second black Mercedes. This one was a limousine. The two cars drove slowly past them, and parked twenty feet away. A few seconds later, three men emerged from the limousine; two others came out of the lead car. They conferred briefly before one of the group broke away and walked to the abutment bounding the Potomac. The man stopped in a spot where the light from the lampposts was weakest.
