McAllister looked at her. Despite her naivete she was right. Something else was going on here. Something terribly dark and dangerous, and he was at the core of it, but he had no idea why.
They registered as husband and wife under the name G. Arthur. Their room on the third floor was clean but old and tattered. Stephanie left through the back, parked her van in a garage a couple of blocks away just off Vermont Circle, and returned on foot. Her face was flushed and her eyes bright when she came in and tossed her coat on the bed. “What we need is information. And Dexter Kingman is the man to get it for us.”
McAllister had done a lot of thinking in the twenty minutes she was gone, and he had come to a similar conclusion, but along a different line.
“I agree,” he said. “But if we get your boss involved, you’ll lose your anonymity.”
“I don’t give a damn…
“I do,” McAllister said. “Up to this point you still have freedom of movement, which means you can get into headquarters without question, something I cannot do.”
“What are we supposed to do, sit here all weekend? Sooner or later they’ll realize that you’re not dead, and then they’ll tear Washington apart looking for you.”
“For me, not us.”
Stephanie was frustrated. “What are you going to do?”
“We need information. Voronin’s Zebra One and Two might be nothing more than a coincidental use of the word. It may have nothing whatsoever to do with the O’Haire network.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, and you don’t know otherwise. So it’s our first step. If there is a connection we have to find it. And there’s one man who can give me that information. One man who will agree to meet with me on my terms, without involving you directly.”
“You’re going to call Highnote and tell him that you’re alive and here in Washington?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“Why him?” she asked. “Aside from the fact that you don’t want me getting myself openly involved with you, which is what would happen, of course, if I called Dexter. Why not wait until Monday when I’m back at the office? I can poke around and possibly find out something for you.”
“Too dangerous.”
“Don’t make me laugh… too dangerous. Your meeting with Highnote wouldn’t be? Come off it, there’s something else going onhere. You’re out to prove something to him. But what if he’s Zebra One? Have you thought about that?”
“Then I’d have that information.”
“You’d have a bullet in the head,” she said. “He’d get a medal for killing you, that is if he didn’t call out the troops and have them do his work for”
“Either way I’d have my answer.”
“If he is the penetration agent, do you plan on killing him?” McAllister nodded. “If he isn’t?”
“Then he’ll help me.”
Stephanie shook her head. “Are the choices that simple for you?
Or are you just trying to prove something to him, or to your wife, or to yourself?”
“I don’t know,” McAllister said. He went to the window and looked down at the street. “My life ended a month and a half ago when I was arrested in Moscow. I want it back, that’s all. Is that so difficult to understand? I’ll do whatever’s necessary to settle this insanity one way or the other. Whatever is necessary.”
“Then I’ll help you, if you’ll let me.”
“What if I fail?” he asked, turning back to her. “Then we’ll fail together.”
He stared at her for a long time. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? Turn around and go back to your apartment. On Monday report for work and forget about me.”
“No,” she said.
“Why? Can you tell me that?”
“I don’t know,” she said, taking time with her answer. “I just know that it started at Sikorski’s house when you didn’t kill me, and again on Highnote’s sailboat when you were left for dead.”
“I’m not one of your strays.”
“No, you’re not. And I’m no longer my father’s little girl.”
“Then we’ll do it my way,” McAllister said. “As long as I’m included.”
“I don’t think it would be so easy to get rid of you.”
“No it wouldn’t be.”
The early evening was dark, made even more so by the overcast sky, as McAllister entered the cavernous main hall of Union Station on Massachusetts Avenue. He angled left directly toward a bank of telephone booths across from the National Visitors Center. The station closed at midnight, but at this hour on a weekend the concourse was all but deserted. Entering the third booth from the far right he glanced at his watch. Stephanie would be in place by now fifteen miles to the north at the Guilford Rest Area on 1-95. She had left her van at her apartment and had borrowed her roommate’s nondescript Chevette for the night. It would avoid the risk that Highnote might spot the van and recognize it. That wasn’t very likely, but he didn’t want to take any more chances than necessary. As it was there was far too much that could go wrong; far too much over which he had no control. The telephone rang a minute later and he picked it up immediately. “Yes?”
“I’m in place,” Stephanie said. “Is there any traffic?”
“Not much. It’s still snowing up here, how about there?”
“It’s stopped, but we’ll allow an extra ten minutes. Anything happens, get the hell out of there.”
“Good luck.”
“Right,” McAllister said. He broke the connection, plugged a quarter into the slot and dialed Highnote’s home number. He hit the timer function on his wristwatch. If there was automatic tracing equipment on the DDO’s telephone it would take two minutes for an exchange to come up, three minutes for the complete number. He was giving himself ninety seconds, maximum.
Merrilee Highnote answered on the third ring. “Hello?” McAllister deepened his voice. “This is Mr. Highnote’s office. Is he at home, ma’am?”
“Yes, just a moment please.” She hadn’t recognized his voice. McAllister watched the digital numbers on his watch. A full twenty seconds from the moment he had completed dialing elasped before Highnote came on the line.“Who is calling this number? You know the SOP…”
“It’s me,” McAllister interrupted.
For several long seconds the line was silent. McAllister kept an eye on his watch. On incoming traces you stall the caller for as long as possible using any ploy that comes to mind. Highnote was an old pro.
“You are alive,” Highnote said softly. “I knew it…”
“We have to meet, tonight.”
“Where have you been, Mac? What happened to you in Dumfries? My God, we’ve been searching the river for more than a week.”
“I want you to come alone and unarmed. Don’t call anybody, don’t leave any messages.”
“Whatever you say. It might be easier for you to come here, but I’ll come to you, if that’s what you want. Just tell me when and where.”
“There is a rest area just south of Guilford, Maryland, on 1-95. It’s about fifteen miles north of Washington.”
“I know where it is,” Highnote said. “I can be there in a half hour, maybe forty minutes.”
“You’ll have to exit at Guilford and come back. I’ll be waiting on the southbound side.”