Do the unexpected. His investigation had taken on a life of its own, sweeping him and Stephanie along, at times in an uncontrollable headlong rush; as if they were trapped in a small boat racing downstream toward a deadly waterfall.
He’d been watching in the rearview mirror as traffic from the northpassed beneath a tall sodium-vapor light a hundred yards back. A black Cadillac approached. McAllister looked up as it passed, recognizing Robert Highnote behind the wheel. He flipped on his headlights and pulled out into traffic, speeding up to get directly behind the Cadillac.
Highnote was alone. McAllister had counted on that, as he had counted on the fact that his old friend was a creature of habit who almost always took off work at six sharp and drove directly home. Despite the pressure the man had to be under because of recent events, he apparently was maintaining his schedule.
A couple of miles south, Highnote got off the Parkway at Arlingwood. McAllister held his position behind him for a half a mile until there was a break in traffic, then pulled out to pass.
As McAllister got alongside, he matched speed, glancing from the oncoming traffic over to Highnote, who after a moment, realizing that something was happening, looked over. His reaction, when it finally came, was one of incredulity.
McAllister smiled wanly, motioned for Highnote to follow him, then sped up, pulling in front of the Cadillac. His old friend had two choices now. He could either follow, or he could pull off at the nearest telephone and sound the alert. He knew the car now, and the license number.
The road split a mile later; south toward Arlington Heights, and east toward Falls Church. McAllister hung far enough back so that there was not enough gap between his and Highnote’s car for someone to pull between them. He turned east, Highnote remaining directly behind him, and he breathed his first sigh of relief. For now, at least, there was going to be no trouble. Highnote was apparently at least willing to listen.
The countryside here was hilly and very dark. Twenty minutes later it had begun to snow lightly as McAllister pulled into the parking lot of a small but elegant dinner club a couple of miles beyond Falls Church. The parking lot was half filled at this hour. It was just the sort of place he had been looking for, and had expected to find here. He parked in the back and got out of his car as Highnote pulled up and parked beside him.“I got your message,” McAllister said, as Highnote climbed out of his car. They stood facing each other.
“Where is Stephanie Albright?”
“Safe.”
“Then she is working with you?”
“You wanted to talk to me,” McAllister said. “I’m here. let’s go inside.”
“Send her back. It’s not her fight.”
“Nor was it mine, Bob. At least it wasn’t until people started shooting at me. A lot of them, Russians and Americans. I think it’s time that we talk about the Zebra Network.”
“Then you did break the access code,” Highnote said, his complexion suddenly pale in the outside lights.
“An inspired guess,” McAllister said. “Let’s go inside.” The supper club had once been a large house. To the right of the entry hall were the separate dining rooms, large windows looking down into a steep valley garden. To the left was the barroom. They took a leather booth at the back. Forties music was playing from the jukebox.
After the waiter brought them drinks, McAllister sat back with a cigarette and looked across at his old friend. Whom to trust. Always, always it came down to that in the end. The older he got the harder that question became to answer.
“How’s Gloria?” McAllister asked. “Confused,” Highnote said, sipping his martini. “We don’t have much time here tonight, I suspect, so let’s not bullshit each other. How is Gloria holding up?”
“She’s written you off,” Highnote said coldly. “If that’s what you really wanted to hear.”
Something clutched at McAllister’s heart, though the response had not come as a total surprise. Their marriage had been over years ago, he supposed. This now was merely a last excuse. Yet it hurt. “And you? Have you written me off as well?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Highnote said. “I must say that you’ve done a lot better than I thought you would.”
“What’s going on?“ Highnote’s right eyebrow rose. “Exactly the question I want to put to you. We found poor Janos. Was that necessary?”
“I didn’t kill him,” McAllister said. “That should have been obvious. If you want an ID on those two bodies, I can give it to you.”
“What two bodies?” Highnote asked with a straight face. “One in the driveway, the other back up in the woods, about a hundred yards off the road.”
Highnote shook his head. “There was some blood beside the driveway; O-Positive, your blood type I believe, and some tire marks. No bodies other than Janos’s.”
McAllister closed his eyes. The Mafia had sent two hired guns out to question Sikorski. When they didn’t return someone else would have gone out to check on them. That was logical. But it still didn’t answer the question of who had tortured Sikorski if they hadn’t.
“Someone has set me up for the kill,” he said, opening his eyes. “The Russians.”
“Why?”
“Our best guess is that you are a project gone bad for them.”
“You know damned well that I did not work for the O’Haires,” McAllister said.
“They named you.”
“Then somebody got to them!”
“The whole world is wrong and you’re right, is that it?” Highnote asked, leaning forward. “I don’t know what happened to you in the Lubyanka, and I don’t think you do either, but I believe that you were set up-brainwashed, if you will-to come back here and wreak havoc.”
“Then why are the Russians trying to kill me?”
“Because I think they lost control of you. And if you were brought in, and the secrets that are locked inside your brain were released, you would prove to be a very large embarrassment.”
“Then I’m an innocent victim…?”
“No,” Highnote snapped. “I think you worked with the O’Haires all along, and when the network fell the Russians arrested you, hoping to throw off any suspicions about you. While they had you, they decided to play their little game. Nice friends.”
“You believe that, Bob?” McAllister asked. “I don’t know what else to believe.”
“Why? Where are my motives?”
Highnote lowered his eyes and shook his head. “That’s the damndest part of it all, Mac. I just don’t know.” He looked up. “Burn-out? Gloria told us that you’d been acting strangely ever since you’d been assigned to Moscow. Maybe you saw what you took to be the futility of the business. Maybe you thought your father had wasted his life. He did kill himself, after all. I don’t know, but it happens sometimes to the best of them.”
McAllister fought back the one memory of his father that he had never allowed into his consciousness. Shame? Fear? Whatever, he had avoided thinking about it for a very long time.
“Why was the message sent to me? That’s what the business with my name and false description was all about, wasn’t it?”
“It was Dexter Kingman’s idea. He thought it might flush you out. And it did.”
“Yes,” McAllister said. “It did. So here we are, talk to me.”
“Do you want it straight?” McAllister nodded.
“let Stephanie Albright come in. Nothing will happen to her, I promise you.”
“Then you’ll help me?”
“There is nothing I can do for you, Mac,” Highnote said, his voice low. “Put a bullet in your head. End it now. It would be for the best.”