“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?”