“I mean you no harm, Mrs. O’Haire, I swear to you. But I need answers. And I can’t afford to be delicate.”
“I don’t know anything, I swear to God. I wasn’t involved.”
“With what?”
“They’re dead! leave me alone!”
“They were spies for a long time, you must have suspected something.”
“No,” she cried, again trying to push him away, but he overpowered her, shoving her back against the refrigerator. Her breathing became erratic, and he could feel her heart hammering against his chest.
“I just want to talk.”
“I’ll scream. The neighbors will hear me, they’ll call the police.”
“Ang before the police came you’d be dead,” McAllister said harshly. “My life depends upon your cooperation, Mrs. O’Haire, and now so does yours.”
“I don’t know anything,” she wailed.
“I think you do, starting with the message on your answering machine.” Slowly he released her arms and eased his weight off her body, finally stepping back away from her. “Did you return his call?”
She rubbed her wrists where his fingers had caused red marks, as she studied him. For a half a minute she didn’t speak. He could feel the heat radiating off her.
“What message?” she asked finally. “On your answering machine.”
She looked toward the living room. “From Chris?”
“No, the other one. From the man, the one who left his telephone number.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It was obvious she was not lying, at least not about this. “After the call from your friend, Chris, did you go out?”
“Yes, I went over to see her. She lives… nearby.” The call had evidently come while she was out, and she had not bothered to check her answering machine afterward. “Then I think you’d better listen to the message.”
“I want you to get out of my house.”
“I can’t, not until I get my answers.”
“What answers?”
“Who is trying to kill me and why. It has something to do with your husband’s spying.”
“He’s dead, leave it alone,” she cried.
“There is a very good possibility that you’ll be next,” McAllister said.
“You’re insane.”
“No. But I think we can help each other. You can save my life, and I can protect yours.”
“From whom? Protect me from whom?”
“Whoever ran the network. Whoever it was gave your husband and the others their orders.”
“It was you.”
“No,” McAllister said. “Those are lies. Do you think if I were involved I would have come here like this? What would be the point? I’m just as much in the dark as you say you are. But if I’m right, they won’t stop until I’m dead, and now you’re involved more deeply than you can imagine.”
“Only because you came here.”
“Because of the call on your answering machine.”
“What call?” she shouted wildly. “For all I know you put the message there. Or one of your friends did it.”
“Listen to it, and you tell me.”
A car pulled into the driveway and the O’Haire woman stiffened, her mouth opening to cry out. McAllister pulled out his gun and motioned for her to keep silent. It could be Stephanie, but it also could be someone else.
“Were you expecting someone this evening?” he asked. She was staring at the door. “Yes,” she said woodenly. “Friends. My friends are coming over.” This time she was lying. She turned to him. “leave right now and I won’t say anything. You can get away. I promise.” They heard a car door open and close and someone came into the garage.
The O’Haire woman wanted to cry out, but she was watching the gun in McAllister’s hand.
“David?” Stephanie called out. “In here,” McAllister answered.
Kathleen O’Haire stepped back toward the stove, her hands going to her mouth, her entire body shaking. The kitchen door opened and Stephanie came in, her gun in her hand. She looked from Kathleen O’Haire to McAllister then closed the door. “Are you all right?”
McAllister relaxed and stuffed his gun in his belt. “So far,” he said. “Was there anybody out there?”
Stephanie pocketed her gun. “No, she’s clean. She went to a supermarket a half a dozen blocks from here and came directly back.”
“Could she have called someone from inside?”
“I followed her,” Stephanie said. She picked up the grocery bag Kathleen O’Haire had dropped and put it in the sink. Orange juice was leaking out of the bottom. The O’Haire woman was watching her warily, as she might watch a wild animal.
“We mean you no harm, Mrs. O’Haire,” Stephanie said gently. “Then get out of my house now. Both of you. leave me alone.”
“Someone called this afternoon and left a message for her on the answering machine,” McAllister said. “She hasn’t heard it yet.”
“About us?” Stephanie asked, her eyes bright. “Probably,” McAllister said. “Will you listen to it?” he asked the woman.
She had shrunk back against the stove. “Please leave me now.”
“I’ll set it up,” McAllister said. He went into the living room and advanced the message tape to the end of the fifth call. When he looked up Kathleen O’Haire was perched on the edge of the easy chair, Stephanie right behind her. She was very pale, and she clenched her hands together in her lap. Either she was a very good actress, or she was innocent.
McAllister hit the play button. “Mrs. O’Haire, I would like very much to talk to you as soon as possible. You don’t know me, but I assure you this is of the utmost importance to your safety… especially in view of what has recently happened in Washington and of course in Illinois. Please call me anytime day or night, but very soon. It’s extremely important that we talk. My extension is 273, and the number is 202-456-1414.” The connection was broken and McAllister shut off the machine. “That’s the area code for Washington,” Stephanie said. McAllister nodded. “Who was the man?” he asked the O’Haire woman, but she was shaking her head.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“One of your husband’s friends? Someone who might have called here before?”
“I’ve never heard that voice. I swear to God, I haven’t. You must believe me.”
“I have,” Stephanie said softly. “Or at least I think I have.”
“From where?” McAllister asked.
She shook her head, trying to think it out. “I don’t know, for sure. Somewhere.” She looked up. “How about you?”
“The same. It’s familiar and yet I can’t put my finger on it. But I do know the telephone number.”
“What is it?”
“The White House,” he said, watching for Kathleen O’Haire’s reaction.
But she was merely puzzled. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would someone from the White House be calling me… like that?”
“David,” Stephanie said urgently. “I do know that voice. I remember now.”
“Who is it?”
“I saw him at the Iran-contra hearings last year. He wasn’t a part of that, I don’t think, but he was speaking for the White House. His name is Donald Harman. He’s a special assistant to the President, for God’s sake.”
“Zebra One?” McAllister asked half under his breath. It would explain a lot of things. A man such as Harman would naturally be in a position to know what was going on in the intelligence community. He would be privy to reports from all the agencies; the CIA, the National Security Agency, the FBI, the military intelligence services, the Defense Intelligence Agency… all of them. He would have the confidence of key senators and congressmen on the Hill, the National Security Council, the President’s cabinet and the President himself. His power would be enormous; he would be even more important than the DCI himself.