The Zebra Network

by Sean Flannery

  The voice was vaguely familiar to McAllister. But from where? He couldn’t place it.

  “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.”

  McAllister stared at the answering machine, his mouth half open. Suddenly he could not breathe. This was impossible to believe. Completely. He hadn’t been able to put a name to the voice, but he had recognized the number immediately. The area code was for Washington, D.C. The number belonged to the White House!

  The connection was broken, the dial tone buzzed for a second or two and then was cut off. The rest of the tape was blank. It had been the last call. But when had it come? And had Kathleen O’Haire listened to it? Had she gone out in response to telephone the number away from the house?

  How could it be possible that someone from the White House was calling the wife of a convicted spy so openly, and then leave his number for her to return the call? What was he missing?

  Look to the anomalies, Wallace Mahoney, the old sage of the Company had taught them at the Farm. Look for the bits and pieces that don’t seem to fit in the natural order. There you will likely find the truth, or at least a clue to the correct direction.

  Kathleen O’Haire’s Camaro pulled up in the driveway. She got out with a bag of groceries and walked into the garage.

  McAllister waited out of sight in the living room until he heard the kitchen door from the garage open and then close a moment later.

  He stepped around the corner. Kathleen O’Haire, the bag of groceries still in her arms, stood at the counter. Her eyes widened when she saw him and she dropped the bag with a loud crash, something breaking inside of it.

  “Oh,” she said in a small voice, her eyes going to the gun in McAllister’s hand.

  Chapter 27

  “I’ve come to talk to you about the Zebra Network,” McAllister said.

  “My husband’s dead,” she cried, holding out her hand as if to ward him off. “It’s over.”

  McAllister put away his gun and spread his hands to show her he meant her no harm. She glanced toward the door. She wanted to run; only her immediate fear and uncertainty kept her in place. Her eyes were red. It looked as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep in days.

  “Too many people have lost their lives besides your husband and his brother. I want to end it.”

  “Who in God’s name are you?” she asked. “I don’t know you. What are you doing here in my house? I’ll call the police. leave!”

  “My name is David McAllister, and I’m afraid I can’t leave. Not yet. I need your help.”

  “Oh, my God,” she cried. “Jim’s not even in the ground yet. go!”

  “Please.”

  She bolted suddenly, but McAllister reached her before she got the door open, and he pulled her back into the kitchen, shoving her up against the refrigerator, holding her hands behind her back, pressing against her body with his. She was a big, athletically built woman; still she was no match for his superior strength. After a few moments her struggles ceased, and she looked into his face, her eyes blinking, her lips parted.

  “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.

  Stephanie and Kathleen O’Haire were watching him. Everytime Highnote had done something, had made a move on behalf of McAllister and Albright, his report went to the DCI, who in turn included it in his twice-daily intelligence summaries to the President. Harman had evidently been privy to all those reports as well.

  How to fight a man so powerfully entrenched as that? This was Philby, only ten thousand times worse.

  “What are we going to do?” Stephanie asked. McAllister looked at her. “The only thing we can do,” he said. “She’s going to call him, find out what he wants.”

  “No,” Kathleen O’Haire cried, the single word strangled in her throat.

  “But why did he call her on an open line, and then hand out his telephone number, David?” Stephanie asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Because he thinks he’s above suspicion. Because he thinks, like we do, that she knows something. That she might have overheard something her husband said, something that might lead back to the network’s control officer.”

  “Harman?”

  “Either him, or someone he’s protecting.”

  “I won’t do it,” the O’Haire woman said. “You can’t make me do it.”

  “Is it true?” McAllister asked softly. “Did you hear something? Do you know who your husband’s control officer was?”

  “I told you I don’t know anything,” Kathleen O’Haire screeched. “leave me alone! Get out of here!”

  McAllister went across the room to her and looked into her eyes. “Don’t you understand what’s happening here, Mrs. O’Haire? Hasn’t it penetrated yet? Your husband and brother-in-law ran a very successful spy ring for years. Whoever they worked for takes his orders from the Russians. From the KGB. What do you think our chances are if that man is Donald Harman, someone in the White House, right next to the President? Or don’t you give a damn?”

  “It’s not my fault,” she cried. “They’re dead. It’s done. I don’t know..

  “I believe you, McAllister said. “But you’re going to telephone Harman and pretend that you do know something. You’re going to set up a meeting with him in Washington.”

  She was shaking her head.

  “Tomorrow. At noon. It’ll be broad daylight and you’ll meet him somewhere in public where you’ll be safe, where he won’t dare do anything to you.”

  “And then what?” she asked defiantly.

  “You’ll talk with him, nothing more. We’ll be nearby listening to everything that’s said.”

  She looked to Stephanie, her eyes wild.

  “Your husband hurt this country very badly, Mrs. O’Haire,” Stephanie said. “But what he did was nothing compared to what a man 1 such as Harman could do if he isn’t stopped. It’s time now to put an end to it, but we need your help.”

  “I don’t know how to do this,” the O’Haire woman cried in anguish.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’ll be listening with you, I’ll help you,” McAllister said gently. “What if he doesn’t want to meet with me?”

  “He will,” McAllister said. “He’s going to ask you if we’ve been here, and I want you to tell him that we were, this afternoon, and that we were making a lot of wild accusations.”

  “He’s going to ask me what you said, I mean exactly… “Yes, he will, and that’s why you’re going to have to meet with him in Washington, you can’t discuss this on the telephone.”

  “What if he still refuses?”

  McAllister glanced at Stephanie. “Tell him that we know about someone in the White House, and that we have the proof.”

  “No,” Kathleen O’Haire said, shaking her head again. “I can’t do this.”

  “You must,” Stephanie said. “No, damnit.

  McAllister grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet. “Listen to me, goddamnit. What do you think will happen to you if we turn around and walk out of here now? You don’t have to answer, I’ll tell you. Donald Harman telephoned you this afternoon, he wants to talk to you. He won’t let you off the hook. If he thinks that you know something, if he even suspects you might be lying to him, he’ll send someone here to kill you.”

  “I’ll call the police,” she cried, hiccuping.“And tell them what?” McAllister said savagely. “That you think one of the President’s advisers is going to kill you?”

  She was trying to pull away from McAllister’s grasp, but he wouldn’t let her go. “I’m sorry that you’re involved in this,” he said. “I wish it were different, but it’s not.”

  “I don’t want to get hurt,” she said.

  “Neither do we,” Stephanie replied. “We’ll do our best, it’s all we can offer you.”

  Kathleen O’Haire sagged, and McAllister let her go. She looked at them both. “When do you want me to call him?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Now,” McAllister said, hiding the triumph from his voice. “He’ll probably suggest a meeting place, but no
matter what it is, you’ll refuse.”

  “Where then?”

  McAllister glanced at Stephanie, she knew Washington better than he did. “McMillan Park,” she said. “It’s on the south side of the reservoir, over by Howard University. There are places we can hide there, and yet it’s fairly open. Doug and I used to go there in the summer.”

  “Will there be people around at this time of the year?”

  “Not many, but there’ll be some.”

  “McMillan Park it is,” McAllister said. He went to the telephone and dialed the White House number. As soon as it began to ring he held out the phone to the O’Haire woman. “Ask for extension 273,” he said. She hesitated for just a moment longer, but then took the phone and held it close enough to her ear so that she could hear, and yet far enough away so that McAllister could also listen in, their heads close together.

  “The White House,” a woman operator answered pleasantly. Kathleen O’Haire looked up at McAllister. “Extension 273.”

  “One moment, please.”

  It was nearly seven o’clock here, which made it nearly ten on the East Coast. The extension rang once, there was a slight click on theline, and then it began ringing again in a different tone. The call was probably being automatically forwarded to wherever Harman happened to be at that moment. Most likely at home.

  “Hello,” Donald Harman answered.

  Kathleen O’Haire froze for just a moment, and McAllister had to prod her to get her to speak.

  “Hello,” she said. “This is Kathleen O’Haire. I was asked to call this number.”

  “Just a minute,” Harman said, and the line went dead for a second, 1 before he came back on. “Thanks for calling, Mrs. O’Haire, are you all right?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not all right.”

  “What is it?” Harman asked, and McAllister could hear the instant caution in the man’s voice. “Has something happened out there? Are you calling from California?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I had some visitors this afternoon. I don’t know what to do. You said I was in danger…