But when he had suddenly reappeared, he seemed virtually the same Roddy she had known and loved for years. Those defenses she had erected, the barriers she had built, had dissolved like a sand fortress washed by the surf. She'd had to restrain herself to keep from throwing her arms around him as Lila had done. But she had to be sure, to be certain she wasn't building up hopes that would be dashed again.
When they had parted after dinner last night, Roddy had held her hand for a moment and said he hoped to see her again today. She was reminded of the nervous young cadet she had first dated some twenty-five years ago. And then came that late evening call, explaining why he would not be around today. He had promised to phone, for her own good he wouldn't say from where, and gave her Burke Hill's number to call in case of an emergency.
She didn't like the idea of his following a man like this Major Romashchuk, but she accepted that it was probably Roddy's only chance to clear his name and his reputation. She could only pray that everything would work out as he hoped.
It was around 9:30 p.m. when Burke answered the phone in the family room.
"This is Roddy."
With no background noise, Burke assumed it was not a cellular call. "Where are you?"
"Austin, Texas."
"Did our friends pick up their goodies?" By habit, Burke spoke cryptically even when there was little chance of being overheard. He had brought home a device to check for hidden transmitters and phone taps. Everything checked out clear.
"Got them in a U-Haul behind a gray Chevy van."
"Are you holed up for the night?"
"Roger. After they checked into this motel, I asked for a room on the side where they parked the van. Yuri and I are planning to sleep in shifts. As soon as they show up, we'll be ready to hit the road behind them."
"I don't suppose you have any indication where they're headed?"
"Negative. We may get some better idea tomorrow."
"Well, keep your eyes open and be careful."
Then Roddy asked the question that had been uppermost in his mind. "Anybody looking for us yet?"
"So far haven't heard a thing."
Roddy called Karen and assured her he was fine and in no danger, at the moment. She told him to hold on for Lila.
"Hey, young lady." He greeted his daughter. "How's my girl?"
"I'm fine. Just a bit concerned that you dashed off before you'd hardly gotten settled down. Mom said it was business. Are you still licensed to fly in the States?"
"I'm not flying. Driving. I hope to be back in a couple of days."
"You'd better. I told Ian you would be here for the July Fourth concert at the Capitol. His group, The ThunderBards, will be featured on the program."
"Sounds great, Lila. Shouldn't be any problem."
Brave words, he thought as he hung up. No problem at all. Just hope to hell Yuri could keep Romashchuk from realizing he was being followed. If they were spotted, a call to the Major's friend Adam Stern would probably result in a hasty summons of reinforcements. He would have to talk to Yuri about keeping an eye on the traffic behind them. In combat flying, you never left your rear unprotected.
59
It was the last day of June and Burke Hill began gathering figures for a comprehensive analysis of Worldwide Communications Consultants' current financial condition. It would take several days to get final reports from all of the outlying offices, but the computer here in Washington would reveal most of the details. As he looked over some of the preliminary data, he made notes on particular items for further review. On encountering a category entitled "Office of the President," his thoughts inevitably wandered in another direction.
He didn't see how he could avoid a showdown with Highsmith much longer. If Nate did not offer some rational explanation for the presence of Major Romashchuk and his guerrilla force, and at the moment such a possibility lay beyond his imagination, Burke knew his only option would be to resign from the company. He would also report everything he knew to the FBI, to Dr. Geoffrey Wharton, the President's National Security Adviser, and, just to be safe, to an editor he had met from The Washington Post.
His thoughts were interrupted by a call from a ruffled Fred Birnbaum.
"Have you tried to contact Yuri Shumakov in Minsk?" the FBI agent asked.
"Yeah," Burke lied, not wanting to rouse any suspicions. "I wasn't able to reach him."
"Well, I thought I'd better warn you. I don't know what's happened. It doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't?"
"He's on the Interpol wanted list. Seems he's been on it for a couple of weeks but I just became aware of it. They accused him of a homicide in Minsk."
"That's strange," Burke said. "Do you think he could do something like that?"
"I wouldn't have thought so. I recall him telling me there was a lot of jealousy among people in the prosecutor's office. Particularly toward anybody with a high degree of conscientiousness. I guess it's a holdover from the old communist system."
"Are you implying somebody could have framed him?"
"It's possible. I really can't say. I found out about it when Interpol put out a new bulletin saying he had been reported in Mexico using the alias 'Ivan Netto.'"
They were getting damned close, Burke thought. No doubt that would stimulate the Mexicans to increase their efforts. The next development would be to place Shumakov on the Worldwide Communications Consultants' aircraft departing the country. Then an FBI agent would soon be knocking on his door.
The board of directors of the Robert and Amanda Highsmith Foundation, the think tank Nate Highsmith had named to honor the memory of his parents, held its quarterly meeting in Philadelphia that morning. As chairman, Nate presided over the session. Among invited guests from the professional staff was Dr. Jared Ketterhagen, one of two senior fellows who had been studying developments among the former Central Asian republics of the Soviet Union. They would soon outline their findings in a heavily footnoted article for one of the foreign policy journals.
"Do you have any insights on how those republics will react at the Commonwealth of Independent States' meeting in Minsk next week, Dr. Ketterhagen?" Highsmith asked.
The former political science professor was a tall, gaunt figure with a long, wrinkled face that disappeared into the hairless expanse that covered the top of his head. He had a low and ominous voice.
"The Commonwealth Coordinating Committees have been working diligently in Central Asia. They want the governments to agree on measures that would appear to subordinate their sovereignty to that of the Commonwealth. However, most heads of state have resisted, desirous of not giving up their present control."
"Do their military forces go along with this?" Nate asked.
"These republics don't have the strongest of military forces. Nothing like the larger European states. And they seem to be fractious. I would say you could find commanders who would readily side with the Coordinating Committees. But I hardly think they would act on their own. The governments all believe that we, as the only remaining superpower, would readily come to their rescue in case of an attack."
"And what do you think, Dr. Ketterhagen?"
"You are in a much better position than I am to answer that, Mr. Highsmith."
Nate smiled indulgently. "I'm afraid my office is a little too far down Sixteenth Street to pick up rumblings from the White House."