“I did. It proved quite handy in the travel business. I knew a good part of Europe first-hand. They gave me the job of running tours all over the place, on both sides of the Curtain."
Recalling Quinn's comment about her undercover work as a writer and a travel agent, Burke began to wonder what sort of things she had done for the CIA. It sounded like a perfect set-up. But his old friend had cautioned about "talking business" tonight, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
During the conversation, Quinn ticked off some of the major capitals where he had been stationed. He had also pulled a tour of duty at the Consulate-General in Hong Kong in recent years, so it would be familiar territory.
For Burke's part, he recounted a few of his adventures in the far north. He intrigued Lori with a description of the small Missouri town where he grew up. "Most of the people migrated there from the South. It was one of those places where gray-haired men sat on benches in front of the courthouse in the summer. They'd sit and whittle little doodads out of blocks of wood. Now and then they'd pause to spit a big blob of brown tobacco juice to one side."
"That part sounds a little gross," she said with a distasteful frown. "You know, I've never lived in a small town."
"We dragged her from one capital to another," Quinn said. "I don't guess I told you, but she was born in Hungary. I was stationed in Budapest then. It was around the time of the Hungarian uprising."
"Now you're telling my age," she protested.
Quinn looked at his watch. "Oh, to be your age again. I'm afraid mine is telling on me. I'd better get home and hit the bed before my alarm goes off. You have me flying out of here at the crack of dawn, young lady."
"You're the one who wanted to hustle off to Hong Kong at the earliest opportunity," she said. "Burke, your flight leaves around noon. Check with me after nine in the morning, and I should have everything ready for you."
Quinn excused himself to use the bathroom, and Lori casually linked her arm in Burke's and walked with him to the living room. "I don't know what kind of magic you wield with my Dad, but since he went down to visit you he seems to have come back with a new lease on life. He smiles like the old teddy bear I used to know, and he talks about tomorrow as though it were not the end of the world. You probably aren't aware of what you've done, but I'm grateful to you more than I can say."
Burke felt the warmth of her body beside him and suddenly realized how long he had ignored the natural urges that came with being a man. He had a sudden desire to put his arm around her. Instead, he did the opposite, pulled away to lean against the end of a high-backed sofa, straining to keep his mind on the subject of Cam Quinn.
He spoke in a half-whisper. "When I first saw him down there, I got the impression he was coming apart like a paper boat in a rainstorm. I'm happy if I've been able to cheer him a bit."
"You certainly have. And I've really enjoyed having you over this evening. When you get back from Israel, maybe I can treat you to something like a night at the Kennedy Center. Do you like symphony music?"
"Love it. Russian style, particularly."
She smiled, obviously pleased. "Good. The Moscow Radio Symphony Orchestra is appearing there in the next two or three weeks."
"Sounds great. I'll check with you when I—"
"Let's hit the road," Quinn said as he bounced into the room. "Had a great evening, Lori. I'll call you from Hong Kong. Take care."
"You, too," she said, sobering. "No more deals like Cyprus."
Quinn stopped suddenly and frowned. "What do you know about Cyprus?"
"I know what you didn't want to tell me. Remember, I have my sources."
"Damn breach of security."
She kissed him on the cheek. "Just be careful. Okay?"
He gave her a hug. "For you, okay."
The sky was partially overcast. As the lights of Washington bathed it with a swirling kaleidoscope of color, Burke thought of a surrealistic painting he’d seen at the Hirshhorn Museum. It was a notable switch from the star-speckled black void he viewed from his mountain perch in the Smokies. He was glad he had come, though, pleased with the opportunity to get to know Lori Quinn.
Cam Quinn was quiet at first as they drove back to the hotel. His voice had a contemplative ring to it when he spoke. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Lori. God knows she worries enough about me as it is. But this is something you need to know."
Burke shifted his eyes in the dark confines of the car. He sensed another melodrama in the works. "You're getting into one of your ominous moods again."
Quinn grinned. "That is undoubtedly part of my nature. But I believe in being prepared. That's one of the cardinal rules of this business. Be prepared for anything."
"And what should I be prepared for?"
"If anything should happen to me in Hong—"
"Whoa!" Burke threw up his hands. "What could happen to you besides getting ptomaine from eating in some offbeat Chinese restaurant?"
"Remember Cyprus?"
"I thought that was a PLO aberration?"
"That was Hawk's idea. Perhaps. Perhaps not. At any rate, in the unlikely event something should happen to me in Hong Kong, I want you to go to the East Asia Bank on Queen's Road Central. That's in the island's main commercial district. You should ask for Mr. Luk in the trustee department."
"Luk, eh? With any luck at all, I won't need that advice."
"Damn it, I'm serious about this." Quinn looked around, his face twisted.
"Sorry." The tone told Burke he would brook no more foolishness. "I've got you. Mr. Luk in the trustee department, East Asia Bank, Queen's Road Central."
Quinn pulled something out of his pocket and handed it over. "Give him this. He'll know what to do."
Burke held up the piece of paper so he could see it in the glow of passing street lights. It appeared to be half of a Hong Kong ten-dollar bill, torn diagonally. Actually, it was one of the smaller, so-called "new" bills issued by The Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. He looked back at Quinn. "That's it?"
"As you say, you probably won't need to make use of it. If so, you won't need to know any more about it."
Burke studied his friend's face in the dull light of the car and fingered the torn bill in his pocket. He realized nothing had been said about returning the banknote if he came back. He had no doubts that Quinn viewed this operation as fraught with dire consequences. Having a guy shot to death beside you would be enough to trigger a few nightmares, but Burke hadn’t seen enough evidence to convince him of any pressing danger. Over the years, he had learned to put a lot of faith in Quinn's sixth sense. Had it become burdened by the effects of aging? Was it failing him now in the twilight of his career?
Chapter 14
The underwater cable from Oyster Island carried two trunk lines which tied into PWI's private line telephone system. One phone was located in the office/control center, the other in the lounge area of the dormitory. The line terminating in the lounge could be accessed from the office, but not vice versa. While most of the island's occupants were just rolling out of bed or showering in preparation for breakfast on Saturday morning, Blythe Ingram quietly locked himself inside the office like a conspirator within a conspiracy. He plugged the telephone line into a portable set mounted in a large black case he had brought with him. He dialed a private line at the Southampton, Long Island mansion of Donald Newman.
"Mr. Newman, this is Blythe," he said when the PWI chairman answered. "Shall we go secure, sir?"
"By all means," Newman replied.
Ingram entered his "crypto-ignition key" and waited while the data was routed to a computer at the National Security Agency in Maryland. Within fifteen seconds, a digital display spelled out "Donald Newman, Chairman, Pan West Industries, Top Secret." At the same time, Ingram's own identity and security clearance was being flashed on the telephone in New York. Simultaneously, the NSA computer randomly selected one of countless encoding algorithms to scramble their conversation.