He told her about the phone call to Winnie Chu that told him of Cam’s intention to visit Amy Lee. He added that Miss Chu had told a foreign-sounding caller of Cam’s plan to be at the missing girl’s apartment that evening.
Lori’s face lost some of its color as her brows knitted and she stared down at her hands. “Was it the men who had been following him?”
“The Bulgarians. I think so.”
As their food was set on the table, he spoke softly. “Let's eat our lunch and head back to the Pearl. I'll tell you everything when we get there."
She only picked at her salad while he finished his sandwich. Then they caught a cab in front of the Hilton and zoomed through the cross-harbor tunnel back to Kowloon. At first Lori maintained a brooding silence, but he finally coaxed her out of it by asking what she had accomplished at the consulate. She said Cam's body would be flown back to Washington the next morning. They could take the same flight.
"I talked with Kingsley Marshall," she added. "He was very concerned. He asked about my preferences for the funeral. Going back across the dateline, we'll get there on Friday, so it could be scheduled for Saturday. Otherwise, of course, we would have to wait until Monday."
That was cutting it pretty close, Burke thought. "Will you have time to make the arrangements?"
"Judge Marshall was very sweet about it. He offered to make the arrangements for me."
He probably wanted to keep it as low-key as possible, Burke figured. But he gave the DCI the benefit of the doubt. "That was decent of him," he said.
"He's really a very nice man. Not at all like some of his division chiefs."
Winnie Chu was eating dim sum in the small kitchenette at the Causeway Bay Executive Centre when the phone interrupted her lunch. Maybe it was one of Amy's friends she had left word for.
"This is Mr. Allen from the U.S. Consulate General," an urgent voice said. "We're trying to locate an American businessman named Burke Hill. Has he been over there today?"
She thought for a moment, then replied, "No, sir. I don't recall that name."
"He might have been inquiring about a business partner, a Mr. Logan Charles. If he—"
"Oh, you're talking about the gentleman who called. He didn't give me his name, but he said he was a business colleague of Mr. Charles. I don't know where he was calling from though."
"Oh. Thanks anyway. Good-bye."
It was nearly one-thirty when they got back to Lori's room. That intriguing look that had first attracted him to her remained evident even in the face of obvious agitation. It showed in the delicate turn of her cheek, the questioning tilt of her face. With all she had been through in the past forty-eight hours, he wished that he could hold her, comfort her, somehow make things right for her. But, clearly, that was not in the cards now. It was confrontation time. She fixed him with a stare that seemed part disappointment, part irritation. "All right. Tell me everything."
Burke nodded. "I'm sure our old buddy Hawk Elliott would say you don't have a need to know. But you damned sure have the right to know."
He started from the beginning with the Jabberwock story, the telephone intercepts, the ambush on Cyprus, the meeting in Marshall's office that had ended in his recruitment. He told her about his discovery in Tel Aviv, how he was followed, and his call to Cam Sunday night.
At that point he opened the attaché case to retrieve Cam's letter. As he did, the stack of hundred-dollar bills fell out.
Lori's eyes bulged. "Did you rob the bank?"
"You'll understand when you read the letter." He handed it to her.
They sat in silence as she read. He saw her eyes become a bit misty as she reached the final paragraph. Her lids fluttered as she looked up.
"And you think it was the Bulgarians who killed him." It was a little girl voice. Reading her father's words had completely defused her aggravation. In her mind, no doubt, she could hear him speaking.
"Yes. Cam could have lost them if they had followed him. But they knew exactly where he'd be. They must have ambushed him when he left her apartment. Then they doubled back after her. She hasn't been heard of since Monday afternoon."
"That poor girl." She slowly shook her head. "I was certain he wasn't drunk. How did they manage the blood alcohol?"
Something that had been nagging at him suddenly came into focus. "That boy, the lab technician," he said, recalling the sight of a cowering youth. "He was awfully nervous. He wouldn't look us in the eye. What if he was threatened, or maybe his family? He could have made out a false report and then spilled the blood sample to cover up. I think I'll go have a chat with that young gentleman."
"If all this is true, he may be the next one to disappear."
Burke considered the possibility. But since they had done nothing to the boy up to this point, he suspected another alternative. "They probably put the fear of God in him. I don't imagine he'll talk very willingly."
The phone interrupted them. She crossed to the bedside table and answered it.
"This is Sam Allen, Miss Quinn. Do you know where Hill is?" There was an urgency in his voice.
"Yes, he's right here. Just a moment."
"Just tell him to stay put," Allen said. "I want to drop by and have a chat with him."
She hung up the phone with a quizzical frown. "That was Sam Allen. He's coming over here to talk with you. What could he want?"
Burke shook his head. "Beats the hell out of me. I can't imagine it's anything good."
"What was it he said over there this morning?" she thought aloud. "Something about Hawk Elliott being very interested to learn that you were over here. He wondered if you were continuing to pursue the case that you and Dad were working on."
"What did you tell him?"
"The truth. At the time, I had no idea if you would or wouldn't. He asked why you didn't come with me this morning."
"And?"
"I said you had some business at the bank."
"I guess he wanted to know what kind of business I would have at a bank in Hong Kong." Burke was obviously agitated.
"I don't know if he did or didn't. He dropped the subject. But you said at the Hilton that you planned to pursue it." Her normally soft eyes had suddenly hardened like diamond chips. "If you're going after those men who murdered my Dad, Burke, I'll do anything I can to help you."
Her phone rang again. This time it was Sydney Pinkleton.
"Lorelei, my dear," he began, "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I felt an obligation to warn you."
"Warn me about what, Uncle Sydney?"
"I hope you aren't involved too closely with that Mr. Burke Hill. I know he was a friend of your father's, but it would be a good idea to distance yourself from him."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, obviously miffed at the suggestion.
"I don't want to overly alarm you, dear, but staying in his company could very well cause you a bit of a problem."
"That's ridiculous. Burke has been very helpful to me. He's been right here when I needed him, somebody I could lean on."
"I know. It's certainly unfortunate for you, but it appears the CIA has placed him on its most wanted list."
"Most wanted?"
"Figuratively speaking. We've just received a Black Cloud Alert from Langley. Somebody is working rather late over there. It's early morning, you know."
She looked across at Burke and frowned. "Hold it, Uncle Sydney. That's a new one on me. What, pray tell, is a Black Cloud Alert?"
"The 'Black Cloud' is a colloquialism, of course. It means the subject, Mr. Hill, has been declared anathema to them. As a cooperating service, we were asked to report any sighting immediately, delay him if possible. They could merely want to maintain surveillance to make certain he doesn't interfere in any operations. As a worst case, they could pass his name on to a quote, friend, unquote, with the means to finance a free-lance assassin."