"What's a sinker?"
"When it comes to sink or swim, they sink. I don't know if it's in your genes or something you learn. Maybe a little of both."
"Okay, Mr. Survivor." She gave him a stern look. "If you want to maintain your status, I suggest from here on you trust no one, present company excepted, and glance over your shoulder as often as possible."
Emergency communications channels up and down the United States and across the pole to Moscow were activated as word of Burke Hill's Oyster Island capture and subsequent escape spread through the Operation Jabberwock network. The leaders declared a Condition Red, imminent danger of compromise. All levels were ordered to exercise maximum security. A small, elite team was dispatched to the Florida coast with descriptions of Hill, since he no longer resembled the old photographs, and orders to track him down, take him at any cost. For the moment, until they determined who he had talked to, they wanted him alive.
It was not clear what had happened early that morning on the island, but unquestionably Hill had been responsible for the deaths of two members of the Jabberwock party. One was a vital link to the American organizers, and his loss put a severe crimp in their plans, leaving them without a counter to the Russians' on-scene commander.
In the Russian capital, General Vladimir Kostikov, head of the Second Chief Directorate, moved quickly to add the name of Lt. Col. Andrei Golanov to the list of KGB officers who were scheduled to depart for Toronto on Monday evening. Their job was to make a final check of the facilities to be used by President Petrovsky on his arrival Saturday morning. Golanov was ordered to fly immediately to Berlin, under his alternate identity, where he would be picked up by a Russian military plane and brought to Moscow in time for the flight to Canada.
A summons was also sent out for two citizens of Bulgaria, currently in Cairo, traveling on false Swiss passports.
Chapter 40
"We'll take a taxi to the airport," Lori said as they ate breakfast at the motel restaurant. She and Walt would leave for Washington on the first available flight. A good night's sleep had transformed them from zombies into living, breathing human beings. It had not changed the world beyond their small circle, however.
Burke speared a sausage link and looked up. "I could take you out there, but we'd be risking a nice ambush when they spotted that brown van."
"What will you do about it when we leave?" Brackin asked.
"I thought I'd ditch the van and buy a used car. One that runs good but may not look the best."
Lori smiled approvingly. "Find one with a lot of ugly dents. They won't give it a second look. Do you have enough money?"
"Should have. Won't be much left afterward, though. I'll call Mr. Luk in Hong Kong tonight and have him transfer more cash over here." He waived at the waitress and pointed into his empty coffee cup. His stomach was feeling much better this morning, though the muscles were still painful if disturbed. The minor arm wound caused no problem. "I thought I'd make some calls and find out who that truck is registered to."
Lori pushed her cup toward the waitress, who poured, then asked, "Can I get you folks anything else?"
Walt nodded to the sling that cradled his right arm. "Got any spare shoulders back there?"
She shook her head, feigning a frown. "Sorry. We got spareribs, but no shoulders."
He wrinkled his nose. "Me and my big mouth."
"You make a great straight man, Walt," Burke said with a chuckle.
When the girl had left, Lori turned back to Burke. "What do you think about calling your old buddy Toby Callahan, tell him Jeffries is up to something shady, see if he might help?"
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be worth the phone call. I've already worked Toby for more than I had a right to expect. He'd probably hang up if I even mentioned Jeffries' name."
Lori sat back and sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "We have Jeffries, an electronics expert, and Ingram, a weapons expert. Wonder what the Englishman's expertise is?"
Recalling the conversation between Jeffries and the man in Singapore, Burke said, "Let's use the process of elimination. There were to be three on the team, three trainers, the man in charge and the cook."
"The cook's dead," said Brackin. "The one called Ted seemed to be in charge."
Burke frowned. "He certainly acted like it on the island, but the Englishman called the tune on moving out the team and the equipment. From the transcripts of the phone calls, the man in Singapore and the one in Hong Kong didn't sound like the same person. If the Englishman made the call from Hong Kong, that means Ted called from Singapore. He said there would be three trainers 'including me.' The other two would have been Jeffries and Ingram, which would leave the Englishman in charge of the operation."
"You're figuring the guys who zapped us and the big ugly dude as the team members?" Brackin asked.
"Yeah. All three of them looked capable of about any nasty deed you'd care to dream up."
Walt Brackin pushed his chair back and tried to maneuver his arm into a more comfortable position, looking as awkward as a bird with a broken wing. "The guy that jumped you, I got an odd feeling about him, something vaguely familiar."
"He was quick as a cat," Burke said. "And just as quiet."
"Definitely a pro."
Lori had been listening quietly. She leaned forward on the table. "After what happened to you guys on that island, I'm thinking it's time to tell your story to Judge Marshall."
Burke gave a dry laugh. "Yeah. I can see it now. He'd say I'm either a looney or a liar. Then they'd stash me away in some safe house with a twenty-four-hour guard."
"What if you took him some of those pictures? Ones showing the smoke and blast damage, and all those men and the truck."
That might change things, Burke had to admit. It would provide something tangible to back up his words. There were still a lot of holes in his case, of course. He couldn't connect the truck with the blast, unless it had been triggered by the electronics. But he could identify the team members. Perhaps some were terrorists. He could pick them out of a photo file. Also, the CIA's analysts would be a lot more savvy than Buddy Bottelli. They might see something revealing in the photos that the former Air Force interpreter had missed. He would have to get the enlargements from Aerial Photomap. The only thing he had taken with him was the map-like picture of the whole island. It was only useful for orientation.
"Might be worth a try,” Burke said. “I can call Kevin McKenzie first thing in the morning and see about picking up a set of prints. I'd be a bit hesitant about trying to fly out of here with them, though."
Lori shook her head. "Not from here. If you buy a car, you could drive north, maybe to Jackson, Mississippi. Take a flight from there. But let me talk to the Judge first, feel him out. I'll tell him you can identify the people involved. I wouldn't want you to go up there unless he agrees to get you in safely, and guarantee you'll be free to leave."
Lori looked in her date book and gave him a number where he could call her Monday morning at eleven, Washington time.
The call, to the home number Mr. Luk had put in his letter of certification for Burke's checks, went through shortly after six that evening, seven a.m. Hong Kong time. After purchasing a 1986 Buick that ran like an Indy car but looked like something a crash dummy had been driving, Burke had less than fifteen-hundred dollars left.
"Mr. Burke Hill," said Luk politely, "how good to hear from you. I trust everything is going well?"