"Actually, that's a bit debatable right now," Burke said. "For one thing, I'm about out of cash. Could you transfer another twenty thousand to me today?"
Luk's voice turned more businesslike. "I wondered when you might call. Sometimes it takes a day or so to make wire transfers internationally. But I have good news for you. The gentleman who placed the money in the account had it transferred back to the United States last Friday. He wanted to make it simpler for you to access the account."
"Great," Burke said. "All I need is the name of the bank and the account information."
"I'm sorry, but I don't have that. The gentleman asked that you call him. He said you would have his phone number."
Burke remembered the number at the bottom of Cam's letter. He had written it in his book under the name Ben E. Factor. "Of course, Mr. Luk. Thanks for your help."
As Burke thumbed through the pages for the number, he reflected on the potential size of the phone bill he was creating for Lori. He had been charging a steady stream of long distance calls halfway around the world to Clipper Travel. Locating the page where he had written the number for "Ben E. Factor," he dialed. A barely perceptible pause occurred amidst the ringing sound, recalling Cam's comment that it was a blind number from which the call would be transferred. Finally, a deep, sonorous voice came on the line.
"Hello."
"We've never met," Burke began, "but my name is Burke Hill. I was a friend—"
"Yes, Mr. Hill, I've been awaiting your call. That was a terrible thing that happened to Cameron. When he told me about you, and said he would ask you to take over if anything happened, I took it for one of his melodramatic musings. I had no idea something like this might occur."
"It was quite a shock to me, too, sir." He added the deferential title without conscious thought, considering the voice. It was refined, polite, self-assured, and bore a firmness that virtually demanded respect.
"Yes, I can imagine. So what have you learned about Jabberwock?"
Burke hesitated. He was surprised that Cam would have mentioned Jabberwock, the way he felt about security. Then he recalled the comment on the man's "surprising knowledge about what was going on." He was obviously a well-informed insider. It was easily possible that he had heard the name from someone higher up in the Agency.
"I still lack a lot of the essential details, but I've seen the main people involved," Burke said. "It apparently has something to do with an explosive device, or weapon. I don't know yet what it's to be used for, or even how. But it seems to involve what I'd call a mobile television control room in some way. I'm afraid we're running out of time, though. Cam Quinn believed they intended to use it sometime during the coming week."
"What do they think at Langley?"
It was just what Burke had feared. If the man knew he had been shut out at the CIA, he would probably decline any further access to the funds. But he wasn't about to lie to the man who had held Cam in such high esteem. If the money were cut off, so be it. He would have to bite the bullet and use his own. Lori would help.
"I'll be frank, with you, sir. Hawthorne Elliott, the Chief of Counterintelligence, and I don't exactly see eye to eye. In fact, he told me in effect to get lost. But, out of respect for Cam Quinn, and his urging that I continue, I'm still doggedly pursuing the investigation."
"By yourself?" The voice seemed incredulous. "Isn't anyone helping you?"
He started to mention Lori and Walt, but decided against it. Strictly speaking, they played only peripheral roles. "I'm something of a loner, I guess. The problem is I don't know who'll listen to what I have to say."
"You should have contacted me sooner, Burke. May I call you by your first name?"
"Certainly."
"I believe I should go straight to Kingsley. It would be much better, of course, if I had something solid to give him."
So it was Kingsley, not Judge Marshall. He was on a first-name basis with the DCI. Then Burke thought of the photos. "Like physical evidence?"
"Yes, of course. If you had something to offer."
It would be even better than Lori's plan. This man — Burke's curiosity about his identity was about to get the better of him — obviously could talk to Judge Marshall as an equal.
"I hired a photomapping outfit down here. We made aerial photographs of the island where the Jabberwock team was training. The prints give astonishing detail. I'm sure the CIA's people could ferret out a lot more information from it than I've been able to."
"Excellent! Do you have the photographs with you?"
"No, sir. I'll have to get them from the company that shot the pictures."
"When can you have them?"
"First thing in the morning." Burke smiled. He had found a man of action. He wondered why he hadn't thought of calling that number before. Cam had suggested using it if he needed help. Had he fallen prey to Walt Brackin's problem of failing to make an obvious diagnosis?
The voice softened with a slight chuckle. "Forgive me, Burke. I just realized that I don't even know where you're calling from."
"Sorry, sir. I'm at a motel in New Orleans. I'd give you the name, but I don't plan to stay here. I have reason to believe the people behind Jabberwock may be looking for me. I'll find another motel, but I haven't decided where yet."
"Let's do this. You get the photographs and bring them to the New Orleans airport in the morning. I'll send my private jet down there to pick you up."
"Will I get to meet you, sir?"
"Of course. That's the main reason for the jet. I could have the photographs delivered by other means. You see, Burke, I consider myself a patriotic American. That's why I've helped Cameron Quinn over the years, but I am first and foremost a businessman. And when businessmen deal with sizeable sums of money, they prefer to know who they're dealing with. I want to meet you and learn a little more about you. Then you can, so to speak, have the key to the lock box."
"That's certainly understandable, sir." Burke liked his way of conducting business. "Can you tell me where I'll be going?"
Another chuckle. "Let's just keep that and my identity a little secret until tomorrow morning. It's like with a sexual encounter, if you'll pardon the analogy. The anticipation may prove more exciting than the actual event."
Burke laughed. "If you say so, sir."
As he recalled waking up that morning beside Lori, he wasn't sure he could agree. He found one part of the plan, however, with which he definitely disagreed. Moisant Field didn't strike him as the best place to be meeting an airplane, even if it did involve use of a private hangar rather than the public terminal. Since he would have to go by Aerial Photomap anyway, it would save a lot of time for the private jet to meet him there.
"Could I make a suggestion, sir?"
"What's that?"
"Let the jet meet me at Lakeshore Airport, on the northeastern side of the city. That’s where the photomapping outfit is located. It would be more convenient for both of us."
As he started out in the battered Buick to look for another motel, his mood was jubilant. During the day he had tracked down an old police contact, who made a call to Texas and quickly supplied him with the name and address of the registered owner of the white truck, Lone Star Network of Dallas. Furthermore, he had little doubt that his anonymous benefactor could provide access to a governor's office, possibly even a state police commander. They could request issuance of a confidential bulletin to troopers from other states, seeking information on the present location of the Lone Star Network truck.
He found only one glitch in the plan. The timing would not allow him to call Lori at ten. He would have to call earlier and leave her a message. Fortunately, the message would bear good news.