"This is Lorelei Quinn," she said. "This wouldn't be Phillip Durand?"
"You got it, Lori. How's it going?"
Durand was a Californian, late thirties, drove a yellow Porche, loved tacos and hated tight collars and neckties. He had a house across the river in Maryland, Spanish style, the closest thing he could find to California. The best Lori could figure, his main goal in life seemed to be the quest to coax some innocent girl into his hot tub. She knew. She had declined more than one invitation.
"I was hoping to find Judge Marshall." The disappointment showed in her voice.
"And you got old Phil instead. What a comedown. The Judge is out of town. May be back tomorrow, may stay over another day. Could Hawk Elliott help? I know he's in his office."
"What about General Palmer?"
"Sorry. He's with Judge Marshall. I'm not at liberty to say where."
Lori debated a moment. Hawk Elliott was a poor third choice, but he was the only choice now, and possibly until Wednesday. She knew he would have access to Judge Marshall. With what had happened on Oyster Island Saturday morning and now the forcible detention of Burke today, she thought it was time the Agency put its considerable resources into the fray.
"Okay, Phil," she said, her mind made up, "put me through to Hawk."
After a short wait, the familiar voice came on the line. "Good evening, Lorelei," he said. The tone was not exactly warm, only less cool than normal. "Are you ready to cooperate with us?"
"I'm going to give you some information, Mr. Elliott, that I think the Agency should have and needs to act upon. But before I do, I want your solemn promise to communicate it to Judge Marshall as soon as possible."
"It's let's-make-a-deal time, is it? Is Burke Hill prepared to come forward and tell us what he knows?"
"With the right guarantees, yes."
"What guarantees?
"Judge Marshall's word that Burke will get safe passage into Langley, that he will be free to leave with no harrassment afterward."
"I can't speak for the Director on—"
"I don't want you speaking for him," she said. "I want to hear him say it personally."
Hawk's voice had resumed its usual coolness. "What could I tell Judge Marshall that would make him interested in such a deal?"
"This," she said firmly. And she launched into a brief description of the events on Oyster Island, the theft of the aerial photographs, the kidnapping of Burke Hill that morning.
"Well, well," said Elliott with obviously increased interest. "Your friend Hill has been quite busy. So he thinks Jabberwock is right under our noses. Was he able to identify any of the people involved?"
"Several. Two well-known businessmen named Blythe Ingram and Robert Jeffries. The intercepted telephone call from Singapore to Kansas City was actually forwarded to Jeffries in Hawaii. We've also identified one of the three Jabberwock team members, a former Army Special Forces officer named Gary Overmyer." The "we" reference had slipped in unintended, but she took pains to omit any mention of Walt Brackin's role in this. She didn't want Hawk Elliott, or anyone else in the Agency, getting onto his case.
"Where can we reach Hill?" Elliott asked. "I'm sure the Director will want him to undergo a thorough debriefing."
She wasn't about to divulge anything further without Judge Marshall's agreement to her terms. "I'll get in touch with Burke after I talk with the Judge."
"Very well. I'll speak to him and get back to you first thing in the morning." He sounded resigned, rather than pleased, about the entire arrangement.
Chapter 43
Some days seemed made to order for significant events. This was one. A vast expanse of blue sky greeted Lori when she looked out from her bedroom. She raised the window and felt a fresh, gentle breeze that sent a pleasant shiver rippling down her arms. A front had moved through during the night, pulling cooler, dryer air in its wake. On the roof above, a pair of redbirds welcomed the morning with a colorful serenade. Lori felt relieved now that she had unburdened her conscience. She remained a loyal supporter of the CIA. Though she had readily agreed with the reasons for remaining silent, it had gone against her natural instincts, which prodded her to alert the Agency to the ominous circumstances surrounding Jabberwock, the case that had cost her father his life.
She had just finished breakfast and was loading the dishes into the dishwasher when the phone rang. She picked up the kitchen extension. It was Hawk Elliott.
"I've talked with the Director. He was quite impressed with the information you supplied. So much so that he's on his way back right now. He'll fly into Dulles and take a helicopter over. I'm to send a car for you. They should pick you up shortly and get you here by the time Judge Marshall arrives."
Lori smiled. Now we're getting somewhere. "Thank you, Mr. Elliott. I'll be ready."
Burke was waiting at the newspaper office when the librarian arrived. She was a matronly woman with gold-framed glasses tilted up and anchored in her bouffant gray hair. She sat him down at a microfilm reader, brought over boxes of film and made certain he knew how to operate the machine.
Based on the earliest date in the file, Gary Overmyer had apparently lived in Memphis the past five years. The clippings told of his participation in Vietnam veterans' functions, the publication of a Vietnam war story in paperback, an arrest for brawling in a local bar. His opponent had wound up in a hospital in serious condition. The charge was ultimately dismissed by a judge sympathetic to the plight of Vietnam's forgotten heroes.
There was a lengthy feature article that detailed some of Overmyer's exploits as leader of a Mike (Mobile Strike) Force. He had won two Silver Stars for these operations. Then came the most interesting item, dated about a year-and-a-half ago, which told of his raging assault upon the Kremlin following the death of cellist Natasha Alexandrovna Grinev. He had made threats against Nikolai Petrovsky while being deported to the U.S. He told reporters that both Petrovsky and President Giles were responsible for the musician's death. The story confirmed Walt's rumors about a period of confinement in a psychiatric hospital around the time of his separation from military service.
Burke returned the microfilm and thanked the librarian.
"You're quite welcome," she said. "I hope you found what you were looking for."
He smiled. "I did indeed."
He had a much clearer picture of ex-Captain Gary Overmyer as a crack guerrilla fighter, a man with a history of mental problems, a man with a burning hated for Presidents Giles and Petrovsky. Then he remembered that the two leaders would be in Toronto on Saturday and in Washington for the summit on Sunday. Could Jabberwock be related in any way to these events? Surely not. It sounded a bit too bizarre. On the other hand, what could be more bizarre than that group of plotters on Oyster Island, or his kidnapping at the behest of a wealthy, respected businessman? He recalled with chilling clarity the polite but firm voice on the telephone. "I consider myself a patriotic American, but I am first and foremost a businessman."
He finally dismissed the idea. Without more evidence, he was not prepared to believe the unbelievable. He thought of Lori's plan to contact Judge Kingsley Marshall. The CIA certainly had the resources to track down the answers. Of course, if it were a domestic operation, technically, at least, they would be required to bring in the FBI. He had heard that cooperation between the two organizations was much improved, but because of Jabberwock's origins overseas, the Agency might still try to protect its turf as long as possible.
He took a cab to the airport and booked a flight to New Orleans. While killing time during the wait for the boarding call, he dialed the office of Dr. Walter Brackin.
"Burke," said Walt, happy for a break in the day's routine, "did you find anything on Overmyer?"