"I've confirmed part of it independently."
"Damn," said Bender. "He really did stumble into a rat's nest."
Burke picked up a cup of coffee from the tray Lori had set on the table beside him. It also contained a large brownie. "It's worse than you know," he said. "This Major Romashchuk set him up for a murder charge in Guadalajara. I got him and Shumakov out of Mexico, but I need to provide them new identities until I can sort this thing out. I hoped you would know a source for some documents."
Bender chuckled. "That I can help you with. He's called the 'Weasel' and he's damned good."
It was shortly after daybreak when Burke parked in front of the modest frame house on the north side of Washington. Although the houses here were not particularly impressive, the four-wheel toys were. Cars along the street ranged from expensive Japanese models to small, curvacious American and European makes. Burke blinked wearily, aware that the bags under his eyes must resemble steamer trunks. He couldn't help it. For two nights in a row he had managed to find little opportunity for sleep. After making contact with the "Weasel," he had taken one of his cameras over to the motel and made head shots of Roddy and Yuri. He had delivered the film to the forger, who had his own darkroom setup.
He walked up to the door and pressed the lighted button. He could hear the faint sound of a chime inside. A few moments later, the door opened to reveal a short, thin man with a hooked nose, a green eyeshade pushed back on his forehead. He looked like a character out of Hecht and MacArthur's The Front Page.
The man called "Weasel" gave Burke a wary eye, looked around to make sure no one was following him, then said, "Come on in."
He locked the door, then led the way back to his workshop in a room at the rear of the house. Two new Virginia driver's licenses, two social security cards and a resident alien "green card" lay on a table.
"How's it look?"
Burke bent over and examined the documents. They looked perfect. "Fine," he said, pulling a large stack of bills from his pocket. "This should take care of it."
The "Weasel" counted out the money. Then he stuffed the material into an envelope and handed it over. "A pleasure doing business with you."
53
The lobby of the building on Sixteenth Street was deserted when Hill entered. In contrast to the normal wait, he had an elevator at the press of a button and zoomed right up to what was known at Worldwide Communications Consultants as the "executive floor." Evelyn's desk appeared as pristine as a furniture display as he headed past it to drop off his briefcase. Then he walked down the silent corridor to Nate Highsmith's suite.
Highsmith was a man who slept sparingly and started his day like a farmer, at the crow of the rooster. He arrived early and took care of routine tasks before the normal business day began. It provided Burke an opportunity to catch him in a leisurely mood and discuss the results of the wiretap investigation.
Toni Carlucci, a petite size eight with slightly graying hair and a broad, friendly smile, looked up in surprise when Burke strolled in. "Are you troubled with insomnia, Mr. Hill? I haven't seen you at this time of the morning in ages."
He didn't doubt that he could pass for an insomniac with those red-rimmed eyes. But he smiled back and said casually, "It wasn't a very good night for sleeping anyway, Toni." She had been Nate's secretary for more than twenty-five years. In a business that frequently resembled a pressure cooker, she never seemed ruffled.
"Would you like some coffee?"
"I'd love it. Would Nate mind if I disturbed his morning routine?"
"Let me see." She picked up the phone, punched the intercom button and said in a droll voice, "There's a Mr. Burke Hill out here to see you." After a pause, she put the phone down and nodded. "You can go on in. I'll bring your coffee."
Nate was leaning back in his chair reading overnight reports from the various overseas offices. Burke reflected that whatever time of day, whatever the circumstances, Nathaniel Highsmith always appeared the impeccably groomed executive. Suit, shirt, tie, handkerchief, everything perfectly matched and coordinated. It was hard to realize that he had been born into an ordinary middle class family. He seemed perfectly at ease with and perfectly suited to his wealth. It was almost as if financial success had been his inevitable fate.
"Anything interesting going on around the world?" Burke inquired.
"There's always something interesting going on," Nate said quite seriously. "The only question is just who would be interested in it?"
"That's a bit too philosophical for me. I have some news of interest, though. The guy in the waiter's outfit who used the phone at our house was a gate crasher."
"Really? How did you find out?"
Burke told him about Lori's conversation with the woman called "Dolly."
"She had no idea who he was?"
"None. I'll talk to our security people and have them get a description from her. Lori's assistant can help, also. She spoke to him."
Toni knocked softly, then came in with Burke's coffee and a refill for Highsmith.
"I think I had better go ahead and inform Kingsley Marshall," Nate said. "You're sure nothing could have been compromised?"
"Positive. But I damned sure want to know who's been listening in on my conversations."
"So do I. Keep me posted. I have to run up to New York this morning for a meeting with Bernard Whitehurst."
Burke's eyebrows immediately shot up in surprise, but he tried to mask his reaction with a flippant comment. "The big man himself?"
"The chairman of the Roundtable," Nate said, nodding. "He sounded quite concerned about something. I'll be back this afternoon."
Concerned about the renegade operation involving Adam Stern, Burke wondered? He wanted badly to believe that Nate had nothing to do with it, not even any knowledge of it. But he would reserve judgement until he could nail down a few more facts.
After his chat with Nate Highsmith, Burke returned to his office and began reading a newspaper article about preparations for the Commonwealth of Independent States' summit meeting on July fifth. His reading was interrupted by a call from Jerry Chan, the Chinese-American manager of Worldwide's Seoul office. He and Jerry had gone over together two years earlier to open the Korean office and launch Operation Hangover, the investigation into the Poksu conspiracy. Jerry reported to Burke on the clandestine side of the business, but besides that, they had become close friends. Burke and Lori had attended Jerry's wedding in Seoul a few months after the Poksu matter had been laid to rest.
"Say," Jerry said in a concerned voice, "I got word by the grapevine that little Liz and Cam were pretty sick. What's the story?"
The time difference made communications difficult between Seoul and Washington. When it was morning over there, it was night in Washington. Now Jerry was calling from home in the evening in order to get Burke at the office this morning.
Burke decided to play it straight with his friend. "Don't tell Nate, but I only dreamed that up to justify diverting the jet to Mexico. I didn't want to explain my real reason for coming back in such a hurry."
"Should I ask the real reason?"
"If I were you, I wouldn't."
"Okay. You're the boss. But the kids are really fine?"
"As lively as ever. If not moreso."