There was still no sign of the pair from Washington when Burke met Duane and Brittany in front of the Chosun, where the snow had been shoveled into levee-like piles. Lieutenant Yun had not returned his call either. There appeared to be no choice but to go with a lone backup. The heavily-traveled streets were mostly clear, with only occasional patches of slush to give drivers second-thoughts about the need for caution. Brittany let Duane take the wheel, though Burke had to call him down a time or two when the evasive maneuvers he took to shake off any would-be followers got a bit out of hand. Burke could see the company getting stuck with a big repair bill if they wound up wrapped around a light pole or skidding into someone cruising in the opposite direction.
Along the street where the Namyong Iron and Metal Company was located, the snow had been packed down to form a soft cushion that deadened the sound of the small car. Brittany had resumed her seat behind the steering wheel, and she drove slowly along the darkened street. Though Burke had been given landmarks to help find the location, she could read the name printed in hangul on the sign out front.
"There it is," she said in a hushed voice.
A few small lights dotted the scrap metal yard, giving just enough illumination for someone to find his way back to the rear of the building.
"Drive down to the end of the block and turn around," Burke said. "That'll give Duane a chance to slip out without being seen."
"Take your time walking around back," Duane said. "Give me a chance to work my way up there. I'll move in as quickly as I can, once I determine there's nobody else around. By the way, don't forget to switch on your recorder."
Burke carried a small, voice-actuated microcassette recorder in his coat pocket to tape the mystery man's revelations. He gave a thumbs-up signal, and Duane hopped out as Brittany slowly backed around. He slipped to his knees on the snowy surface, but quickly recovered. Brittany continued at a slow pace back up to the gate in the high fence, where she stopped for Burke to get out.
"Please be careful, Mr. Hill," she said.
He gave her a confident smile, a lot more confident than he felt. "Don't worry, Brittany. Just get the hell out of here and head home. Don't stop for anything or anybody."
Burke looked around the area to be sure he was alone, then opened the gate and stepped inside. The cold night seemed to seep through his coat and send a chill down his body. Reaching into his pocket, he pressed the switch that would turn on the small recorder.
The building stood in the darkness on his left. It was tall enough for a two-story structure, but without windows for an upper floor, he thought it more likely a high-ceilinged warehouse type. He watched Brittany's car disappear down the street, then looked around. The city's lights reflected off the cloudy sky, giving a ghostly iridescence to the white blanket that covered the ground. Dim pools of light formed by the small, dust-coated bulbs put a sparkling sheen on objects nearby. He saw a few pieces of heavy equipment, one a bulldozer, another a small crane. There were whitish piles of what appeared to be various types of scrap metal stacked about the yard.
With his hand gripping the small automatic in his coat pocket, Burke walked slowly alongside the frozen tire tracks that flanked the building.
He saw no lights inside until he had reached the rear, where he noticed a yellow glow that filtered through a barred window in the back door. He stopped and stood rigid, like a soldier at attention, for what was only seconds though it seemed ages. Only his head moved as he listened for any unusual sounds, straining to catch any kind of movement, any sight that resembled part of a human figure. He saw nothing and heard only the random sounds of night in a large city — a dog barking in the distance, the faint rumble of a train heading downtown, the metallic clank of a lid being slammed on a garbage can.
With the gun out of his pocket now, he moved toward the door. When he was almost there, he turned suddenly and dropped into a crouch, scanning the area again for unannounced company. He had an eerie feeling that he was not alone, but he could detect nothing tangible to support it.
Finally, he stepped up to the window and looked in. He saw a room with a few desks and chairs and a service counter. There was no one in sight.
He turned the doorknob and gave a gentle pull. The door came open. As he paused before entering, he heard a calm voice.
"Please come in, Mr. Hill."
Cautiously, Burke stepped inside.
After a moment, the voice continued. "I'm sorry I cannot be with you just yet." He recognized it as the man on the telephone. "I had some most pressing business to take care of first. However, I did not want you to waste your time, so I recorded this message to enlighten you until we can meet in person."
Burke looked around the room as he listened and saw the small tape player sitting on the counter. A wire had been run across from it and rigged so that opening the door would throw a switch, turning on the recorder. "Please have a seat and make yourself at home, Mr. Hill, while I give you a few facts regarding this poksu business."
Burke sat in one of the chairs as the voice droned on.
"Captain Yun was a very diligent investigator. He came to realize that the deaths of several prominent Koreans were related to their common interest in promoting close relationships between the Republic of Korea and the United States of America."
As the man talked on, Burke realized that so far it was all information he had heard before from Captain Yun. He felt like a captive audience of one and had the urge to check the door and make sure he hadn't become strictly a captive, period. As soon as Duane arrived, they would find a phone in here and call Brittany, then get the hell out of the place.
With no sidewalk, Duane kept close to the buildings that hugged the roadway as he watched Burke enter the gate to Namyong Iron and Metal Company. There was no way to hide against the background of the snow. He moved his head constantly, checking in all directions, but detected no one. Burke had disappeared behind the building by the time he reached the gate.
Drawing the Beretta he had acquired illegally, he slipped through the gate and started toward the rear of the structure. He moved with caution through the deeper snow to mask the sound of his steps. Once in back of the building, he checked the area again and noted no movement, no sign of anything threatening. As he approached the door where the light shone through, he heard a voice from inside, but he couldn't make out what was being said. It didn't sound like Burke.
As he glanced around, he noticed another door a little farther down the rear wall of the building. It was a solid door and it appeared to have been left slightly ajar. Inside was complete darkness. Damn, he thought, I should have brought a flashlight. There was no safe way to approach it, but with the voice coming from inside the building, he reasoned that the mystery caller was with Burke and any danger would likely come from that quarter.
He turned back toward the door with the barred window, listening intently to try and pick up what was being said. As a result, he failed to hear the slight movement in the darkened storage room. The muted plop of the first silenced shot registered in his brain about the same time the bullet struck him in the back. He felt a sharp pain that caused him to squeeze his eyes shut and grit his teeth. The second shot erased all feelings and he fell into the elongated strip of yellow light that came through the barred window.
Chapter 68
As Burke sat absorbed in the taped monologue, the door abruptly burst open behind him and a flat voice said, "Don't move, Mr. Hill, we have work to do."