No one was in sight. But about twenty feet back, he saw an opening off to one side. He ran to it, ducked inside. Although it was almost dark, he could see enough to determine that it led back to a rear entrance to some kind of business. Carefully, he set his attaché case on the concrete surface, and moved up to the edge of the opening. He strained his senses to pick up the slightest sound in the alley. Then he heard footsteps, coming rapidly at first, than slowing to a cautious pace. The man was stepping gingerly, hoping to mask his movement, but Burke could detect the sporadic scuff of leather on concrete.
He breathed deeply and relaxed his muscles, staying fully alert.
There was another dark opening directly across the alley, and the sandy-colored head was turned that way as it came into view. Burke sprang like a tiger, whipping his arm around the man's neck, slipping one leg behind him and tugging with all his strength to throw him to the pavement.
The surprise was so complete that the pistol in the man's hand flew across into the darkness as he wound up on his back with Burke's knee on his chest.
"Who the hell are you?" Burke demanded.
The blow had nearly knocked the breath out of him, but the young man struggled to get out his name. "Clifford Walters… Special Agent… FBI."
Burke stared at the face in the semi-darkness. He thought he saw a once-familiar look in the line of the mouth, the shape of the nose. It was inconceivable.
"Cliff…?"
"Yes. I'm your son."
Chapter 53
His visitor hardly had time to reach the elevator before Dr. Vickers began to get the shakes. His euphoria at getting rid of the troubling Mr. Hill proved short-lived. Alarming questions began to batter his mind. How much did Hill really know? What lay behind his odd inquiries? Why had he asked about the graduates taking jobs in South Korea?
He noticed his hand trembling. He hadn't wanted to get involved with that computer business. He wasn't a spy. It was strictly out of his line and obviously fraught with danger. Handling the students and the graduates was one thing, dealing with hackers and breaking into government and industrial computer systems was quite another. It was damned illegal. He could go to jail.
Kim Vickers reached for his phone to call the Korean Consulate, then changed his mind. It would be better to go over there and talk to his contact. Maybe he could talk some sense into them, convince them that it was time to close down this operation. He had never dreamed about getting involved in anything like this when the Colonel had recruited him that day back in Inchon. God, that seemed like eons ago. Since then everything had appeared to be going his way. He had the best of educations. He had an excellent condo in a fantastic location. He had all the money he could want. Why did they have to do this to him now?
His heart had begun to race. He jumped up from his desk, grabbed his coat off the rack, rushed into the front office and told Che-sun he had an important errand to run. Since it was late, he wouldn't be back.
Clifford Walters had both hoped for and dreaded this moment ever since receiving the shock of his life a little more than a year ago, while browsing through a reddish-brown accordion file marked "Important Papers." The writing was in his mother's unmistakably neat hand. He could not recall ever having seen the pleated folder before and wondered how long she had used it. As a boy, he had showed relentless determination in probing every unseen hiding spot, particularly in the weeks before Christmas. He thought he had long since uncovered every hidden object in their former house. But this heavy cardboard file, tied with a large bow knot, had escaped him until that lamentable day when he had used his mother's checkbook to pay her funeral expenses, then began sorting through her records in search of any other outstanding bills.
Ever since he was old enough to understand, his mother had told him that his father was a man named John Walters, who had been killed in an automobile accident while Cliff was a young boy. His paternal grandparents were dead, she'd said, and there was no other family. She told him he had been born prematurely during a trip to Mexico and the birth had not been recorded. He had a delayed birth certificate that she had obtained when he started to school, using written statements from a couple who swore they were present at the time of his birth in a small Mexican town that possessed no hospital. It was certainly an odd beginning, though he'd never had any reason to doubt it.
But among documents in the "Important Papers" file he had found a birth certificate for "Clifford Hill," containing his birth date and listing the parents as Burke Hill and Margaret Walters Hill. The shock of the revelation stunned him. As the shock began to wear off, it was replaced by a growing sense of betrayal. Why had his mother done this to him? Who was Burke Hill and what had happened to him? And then a new possibility struck a disturbing blow. If he were not who he claimed to be, what might that do to his FBI career? And how had the Bureau failed to learn the truth about him during its exhaustive background investigation prior to his acceptance as an agent candidate?
While he was still agonizing over what to do, he received a summons to Washington from one of the assistant directors. It was a thoroughly unnerved young Special Agent Walters who made his appearance in the office of Assistant Director Elvin Rundleman. Had his mother's death triggered some revelation to the Bureau? He was prepared for the worst.
A stoutly built man with eyes that seemed to belittle whatever they took in, Rundleman flexed his broad shoulders like a peacock preening his feathers. His first words stunned Cliff.
"I have some information on your background you may not be aware of, Agent Walters."
The young agent's mouth was dry as a desert dune. He swallowed hard and said, "I think I know what you're talking about, sir. I just found out myself."
Rundleman frowned. "About your father?"
"Yes, sir. I found my original birth certificate in my mother's papers. She just recently died."
"I know," the Assistant Director said. "So you learned your real father's name, but did you learn anything about him?"
He shook his head. "No, sir."
"Then I'd better tell you."
Cliff Walters listened in fascination as the story unfolded.
In the wake of the Jabberwock affair, Rundleman had been given the task, following instructions from the President, of correcting former Special Agent Burke Hill's personnel file so that it reflected what had actually occurred back in the seventies. He had known Burke in his earlier days with the Bureau but wasn't really close. He was acquainted also with Burke's wife, Peg. He heard the later rumors about Burke going bad and was familiar with how Burke had been black-listed and ostracized. But he also possessed a little different insight into the case as a result of Clifford Walter's application for appointment as a special agent.
After learning that Cliff had sent in his application, his mother, in a panic, had contacted Rundleman, who she remembered from years before. She told Rundleman how she had changed her name and created a new identity for her son, and why. She told him of her last meeting with Burke, how she was convinced he was on an assignment directly under Hoover, one that posed serious risks for herself and Cliff. The boy had been an exemplary student, she explained, a son who had made her proud. She didn't want what she and Burke had done to reflect unfavorably on him now.
Rundleman had personally guided the background investigation to keep it clear of dangerous waters, assuring that young Walters would get his chance with the FBI. He had also done some quiet investigation that convinced him Peg had told the truth. Burke Hill had been wrongly accused. Since it appeared to be a long dead issue, he took no action, reasoning that it might stir an unnecessary tempest. But when the Director came back from the White House with an order to rehabilitate Burke's record, Rundleman volunteered for the job. He met with Burke, listened to his account and agreed with its accuracy. However, he didn't feel it his job to bring up the subject of Agent Clifford Walters. Then Rundleman learned about Peg's death and knew he had to straighten things out with Cliff to salve his own conscience.