He reached across to take her hands in his. "Jerry can tell me how to find the guy I need to see in Thailand. He should be able to clear up the whole thing. Then it'll just be a matter of confronting the guilty party with all the pressure we can bring to bear." He knew he was oversimplifying, but he mustered all the sincerity he could bring to bear when he said, "'I'll be back for Christmas. That's a promise."
Chapter 58
Nate Highsmith stuck his head in Burke's office around 3:30. "Kingsley Marshall wants to see us out at Langley. Bring your bags along. Somebody from the Agency will get you to the airport. We're to meet our contact in a garage around Dupont Circle in twenty minutes. I'll see you downstairs."
He was booked on an early evening flight and had already gone through a tearful farewell with Lori. He stuffed what he needed in his briefcase, grabbed the two hefty bags that sat beside the door and walked out to Evelyn's desk. His assistant carefully pushed an errant blonde lock back in place and gave him a puzzled look.
"It's a bit early yet, isn't it? You taking a slow boat to Dulles?"
Burke grinned. "Nate and I are due for a little command performance at Langley. If anyone asks, we're checking in with a client before he takes me to the airport."
"Got your Christmas shopping done?"
He frowned. "Are you kidding? I haven't had time to think about it."
"Then take my advice, Mr. Boss Man. Give it some thought and let me know what you want when you call in from Seoul. I'll see what I can do for you."
"Thanks. You're a lifesaver, Evelyn. What would I do without you?"
"That you don't need to think about. Have a safe trip."
He hurried out to the elevator and punched the button for the garage level. He found Nate waiting beside the sleek, blue Lincoln. Burke shoved his bags into the back seat, and they headed out into the afternoon traffic. It was a cold, clear day, and pink-cheeked Washingtonians were rapidly gearing up for the holidays. With Congress already adjourned and nobody looking over their shoulders, the higher-ups and lower-downs of the bureaucracy had begun an unconscious slowdown that would grind the wheels of government to a virtual halt by Christmas Eve.
Nate wheeled into the parking garage and circled down one level to a designated parking slot. Just as Burke was retreiving his bags from the back seat, a long black limousine pulled up behind Nate's car and stopped. The heavy rear door swung open and a familiar face smiled at them.
"Just stuff your bags in here, Mr. Hill," the trim, dark-haired young man told him.
Burke shoved his bags toward the front and climbed in after Nate. He recognized their host as one of General Palmer's assistants, a man with the height and the lithe moves of an NFL wide receiver. He had been introduced only as "George," which could have been one of several pseudonyms used by CIA officers.
The limousine with its tinted windows looked no different from the dozens of others that whisked government officials and VIPs around the capital. While George carried on a meaningless conversation with Nate, Burke watched in admiration as the driver, a tall, black man with large, powerful hands, skillfully maneuvered the stretched-out vehicle through the late-afternoon traffic. They sped about the area on several false tracks before heading across the Potomac and onto the parkway toward Langley. Burke caught George taking occasional glances through the rear window. Apparently he had detected no surveillance.
Normally, the CIA Headquarters was completely swallowed up by the forest of green that surrounded it. But with the leaves gone from the trees, Burke could make out the indistict lines of the building as they glided off the parkway. They stopped at the ten-foot-high fence for the guard to check their credentials, then drove back into the compound. Instead of using the main front, or "public," entrance, they entered through a doorway used by those who preferred a more anonymous approach.
George escorted them to the Director's seventh floor suite. When Kingsley Marshall welcomed them into his attractively furnished office, they found his two chief deputies, General Palmer, the DDO, and Jarvis Breedlove, the DDI, seated at a small conference table.
"I believe you all know each other," said the Director of Central Intelligence. "We don't have a lot of time if Burke's going to make his flight, so let's get on with it."
As he took his seat at the table, Burke glanced over at two framed color photographs on the wall. One showed a sleek, brown mink posed alertly beside a mountain stream. The other pictured a black bear standing on his hind legs, reaching high into a tree to claw at the bark, like a hunter blazing a trail. They were just two of thousands of frames he had shot during his five years as a nature photographer in the Smokies.
Breedlove took several prints out of a large envelope and handed them to Burke. "Here are the two people you're interested in. I thought the digitizers did a pretty fantastic job."
Burke spread them out, close-ups of the faces and full-length shots to show the relative size of the two young men. The one identified as Young Tiger Lee was much taller than his friend. He had a handsome face with just a hint of a smile. Ahn Wi-jong appeared in a bit of a quandary, evidently not too sure he wanted to be photographed that day.
"The photography people estimate the picture was made around 1940," Breedlove added.
"That squares with the information in Dr. Lee's book," Burke said. "I agree. These are fantastic. If I can't find Ahn Wi-jong in Thailand, maybe I can locate some oldtimers in Seoul who could identify our Young Tiger."
"Burke plans to fly to Chiangmai the first thing and look for Ahn," Nate Highsmith said.
"Do you know the territory?" Marshall asked.
"No," Burke said. "But Jerry Chan should be in shape to fill me in by the time I get to Seoul. He worked in Chiangmai with DEA a few years back."
"We have a couple of new pieces of information you should be aware of," said the Director, opening a folder in front of him. "First, our overhead imagery has finally confirmed the new missile. They literally took the wraps off of it, giving us a perfect profile." He passed copies of the satellite image to Burke and Nate. "It's too damned close to our cruise missile to be a coincidence. Undoubtedly those Korean-American engineers who migrated back had a big hand in it. Not to mention the computer thievery you uncovered, Burke."
Nate studied the missile closely. "Apparently they're about ready to give it a try."
"That's confirmed," said General Palmer. "The South Koreans put out the word today that they plan to fire a test missile January first. A little New Year's Day pyrotechnics."
Kingsley Marshall nodded. "The impact area will be in the Sea of Japan, about a hundred miles east of Ullung-do. That's a small island some hundred and sixty miles off the Korean coast. They made no mention of a warhead, or a nuclear test, however."
Burke frowned. "You don't suppose they'd test the missile and a nuclear warhead at the same time?"
"I don't discount anything," Marshall said. "I think we're dealing with a massive ego, someone very persuasive with those under him."
"I think you're right," said Nate. He looked around at Burke. "And I hope you can track him down in short order."