Beware the Jabberwock (Post Cold War Thrillers)

by Chester D. Campbell

  You can draw as much money from the account now as you think you'll need. The remainder can be transferred back to the States as necessary. Mr. Luk will handle it for you.

  One last request. You know how much Lori means to me. She would be proud of the way I have counted my calories over here and avoided that first drop of Scotch. She is quite capable of looking out for herself, but I would feel much better knowing you were around to look in on her occasionally. She was quite impressed with you the other night. I know you won't disappoint me.

  P.S. I'm sure I don't need to say this, but you should destroy this letter after you have read it and made note of the phone number.

  It was signed "Cam."

  Burke sat for a long moment staring at the letter, letting its impact sink in. It was almost as if Cam had had a premonition of what was to come. The secret bank account was a startling development. His first inclination was to say to hell with it, he didn't want to get involved with any power brokering insider. He would take care of his own expenses. But when he thought of the amount of money he had spent the past few days in air fares and hotel bills alone, he began to re-evaluate his position. He had invested a sizeable amount of cash recently on photographic equipment, including a high tech color lab he had set up in his house, leaving him with only a small reserve. There was no way to guess what he might need to pursue this investigation, but it could easily make a large dent in that $100,000.

  He realized that he was no longer giving any consideration to dropping the case. And as he looked back at Quinn's letter, he knew why. Everything now pointed to Jabberwock as the reason for Cam's death. The investigation was no longer simply an academic exercise, a matter of finding dots for the "i"s and crosses for the "t"s. Though the enemy still lacked a face, it had taken on a definite personality, that of a killer. Someone had given the order, and someone had carried it out. Or so it seemed. He had to admit it was primarily conjecture at this point, the evidence circumstantial. But there was one obvious avenue to explore that might provide the conclusive missing link.

  He went to the door of Mr. Luk's office and asked if he could use a phone.

  "Certainly. There is a telephone next to the back wall in the conference room. Do you need a directory?"

  "Yes, please," Burke said. He took the directory back into the conference room and looked up the number of the Causeway Bay Business Centre.

  "Is this Miss Amy Lee?" he inquired when a girl answered.

  "No, this is Winnie Chu. Miss Lee is not here today."

  "Do you know where I might reach her?"

  The girl hesitated a moment. "Is there something I can help you with?"

  Burke didn't like the sound of it. He thought he detected an odd quality in her voice. "I really need to talk with Miss Lee. It's rather urgent."

  "I'm afraid I don't know where she is," the girl said with a quiver in her voice. He was certain of the sound now. It bore the unmistakable mark of fear. "She hasn't been here for the past two days. There's no answer at her apartment. It's not at all like her. We're terribly concerned. Are you a friend?"

  "Not really, but a business colleague of mine was to talk with her Monday afternoon. I wanted to ask her about it."

  "Maybe he was the gentleman who was to come by her place that evening. I worked for her Monday afternoon because she had to attend a meeting. Could you talk to him and ask if she was all right that night?"

  He didn't want to alarm her further with the full, shocking truth, so he told her only part of it. "He isn’t where I can reach him now. By the way, where is Miss Lee's apartment located?"

  "She lives at Shau Kei Wan, at the eastern end of the island."

  Shau Kei Wan. Sam Allen had said the accident occurred near Shau Kei Wan. Quinn had to have been either on his way to see Amy Lee or just leaving there. The next question was crucial.

  "Miss Chu, do you recall if anyone else inquired about Miss Lee's whereabouts Monday afternoon?"

  "I don't remem...wait. Of course. Your friend's name was Charles, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, Logan Charles."

  "A gentleman called and asked if Mr. Charles had been here. I told him he was to see Miss Lee that evening. I remember it because he had to repeat the question several times. He had an accent so strong that I found it quite difficult to understand him."

  "Do you have any idea what kind of accent it was?"

  "No. I'm no good at that. It wasn't anything I'd heard around here, though. Could it have had anything to do with Amy's disappearance?"

  "Not likely," Burke said, hoping to close the book on Logan Charles. "Thank you for your help, Miss Chu. I hope she turns up soon."

  But he knew if Miss Lee turned up soon, it would probably be in one of the numerous bays that dotted Hong Kong's winding shoreline. Now he felt certain the Bulgarians had ambushed Quinn, poured whiskey in his car and run it off the road. How they had managed the high alcohol level in his blood was another matter. There had to be a reasonable explanation, but for the moment it completely eluded him. They must have gone back to Amy Lee's to cover their tracks and silence the only other voice who could identify Emerson Dinwiddie.

  He walked back to Mr. Luk's office to return the phone book.

  "Mr. Quinn thought you might want to take some of the money with you now." The banker gave him a passive look.

  "Yes," Burke said without hesitation. "I'd like to draw out twenty thousand dollars."

  "U.S. or Hong Kong?"

  "U.S. Five thousand in cash, the rest in a cashier's check."

  Mr. Luk nodded. "I believe your currency regulations require banks to file a report with the government on any transactions of that size. Would it be more convenient for me to give you three cashier's checks for five thousand each?"

  Burke smiled. Mr. Luk knew his business. "That would be fine, thank you. Will there be any problem taking the money out of Hong Kong?"

  "Oh, no. Hong Kong has no restrictions on currency, bringing it in, or taking it out."

  It was eleven-thirty when he left the bank. He was to meet Lori for lunch at the swank Hong Kong Hilton at noon. The hotel was only a few blocks away. He had put Quinn's letter in a large manila envelope from the bank. In addition to the letter, it bulged with hundred-dollar bills and cashier's checks. He rarely carried much cash, being a firm believer in the convenience and expense-tracking ability of credit cards. It left him feeling like a Brink's courier without benefit of a sidearm or an armored vehicle. He stuck the envelope inside his shirt, sliding one end beneath his belt. He stopped at the first shop he came to that sold attaché cases, choosing a thin, compact model, to which he quickly transferred the envelope.

  He found Lori waiting in the noisy lobby of the Hilton. Despite the grief mirrored in her solemn face, she stood out like a swan amidst a flock of geese. That was the comparison that struck him as he saw the swan design sewn into the top of her simple pink dress. She had sought to cheer herself by buying a new outfit, and he acknowledged that on her it appeared positively regal. He watched as passing men cut their eyes in her direction. Self-consciously, he wondered if he might not have the look of a high school swain about to pick up his date for the prom.

  She spotted the attaché case. "You must have done lots of banking."

  He had known he would have to tell her about the letter. It provided answers to too many of her questions. But should he give her the whole story? "It's a bit complicated," he said with a soft smile, "but I'll try to explain."

  "Then do it over lunch. I don’t feel much like eating, but I’ll try a salad." It was clear that his appearance had begun to relax her. A friendly face, a sympathetic ear could work wonders. Getting past the ordeal at the consulate also seemed to have removed a heavy weight from her shoulders. "Nothing dampened Dad’s appetite, but this has been a little too much for me."

  "He was counting his calories over here."

  She glanced up, frowning. "How would you know that?"

  It had slipped out without consideration of the co
nsequences. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He wasn't really prepared to go into the whole thing now. “Let’s get a table and order, then I’ll give you all the details.”

  After they were seated, checked the menu and ordered, Lori folded her hands on the table and stared at him.

  "Cam wrote me a letter," Burke said.

  "A letter? Why? Who gave it to you?" Her voice had begun to rise and people at the next table looked around.

  "Cool it, Lori. This isn't the place to go into it. Suffice it to say he left it for me at the bank."

  "You knew he would, didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?"

  Now he was on the defensive. "When we left your house the other night, he told me what to do if anything happened to him. I joked about it. I thought he was being overly dramatic. But he was dead serious, and told me so in no uncertain terms."

  She leaned over the table, elbows propped up, chin resting on her hands, probing him with a chilly stare. "What did the letter say? Was it about the case you were working on?"

  "Primarily, yes. He told me what had happened here, what he had found out, what he planned to do. He knew I wouldn't be reading the letter unless something had happened to him, so he told me what he thought I should do now."

  "He wanted you to continue with the case?"

  "Yes. And I plan to." His voice mirrored his determination as he added, "I found out something else, Lori. I'm damned near certain Cam was murdered."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  He told her about the phone call to Winnie Chu that told him of Cam’s intention to visit Amy Lee. He added that Miss Chu had told a foreign-sounding caller of Cam’s plan to be at the missing girl’s apartment that evening.

  Lori’s face lost some of its color as her brows knitted and she stared down at her hands. “Was it the men who had been following him?”

  “The Bulgarians. I think so.”

  As their food was set on the table, he spoke softly. “Let's eat our lunch and head back to the Pearl. I'll tell you everything when we get there."

  She only picked at her salad while he finished his sandwich. Then they caught a cab in front of the Hilton and zoomed through the cross-harbor tunnel back to Kowloon. At first Lori maintained a brooding silence, but he finally coaxed her out of it by asking what she had accomplished at the consulate. She said Cam's body would be flown back to Washington the next morning. They could take the same flight.

  "I talked with Kingsley Marshall," she added. "He was very concerned. He asked about my preferences for the funeral. Going back across the dateline, we'll get there on Friday, so it could be scheduled for Saturday. Otherwise, of course, we would have to wait until Monday."

  That was cutting it pretty close, Burke thought. "Will you have time to make the arrangements?"

  "Judge Marshall was very sweet about it. He offered to make the arrangements for me."

  He probably wanted to keep it as low-key as possible, Burke figured. But he gave the DCI the benefit of the doubt. "That was decent of him," he said.

  "He's really a very nice man. Not at all like some of his division chiefs."

  Winnie Chu was eating dim sum in the small kitchenette at the Causeway Bay Executive Centre when the phone interrupted her lunch. Maybe it was one of Amy's friends she had left word for.

  "This is Mr. Allen from the U.S. Consulate General," an urgent voice said. "We're trying to locate an American businessman named Burke Hill. Has he been over there today?"

  She thought for a moment, then replied, "No, sir. I don't recall that name."

  "He might have been inquiring about a business partner, a Mr. Logan Charles. If he—"

  "Oh, you're talking about the gentleman who called. He didn't give me his name, but he said he was a business colleague of Mr. Charles. I don't know where he was calling from though."

  "Oh. Thanks anyway. Good-bye."

  It was nearly one-thirty when they got back to Lori's room. That intriguing look that had first attracted him to her remained evident even in the face of obvious agitation. It showed in the delicate turn of her cheek, the questioning tilt of her face. With all she had been through in the past forty-eight hours, he wished that he could hold her, comfort her, somehow make things right for her. But, clearly, that was not in the cards now. It was confrontation time. She fixed him with a stare that seemed part disappointment, part irritation. "All right. Tell me everything."

  Burke nodded. "I'm sure our old buddy Hawk Elliott would say you don't have a need to know. But you damned sure have the right to know."

  He started from the beginning with the Jabberwock story, the telephone intercepts, the ambush on Cyprus, the meeting in Marshall's office that had ended in his recruitment. He told her about his discovery in Tel Aviv, how he was followed, and his call to Cam Sunday night.

  At that point he opened the attaché case to retrieve Cam's letter. As he did, the stack of hundred-dollar bills fell out.

  Lori's eyes bulged. "Did you rob the bank?"

  "You'll understand when you read the letter." He handed it to her.

  They sat in silence as she read. He saw her eyes become a bit misty as she reached the final paragraph. Her lids fluttered as she looked up.

  "And you think it was the Bulgarians who killed him." It was a little girl voice. Reading her father's words had completely defused her aggravation. In her mind, no doubt, she could hear him speaking.

  "Yes. Cam could have lost them if they had followed him. But they knew exactly where he'd be. They must have ambushed him when he left her apartment. Then they doubled back after her. She hasn't been heard of since Monday afternoon."

  "That poor girl." She slowly shook her head. "I was certain he wasn't drunk. How did they manage the blood alcohol?"

  Something that had been nagging at him suddenly came into focus. "That boy, the lab technician," he said, recalling the sight of a cowering youth. "He was awfully nervous. He wouldn't look us in the eye. What if he was threatened, or maybe his family? He could have made out a false report and then spilled the blood sample to cover up. I think I'll go have a chat with that young gentleman."

  "If all this is true, he may be the next one to disappear."

  Burke considered the possibility. But since they had done nothing to the boy up to this point, he suspected another alternative. "They probably put the fear of God in him. I don't imagine he'll talk very willingly."

  The phone interrupted them. She crossed to the bedside table and answered it.

  "This is Sam Allen, Miss Quinn. Do you know where Hill is?" There was an urgency in his voice.

  "Yes, he's right here. Just a moment."

  "Just tell him to stay put," Allen said. "I want to drop by and have a chat with him."

  She hung up the phone with a quizzical frown. "That was Sam Allen. He's coming over here to talk with you. What could he want?"

  Burke shook his head. "Beats the hell out of me. I can't imagine it's anything good."

  "What was it he said over there this morning?" she thought aloud. "Something about Hawk Elliott being very interested to learn that you were over here. He wondered if you were continuing to pursue the case that you and Dad were working on."

  "What did you tell him?"

  "The truth. At the time, I had no idea if you would or wouldn't. He asked why you didn't come with me this morning."

  "And?"

  "I said you had some business at the bank."

  "I guess he wanted to know what kind of business I would have at a bank in Hong Kong." Burke was obviously agitated.

  "I don't know if he did or didn't. He dropped the subject. But you said at the Hilton that you planned to pursue it." Her normally soft eyes had suddenly hardened like diamond chips. "If you're going after those men who murdered my Dad, Burke, I'll do anything I can to help you."

  Her phone rang again. This time it was Sydney Pinkleton.

  "Lorelei, my dear," he began, "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I felt an obligation to warn you."
r />   "Warn me about what, Uncle Sydney?"

  "I hope you aren't involved too closely with that Mr. Burke Hill. I know he was a friend of your father's, but it would be a good idea to distance yourself from him."

  "What are you talking about?" she asked, obviously miffed at the suggestion.

  "I don't want to overly alarm you, dear, but staying in his company could very well cause you a bit of a problem."

  "That's ridiculous. Burke has been very helpful to me. He's been right here when I needed him, somebody I could lean on."

  "I know. It's certainly unfortunate for you, but it appears the CIA has placed him on its most wanted list."

  "Most wanted?"

  "Figuratively speaking. We've just received a Black Cloud Alert from Langley. Somebody is working rather late over there. It's early morning, you know."

  She looked across at Burke and frowned. "Hold it, Uncle Sydney. That's a new one on me. What, pray tell, is a Black Cloud Alert?"

  "The 'Black Cloud' is a colloquialism, of course. It means the subject, Mr. Hill, has been declared anathema to them. As a cooperating service, we were asked to report any sighting immediately, delay him if possible. They could merely want to maintain surveillance to make certain he doesn't interfere in any operations. As a worst case, they could pass his name on to a quote, friend, unquote, with the means to finance a free-lance assassin."

  Lori's eyes gaped in horror. Her heart had begun to pound almost visibly. "But that's forbidden by presidential order."

  "Oh, yes, of course. Forbidden for the Agency. But who can control what friends do on their own? It's a rarity, I understand. But some overzealous division chiefs are rumored to be using that subterfuge."

  "I have to go, Uncle Sydney," she said, her voice strained. "Thank you for calling."

  Burke stared at her in alarm. "What was that all about?"