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.
During the months since that interview, Cliff had wrestled with himself over what to do. He knew his father was involved in Worldwide Communications Consultants, living in the Washington area. He thought of writing him, or even calling, but always in the back of his mind was the question: why hadn't he come to me? In all those years, he had been totally unaware that his father was alive. But Burke Hill must have known where his son was. Yet he never contacted him. Had his mother made Hill promise never to approach him?
Cliff was dismayed when he learned about the intercepted phone call to Dr. Kim Vickers that morning. On hearing the name, he thought at first it must be some other Burke Hill. Then he listened to the tape, heard the caller identify himself and knew without doubt it was his father. Talking about computer hackers. It all sounded terribly incriminating, though he still held out the hope it would prove nothing more than a bizarre coincidence. But when Burke Hill had ducked into the darkened alley, the only thing he could conceive of was a clandestine meeting. He had entered cautiously, drawing his weapon. Now the roof had fallen in, almost literally.
Pulling back as though he had encountered a ghost, his face contorted in anguish, Burke could manage little more than a whisper. "Cliff? My Cliff?" He reached down to help the stunned young man into a sitting position. Oh, God, he thought, I've nearly killed my own son. "Are you all right?"
Cliff reached his hands around as if to test his back. "I think so. But I took a pretty nasty fall."
Burke searched around in the darkness and saw a glint of light from a metal surface. He reached down, picked up the gun by the barrel and handed it to his son. "Agent Clifford Walters," he said slowly, shaking his head. "Would you have used this on me?"
Cliff didn't hesitate. "No, sir. I don't think so. But I didn't know who you might be meeting in here."
"Meeting? You thought I was meeting someone? Why were you tailing me?"
Cliff ignored the question but shoved the pistol back into its holster and reached down to push himself shakily to his feet.
"I know you're not going to believe this," Burke said, "but I started trying to locate you back in October, just before I had to leave for Korea."
"You've been in Korea?"
"Yes. My company just opened an office in Seoul." He watched with a disturbed frown as his son brushed the dust from his coat. "Let me get my attaché case, and we'll go somewhere we can talk. Okay?"
Burke stepped into the darkened opening to retrieve the case.
"Where were you headed before you came in here?" Cliff asked.
"I started out looking for a cab. I was going to find a motel out near the airport. I'm leaving for Washington early in the morning."
"My car's in a garage a couple of blocks from here. I can take you out toward the airport." He reached down to rub where he felt a pain in his side.
"You sure you're all right, Cliff? Damn! I hate I did that to you."
Cliff started walking toward the street, "I'll probably be sore in the morning, but I don't think anything's broken. The way I came in here, I deserved what I got."
Burke realized his son was suffering more from humiliation than anything. Walking into an ambush by a white-headed old codger twice his age. He tried to soften the blow. "Situations like that are tough. The defender always has the upper hand. I've done worse things. It's a wonder I didn't break my own fool neck." He glanced over at Cliff as they stepped out onto the sidwalk. Back in the glow of the street lamps, he could see the handsome young man that his son had become. It gave him a distressing feeling of pride. Distressing because he sensed the uneasiness that gripped Cliff in his presence.
"I meant it, about trying to track you down recently," he said, hanging his head in remorse. "I called Sumter and finally learned from Mr. Cooley that Peg had moved to Jackson, Tennessee a few years ago."
"She died last year," Cliff said.
His voice had a chill to it that made Burke shudder. "I'm sorry to hear that. Really, Cliff. We parted friends, and even though I never talked to her again, I remembered her fondly over the years."
Cliff abruptly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Passersby gave only brief, curious glances, while the noisy early evening traffic rumbled disinterestly beyond the curb. San Franciscans tended to ignore unorthodox behavior.
"I know why you had her change our names," Cliff said, a catch in his voice. "And I can understand your lack of contact with mother, but in all those years, why did you never come to see me? Or write, or call? I never even knew you existed until she died." Tears were welling in his eyes.
Burke turned his head away, blinking rapidly. Then he looked his son in the eye. "I wanted to. Believe me, I wanted to. But I knew she had told you your father was dead. After a few years, I realized I'd waited so long that it became a big risk. A risk that you might reject me out of hand." He shook his head, feeling like the world's biggest heel. "I couldn't stand that."
Cliff suddenly threw his arms around Burke and buried his face against his father's shoulder, sobbing softly. Burke held him, blinking back the tears. He thought of Lori and Grandmother Szabo. Now he knew what had compelled her to press the search in Budapest. He knew that no matter how difficult it might be, you could go home again.
Chapter 54
As the crazy-quilt radiance of San Francisco at night flashed by with the transience of a child's sparkler, father and son became newly acquainted.
"After Mr. Rundleman told me about your involvement in saving the President's life in Toronto, I went back and read the newspaper stories and looked at the pictures of you and that lady in the Rose Garden," Cliff said with admiration.
"That lady is now Mrs. Lorelei Hill," Burke said with a grin. "And as of last Thursday, she's the mother of your half-brother and half-sister."
"Really, twins?"
"You'll have to come see 'em. I rushed back from Seoul just in time for their delivery."
Since leaving the garage, they had been talking about their own lives and about Peg, unconsciously skirting any mention of the day's as yet unexplained unfolding. But at Burke's mention of Seoul, Cliff looked around somberly.
"Why did you go to see Dr. Kim Vickers?" His tone signaled that the conversation had taken a serious turn.
"You came out of the bookstore," Burke said as if lost in thought. "How did you know I had been to see Dr. Vickers?"
"You called him this morning and said you would be there at four-thirty. I saw you get out of the taxi and take the elevator to the fifth floor."
"What did I say on the phone that connected me with whatever you're investigating?"
Cliff smiled. "If I told you that, I'd be revealing the essence of the investigation. You know I can't do that."
"Quite to the contrary, son. If you want me to help you, you'll have to give me a little more to go on." They were approaching a decent looking motel at the cutoff to the airport. "Why don't we try that one," he said, pointing.
The radio in Cliff's car suddenly crackled with his call sign.
"They're wondering what happened to you," Burke said, raising an eyebrow. "What will you tell them?"
"The truth," Cliff said. "I have the subject in custody."
"Not so. You made contact with the subject, who is cooperating. You should
complete your interrogation shortly. Fair enough?"
"All right," he said, a frown showing his reluctance. He reached for the microphone and repeated what Burke had told him. As he finished the call, he pulled into the motel parking area.
Burke checked in and they went up to his room, which appeared comfortable enough without any expensive frills. There were two double beds and a small round table with two chairs. Burke put his attaché case on the floor beside the table.
"Okay," he said, "where were we? Oh, yeah, you were about to tell me why you connected my phone call with an investigation of Vickers."
Cliff had heard his father was a determined man. He shrugged. "You talked about computer hackers."
Burke put an elbow on the table and leaned forward. "Did he hire a hacker to do something illegal?"
That wasn't difficult to deduce, Cliff thought. "Yes, he did."
"Would it have involved a defense contractor?"
Cliff's eyes narrowed. "Why did you ask that?"
"I'm sorry, Cliff. I wish I could, but I can't tell you."
"Why not? You realize with what you've told me so far, I should take you downtown for questioning. This is a very serious case."
"I'm sure it is. But I'm going to have to insist that you forget everything I've said." Burke's voice took on a new note of gravity.
Cliff stared. Surely he wasn't serious. But he certainly looked and sounded like it. "You want to get me fired? I can't do that."
"You could report that we talked and you concluded I knew nothing about the subject of your investigation. I was merely interested in learning about a book on hackers that Vickers was supposed to be writing."
Cliff shook his head. "I won't lie on a report, Dad. Not even for you." That use of the term "Dad" had a strange ring to it, but he thought he liked it.
Burke's frown softened. "I'm happy to hear you say that. Unfortunately, this is a bit more serious than you realize. I shouldn't even tell you this much, but under the circumstances, I guess it's necessary. I'm here on a mission for the President that must stay absolutely secret. But I don't expect you to take my word for it. Do you know who General Henry Thatcher is?"
"General Thatcher? The President's National Security Advisor?"
"Right." He picked up the telephone from the beside stand and stretched the cord over to the table. "I want you to call General Thatcher, tell him who you are and where you are, that you have Burke Hill in custody."
"Where would I find him?"
"Call the White House and ask the operator for extension 9999. It's an emergency number for the National Security Council. Then tell the person who answers to connect you with 'Canon.' That's the general's code name. They can reach him wherever he is."
Cliff followed the instructions and after a few minutes heard a gravelly voice answer, "Thatcher."
He said exactly what Burke had instructed.
"You've what?" General Thatcher's voice exploded like a bomb. "Let me speak to Burke Hill."
Burke took the phone. "This is Burke, General. How are you?"
Cliff listened as Burke held the phone to his ear, nodding, then said, "It isn't as bad as it sounds. I was carrying out the plan that we discussed Saturday when the FBI intercepted my call to Dr. Vickers. They have a tap on his phone. Agent Walters had me under surveillance when I left Vickers' office. I realized I was being followed and decided it was best to make contact with him before it went any further. He's a conscientious young fellow who won't compromise his professional ethics by lying about me."
Cliff was impressed. Then he heard his dad said, "They only know I talked with Vickers about computer hackers. It looks like the Bureau is onto him for the same thing."
After a few moments, Burke covered the mouthpiece. "He wants to talk to you."
Cliff took the phone. "This is Agent Walters."
"I assume you know who I am, Walters?" growled General Thatcher, sounding like a bear ready to start up a tree after his victim.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, Mr. Burke Hill is involved in a project for the President that is classified about as high as you can imagine. It concerns a grave matter of national security. Only a very small circle of people even know of its existence. You weren't intended to be one of them, but you've stumbled into it. The Director of the FBI isn't one, either, and right now we don't plan to expand the circle to include him. The President has given me full authority to do whatever is necessary to safeguard this operation. I hope you're going to tell me that I won't need to have the Director order you to disassociate Mr. Hill from whatever you're investigating."
The National Security Advisor paused for a reply, and Cliff Walters bit at his lower lip. He was greatly relieved to know that the father he had just discovered was not involved in any criminal activity. And he knew that it wouldn't enhance his career to defy the White House. But he still wasn't willing to file a misleading report without a direct order.
"Sir, I'm willing to report whatever you say, as long as I get it officially, in writing."
"Damn!" The word carried a note of disbelief. "On the battlefield, I'd probably have you shot. I might anyway, but the President wouldn't approve of it. All right. I'll have a letter marked Top Secret delivered to you by military courier. I'll expect you to keep it buried somewhere until I give you permission to exhume it, or should you have to produce it to get the Bureau off your ass. Meanwhile, you report whatever Burke Hill tells you to, then you forget you ever ran into him, and you never talked to me. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good night."
Cliff turned to Burke and grinned. "He told me to forget I ever ran into you."
Burke grimaced. "He can be a real bastard. I'll countermand that order. Next time I see him, I'll tell him you're my son. One last thing. What exactly did Dr. Vickers do?"
"We haven't wrapped up the case yet, but he apparently hired a hacker to break into the classified computer of a ballistic missile manufacturer and stole some plans."
"I was told you couldn't do that without knowing the codes and passwords."
"You were told correctly. And he did."
Seoul, South Korea
Chapter 55
Although Captain Yun hadn't joined in her conversion to Christianity, his wife thought he should have a proper sendoff into the next world. She asked her pastor to handle the funeral. It was blessedly brief. Se-jin and his fiancee, Han Mi-jung, resplendent in their dress blue uniforms, accompanied the solemn-faced widow. A police honor guard took part. Despite that gesture, Lieutenant Yun was unhappy that the director of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Bureau was not present to demonstrate the bureau's respect for his father's long and distinguished service. The reasoning behind the low-key approach had been explained to him, and he agreed nothing should be done that might stir harmful passions against the North at a time when unification appeared a genuine prospect. Nevertheless, it left him with a gnawing sense of resentment, a feeling that Captain Yun Yu-sop was being shunned almost as though he had died as the result of something acutely embarrassing, like a venereal disease.
The senior officer at the service was the head of the Special Security Group, Superintendent General Choi, Yun's old high school classmate. Afterward, he came over with the flag that had covered the coffin and presented it to the Captain's widow.
"Captain Yun's death was particularly saddening to me," said Choi, "since I was the one who arranged for him to make the trip to Pyongyang. He was a talented and dedicated officer. I probably had greater respect for him than any other officer in the bureau."
Se-jin's heart swelled with pride. "Thank you, sir. I know my father thought very highly of you. He once told me that you shared many of his concerns."
The Supterintendent General smiled. "Your father was not a man easy to get close to, Lieutenant. But we shared a few interesting discussions. We agreed on several sacred cows we thought should be put out to pasture, particularly the NSP. One thing I particularly admired about him, he never let poli
tical considerations sway his judgment regarding a criminal case." He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Se-jin. "Apparently your father intended to mail this to you. It was found with a newspaper he had left behind. I presume it was meant to be a memento. Most of the men who went up there sent letters home to get the Pyongyang postmark. One of my people found it and turned it over to Superintendent Pak, who was in charge of the police delegation. I don't know why he didn't go ahead and mail it to you."
"Thank you, sir," said Se-jin, stuffing the envelope into his pocket. Whatever its contents, it would be a valuable keepsake, his father's last words.
Another missing mourner whose absence he questioned was Prosecutor Park Sang-muk. Surely Park was aware of Captain Yun's death and the funeral. When they got back to his mother's house, he called the prosecutor's office. An assistant answered.
He identified himself and asked to speak with Prosecutor Park.
"I'm sorry," said the assistant, "but Prosecutor Park has been granted a leave of absence."
"Really? When did that happen?" Se-jin didn't recall his father mentioning anything of the sort being planned. They hadn't discussed the specifics of his cases, but the elder Yun had vented his displeasure over the prosecutor's often high-handed and bullying ways.
"Just last Friday," the man said. "I didn't know anything about it until I came in yesterday. They said he had a problem with nervous exhaustion. I can't vouch for that. If he'd gone somewhere for a weight cure, that I could understand."
Se-jin silently agreed as he hung up the phone. He had once met Prosecutor Park and was left somewhat aghast at his elephantine build. But aside from his weight, what could have caused his "nervous exhaustion," Se-jin wondered?
The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2) Page 36
