The Poksu Conspiracy (Post Cold War Political Thriller Book 2) Page 8

  "It's true. The hospital part. And it won't be an illness that does it this time. It'll be a couple of little babies."

  "That's why you should be especially careful about yourself now, for the sake of those little ones."

  "Look, I want these kids every bit as much as you do," she said. Then she hedged. "I'll think about it. It's awfully hard to let go of something you've worked this long and hard to build. Even for just a few weeks."

  "I understand. Remember, I spent five years in the Smokies getting established as a nature photographer. Now you know how I felt giving it all up to go to Washington."

  There was a momentary pause. The reason he had gone to Washington was to marry her. "Are you telling me you're sorry?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. I'm telling you if I did that for you, you can do this for the twins."

  Her voice mellowed. She had a disarming way of shifting gears when the truth began to crowd her. "You can be a terribly persuasive fellow, Mr. Hill. By the way, our friendly neighbors stopped by a little while ago."

  "Will and Maggie?"

  "Who else? He left you a piece of paper, said it had the name and address of somebody he told you about the other day. Something to do with 'hackers.'"

  "Will thought I might like to read a book the guy's writing. I'm really not all that interested. Just stick it in the 'to do' pigeonhole on my desk and I'll look at it when I get back." He had an old rolltop desk in the den that he used to keep things he worked on at home.

  "I know how you operate," she said. "You give something a glance and toss it on that desk. Then, when the dust gets thick enough, you'll pick it up again, give it another glance and can it."

  Burke chuckled. "Never know when you're going to need something like that. It's usually the day after you throw it away. Just remember what I said about Marilee. And take it easy. I love you."

  "I love you, too. And say hello to that blonde you're taking out to dinner."

  He was still grinning when he headed out to the elevator. That was some lady he was married to. Then, thinking back, he realized she had never really agreed to bring Marilee in when he took off for Seoul.

  It was a rather plain office in an older building on Sacramento Street. The room off the hallway housed a combination receptionist and secretary, a row of dull brown four-drawer filing cabinets, a few wicker chairs and a low, glass-topped table filled with magazines. He noted only two redeeming features. One was the art on the walls, a striking panel of Oriental calligraphy and bamboo branches, and a magnificent painting of a fierce-looking tiger. The other was the receptionist, a bright-faced Korean girl with sparkling dark eyes and full, sensitive lips.

  "May I help you, sir?" she asked.

  "I'm Burke Hill. I have an appointment with Dr. Vickers."

  "Oh, yes. Let me tell him you're here." She stuck her head in the door beyond the filing cabinets and said something, then turned back to Burke. "Please come in. He'll see you now."

  The office was similar to the one out front. The desk was not overly large, made of dark, polished wood, with a brass nameplate that said "Kim Vickers, PhD." Behind it to one side was a small table holding a personal computer and keyboard. The most striking feature was a low, six-panel screen embroidered with flowers and butterflies. Flanking the nameplate on the desk was a display of small Korean and American flags.

  Vickers came out from behind the desk with hand outstretched and greeted Burke with enthusiasm. "Very happy to meet you, Mr. Hill. I hope you had a pleasant flight. I've always found the trip between the coasts awfully boring unless you have a good book to read."

  "Nice meeting you, Dr. Vickers." Burke absorbed the vigorous pumping of his hand and quickly sized up the short man with the Oriental features and tousled brown hair. The name and look marked him unmistakably as part Korean, part American. He was dressed neatly in various shades of blue, slacks, shirt and tie. The expansive smile, along with the animated greeting, left Burke with the impression that he had just met the ideal Oriental game show host. "I recently returned from two weeks' vacation, so the flight out gave me a chance to catch up on some business reading."

  "Please have a seat," Vickers said, motioning to a chair. "Would you like some coffee?"

  "Yes, I believe I would. Just black, please."

  "Che-sun," Vickers called to the girl out front, "would you please bring us some coffee." Then he sat behind his desk and brought his palms together in a prayer-like tent. "I was most happy to hear of your interest in the Korean-American Education Foundation. I believe you said you knew Mr. Wentworth. He has been a real help to us."

  "Actually, he's a friend of the president of our agency. We're gearing up to represent a new association of American companies doing business in Korea. There's a good possibility the organization will want to contribute to your foundation."

  Vickers' smile turned up a notch. "Excellent."

  "What I'm here for is to gather some information so we can make an informed decision."

  "As well you should. I'll be happy to do what I can." He rummaged around in a desk drawer and brought out an attractive folder printed in full color. "Here's a brochure that should answer most of your questions." Che-sun came in with the coffee on a lacquered wooden tray inlaid with mother-of-pearl. She handed Burke a cup and a paper plate containing what looked like small cookies in the shape of dough pockets.

  "These are ttok," she said. "It's a Korean delicacy made of rice flour and filled with nuts and honey."

  Burke took a bite and nodded his approval. "Delicious. Thanks a lot." He turned back to Dr. Vickers. "I'll save the brochure for later. If you don't mind, just give me a very basic view of what the foundation does."

  Vickers pulled off his glasses and swung them slowly in his left hand, apparently gathering his thoughts. "Basically, we provide scholarships, for both undergraduate and graduate study, mostly for students who are, like myself, children of American fathers and Korean mothers. However, over the years, as more resources became available, we have expanded into providing some funds for youths who are full Koreans but desire to study in the United States."

  "How long has the foundation been in business?"

  "Our first students entered college in 1975. It will soon be twenty years."

  "Are the students selected based on need?"

  "Yes, primarily. We also consider their potential for academic success. That's particularly true in the case of graduate study."

  "Do many of them go on to graduate school?"

  Dr. Vickers shook his glasses for emphasis. "I'm happy to say they do. Quite a number of them. We're very proud of the success of the students we've helped."

  "What about after graduation? Do most of them take jobs in Korea?"

  He nibbled at an earpiece. "Very many do, of course. Possibly a majority find employment over here. Others will eventually go back. Many of them have told me they send money back to their families in Korea."

  "Do you provide any assistance for them on locating employment?"

  "We do quite a bit of counseling. I do that in my travels about the country. We don't have a placement service as such, nothing formal like that. But we do try to help where we can."

  Burke returned his empty cup and paper plate to the tray, brushing the crumbs from his mouth with a napkin. "Those were really good. I'll be going to Seoul soon to help set up an office. I'm sure I'll be introduced to lots of Korean dishes then."

  "Be prepared for a surfeit of rice," Vickers said with a chuckle. "When I was growing up, my mother had an electric rice cooker. The little red eye on the side of it, actually an 'on' light, stared at me all the time. I hope you enjoy your trip. Is it connected with the new association?"

  "Right. We're working on some other clients we'll represent there also. Getting back to the foundation, my field, of course, is accounting and finance. Do you have any financial statements I could look at? Perhaps lists showing the types of contributors? What about the contributors? Are they both individuals and corporations?"
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  Vickers tapped the glasses rapidly against his tie. "Yes. As a matter of fact, many of our scholarship recipients have sent individual contributions. Those doing quite well financially feel an obligation to make it possible for others to follow."

  He opened a drawer in the filing cabinet and pulled out a folder. Burke had to stifle a smile as he saw the cover, blue. The thought instantly leaped into his mind: blue, unclassified. He would hardly have expected to find anything classified in there.

  "Here's a copy of our last quarterly statement," the foundation director said, handing over two long white sheets from the folder.

  Burke looked them over briefly. The foundation was quite well financed, he noted. There were both endowment and operating funds. Administrative costs appeared reasonable enough. There was a hefty travel budget, though, enough to send Vickers all around the country in a Rolls Royce.

  Burke glanced up from the papers. "This travel budget, is that all for you?"

  Vickers had put his glasses back on when he went to the file cabinet. Now he pulled them off again and shook them. "Oh, no. We also provide travel expenses to bring the students over here from Korea."

  Burke nodded. "Did all of them live in Korea before getting their scholarships?"

  "Most did."

  "What about summers? Do they get to go home?"

  "We help those who couldn't afford it otherwise. Korean Air Lines has a very generous discount program for them."

  Burke slipped the papers into the small briefcase he carried. "What about corporate contributors? A list showing the types of businesses, perhaps. Something that would give me a little ammunition to sell this to our client."

  Dr. Vickers handed over another sheet. It contained a list headed by the big Korean conglomerate Reijeo, which translated literally as "laser." Also included were such familiar names as Hyundai, Daewoo, and Samsung. And, of course, Wentworth Industries.

  "I notice Reijeo heads the list," Burke said. "Is it your biggest supporter?"

  "That's correct. As you probably know, it is a large conglomerate, or chaebol, as they're called in Korea. The Reijeo Business Group is involved in everything from electronics to machinery to petrochemicals. The chaebol are family firms. Reijeo is connected to the family of the new Korean president, Kwak Sung-kyo."

  Burke smiled. "That's not a bad deal. What sort of people are on your board of directors?"

  "We have fifteen members. Some represent larger contributors. A couple are college presidents. Then there are individuals with an interest in Korean-American ties. I've been after Mr. Wentworth to come on our board. Perhaps someone from Worldwide Communications Consultants would be interested."

  "I'll look into it," Burke said, getting up to leave. "I appreciate your time and all the information. I'll be back in touch."

  "Please do," said Dr. Vickers. "If you have any more questions, just give me a call." He handed Burke one of his business cards.

  Burke thanked Che-sun for the ttok and left. As he walked down the corridor to the elevator, he wondered at the strange feeling he had about Dr. Kim Vickers. The foundation director had been completely open with him, readily answering all of his concerns. He didn't think the enthusiastic reception and all the smiles had been contrived, but he sensed an odd nervousness in the way Vickers had toyed with his glasses. The more questions Burke asked, the more fidgety the movements became.

  Washington, D.C. Area

  Chapter 12

  On the Monday following Burke's return from San Francisco, the mail brought Lori a letter from Budapest. When she spotted the strange stamp and the Hungarian postmark, she grabbed a letter opener and eagerly slit open the envelope. The note had been written painstakingly, in a shaky but legible hand. Grandmother Szabo wrote briefly about what a thrill it had been to meet the granddaughter she had always thought dead. She asked about her soon-to-be great-grandchildren, and expressed the hope that she would live long enough to see them. It appeared that prospect had given her a new rationale for survival. Burke was pleased at the way the letter buoyed Lori's spirits, for the forced half-day idleness had begun to take its toll. Her life had been built around the constant push and tug of the business world for far too long to easily acquiesce in what she called her "semi-retirement."

  However, Burke experienced a bit of fallout from the letter. It reminded him of his own vow to locate his long-missing son. Between meetings with Accounting personnel and briefings by the Research staff the next day, he asked Evelyn to call information in Sumter, South Carolina, and see if they had a phone number for Peggy Grippando. He remembered her new husband's last name but not his first. It was nearly lunchtime when she caught up with him as he headed back to his office.

  "Sorry, boss man, but Sumter has no Peggy Grippando listed. Could she be in the directory some other way?"

  "No, I don't think so," Burke said, walking slowly to his desk. "Thanks for trying, Evelyn."

  She stuck her head in the door. "Should I know Peggy?"

  "No. It's a personal matter. Nothing important."

  From the look on her face, he knew she had seen through the lie.

  "I'm going to lunch with Toni," she said. "She may drag me off to some exotic shop with a half-price sale. You won't throw a tantrum if I'm late getting back, will you?"

  He shook his head and grinned. "Not if you promise to model whatever you buy."

  She placed her hands on her hips and arched a carefully drawn eyebrow. "What if it's a lingerie store?"

  "Well, if it's Frederick's of Hollywood, I might sell tickets."

  "Men!" She huffed and spun on her heel.

  Burke sat back in his chair and thought about Peg. He had met her in his early years with the Bureau, while involved in an investigation at Shaw Air Force Base just outside Sumter. She worked in the base legal office. They were both in their twenties. Neither had been involved in a serious affair. She was a sultry blonde with a thick Southern drawl; he was a dashing young G-Man. It was like a giant protoplasmic magnet had been turned on, propelling them together with cosmic force. Before either had really taken time to consider the consequences, they found themselves married. It was quite literally, he had to admit, an ill-considered marriage.

  Peg's parents were divorced. Her father had fled to the West Coast, obviously in an effort to get as far away from the strident Mrs. Walters as possible. A construction worker, he was always on the move and only wrote or called about once a year. Peg didn't get along with her mother much better than her father had. As she moved about the country with Burke's changing FBI assignments, her contacts with her mother were few. When little Cliff was born, there appeared to be a chance the marriage might survive. But as Burke's work began to take him farther from home and for longer periods of time, Peg decided she'd had enough. She moved back to South Carolina and filed for divorce. Burke didn't contest it. Soon afterward, he learned that her mother had died.

  He recalled the last time he saw Peg and Cliff. It was after Hoover and Assistant Director Sullivan had come up with the idea to have Burke publicly resign from the FBI. He would appear to go sour, then attempt to infiltrate the Mafia in Las Vegas. If anything went wrong and the mob penetrated his cover, Peg and Cliff would be in mortal danger. They sat in the kitchen of her small apartment in Sumter late one night after putting Cliff to bed and talked. He couldn't tell her what he would be doing, but he did his best to impress upon her the threat she and the boy might face. There was no animosity between them, and he felt certain she accepted the truth of what he told her. She promised to change her name back to Walters and to invent a plausible story to cover her absent husband. They had parted with tears in their eyes. Leaving the apartment that night, he was swept by the feeling that he was setting something in motion that would change his life forever. He was right.

  Could Peg have left Sumter, he wondered? Cliff was grown now, old enough to have a phone of his own. He looked up the area code, dialed information, and asked if there was a listing for Clifford Walters?

/>   "I'm sorry," the operator said. "We have no Clifford Walters in Sumter."

  "Do you have anyone with the last name Grippando?" He spelled it out for her.

  After a brief pause, she said, "There's no Grippando, either."

  Thinking back, he remembered the name of the law firm Peg had worked for when he last heard from her. She called it the "Three C's"—Collins, Cooley & Clinard. It was Clinard he had talked with after coming back from Alaska several years ago. The lawyer told him Cliff was in college and had expressed an interest in law school. He called information again and jotted down the firm's number.

  "I'm trying to find Peggy Grippando," he told the girl who answered. "Does she still work there?"

  "I believe I've heard her name," the girl said. "She was before my time, though. I've only been here a couple of years." Her slow drawl reminded him of his ex-wife.

  "Could you ask one of the partners if they know what happened to her?"

  "Hold on a moment." She was gone for a long moment. "Mr. Cooley says she left four or five years ago after he husband died. She moved to Jackson, Tennessee. He thinks she works for a law firm there."

  Jackson, Tennessee? Maybe Cliff had gone there, too, he thought. Maybe he was a lawyer now, a member of the firm where Peg worked. It was a lot of maybes. He dialed area code 901 for Jackson information. The answer came back the same. No Peggy Grippando or Clifford Walters in Jackson.

  Feeling frustrated, he bolted up from the chair, strode over to the window and stared down on the noontime crowd hustling along Sixteenth Street. For all the good he had done, he might as well have been down there stopping strangers on the sidewalk, asking if they might know his son or his ex-wife.

  He went back to his desk and called Clipper Cruise & Travel.

  "Isn't it about time you headed for home?" he asked when Lori answered. The funky mood he was in made it come out a bit more curt than intended.