Hwang had memorized the plan of the building. Using a small, powerful penlight, he hurried into the open area of the hangar. After a glance at the sleek outline of the jet, he moved along the near wall until he found the door bearing the Chinese characters for "Storage." His key opened this one as well.
Inside the windowless room, he glanced about, located a pile of rags and stuffed them against the bottom of the door. Then he turned on the overhead light.
The crated vase sat on the floor in the center of the room. He examined the padded wood strips that held it in a gentle but firm grip. They had been bolted together tightly. Reaching into his bag, he removed two adjustable wrenches secured with velcro strips and quickly dismantled the crating, careful to place each piece to the side in the order that he had removed it. Then he unwound the padding from around the vase and lifted out enough finely spun wooden packing material to fill a large bucket. Shining his light inside, he confirmed the vase was now empty.
Hwang took a package from his bag and opened it, removing a block of pliable plastic explosive. Next he retrieved two delicate devices that had been taped inside the bag. One was a small blasting cap, the other a tiny though highly sensitive radio receiver. The radio circuitry was all contained on a microchip that fed the signal into another chip which was, in effect, a minuscule computer. It would decode the received signal and, if it found the proper code, trigger a small battery-produced electrical charge. Connecting the blasting cap to the receiver device produced a radio-controlled detonator. Reaching in with his left hand, he placed the detonator in the bottom of the vase, then pressed the plastic explosive down over it. Fishing around inside the bag, he found a flat, circular piece of ceramic material painted to match the inside of the vase. He seated it firmly against the plastic.
Satisfied with his handiwork, Hwang moved quickly to re-pack the vase, carefully returning the crate to its original appearance. Then he swept up all evidence of his presence, switched off the light and gathered up the rags from beneath the door. Checking his watch, he found he had taken exactly eighteen minutes. It was almost time for the guard to make another swing to the rear of the hangar.
When he reached the office, the sound of nearby voices froze him in his tracks beside the doorway.
Hwang had been assured the morning work crew would not arrive before daybreak. Had there been a change in plan? It was essential that he maintain a strict schedule to rendezvous with the fuel truck that would provide his escape route. He strained to pick up the conversation, finally determining that it was only a security officer checking on the guard. Soon he heard a vehicle start up and move away. As he peeked through the window in the door, the guard was pacing toward the corner of the hangar.
Exactly four minutes later, Hwang slipped silently through the doorway and faded into the night.
Chapter 3
Lunch patrons crowded the restaurant at the fashionable Hilton Hotel. It was located on Castle Hill near the Fishermen's Bastion, its striking combination of old and new architecture incorporating the tower and surviving wall of a thirteenth century church built by Dominican friars.
Lori and Burke Hill stopped by the Hilton for lunch with a neighbor from their Washington suburb of Falls Church, Virginia. A computer expert, Will Arnold worked for a large defense contractor involved in missile work for the Air Force. He was on the program of a convention at the Hilton that attracted computer professionals from across Europe and the Middle East.
Lori and Burke arrived early and were escorted to a table.
"Do you want to order something to drink while we wait for Will?" Burke asked.
"I'd like a cup of espresso," Lori said, glancing up at the waiter.
Burke nodded. "I'll have the same."
After the waiter left, she contemplated her husband with an elevated eyebrow. "You've been awfully quiet since we left our hotel. Something bugging you?"
He shrugged. "You could say that."
"Like what?"
"Like your search for your grandmother."
That brought a frown. "Why should that bug you?"
He folded his hands and tapped his thumbs together. "It reminded me of something I should have been more diligent about, something I failed to tell you."
She grinned. "Some deep, dark secret? We've only known each other what, sixteen months now? I'm sure I have a few skeletons in my closet I haven't shaken out yet."
"This one is the sort of thing I shouldn't have overlooked. Remember when we were on that flight to Hong Kong, just before Cam died? We shared our pasts with each other, including our failed marriages."
Lori nodded.
"I told you how Peg had gotten a divorce because of all the long absences while I was flitting about the country on FBI assignments. And I mentioned about breaking off all contact with her when I went undercover, trying to crack the Mafia. I knew if my cover got blown, they'd go after any family I was close to."
"I remember," Lori said.
He paused while the waiter set their drinks on the table. He dipped a spoonful of whipped cream into the dainty cup of espresso, having learned the strong black coffee took a bit of getting used to. He exhaled a deep breath. Confession might be good for the soul, but it could be damned wrenching to the mind and body.
"What I failed to mention was the son I left behind."
"You had a child with your first wife?" Lori knitted her brows.
"I should have told you when I talked about Peg, but I haven't had any contact with him in over twenty years. That's what I alluded to yesterday when I told you there were lots of reasons why some people would be reluctant to confront a long, lost relative. He was hardly five years old the last time I saw him. It was right before I went undercover. I told Peg it could be dangerous for both of us if she even mentioned my name. She agreed she should take back her maiden name and give it to young Cliff, too."
Lori shook her head. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about your son."
"I'm sorry. I apologize. It was a stupid lapse in judgment."
"I can understand why you distanced yourself from him back then, but after you left the Bureau?"
"Remember, I was on their shit list after Hoover disowned me," he said. "They were harassing the hell out of me at every turn. About the time I left for Alaska to get away from it, I contacted Peg and found that she had remarried and told Cliff his father died in an accident. I was so confused, I didn't know what to do. When I came back south to Tennessee, I learned that Cliff was in college. Evidently the money I'd sent her took care of that."
"You sent money? When?"
"While I was working undercover. I sent it anonymously, but with instructions to set up a fund for Cliff's education. I did it in a way she'd know where it came from."
Burke saw Will Arnold sauntering toward their table, his strapping athletic build topped by a broad smile that began to dim as he looked down at them.
"Hey, am I interrupting something serious?" he asked in his usual jaunty manner.
"Just airing out a little dirty linen," Lori said. Her face softened into the beginning of a smile.
Burke pushed his cup back. "We've just had a little espresso while we waited for you, Will. Sit down and we'll order."
Will gave Lori the once-over as he pulled up his chair. "You look positively radiant, lady. There's no doubt pregnancy agrees with you. What have you been up to since you arrived in Budapest?"
"This has been a mission of discovery," Burke said.
"That sounds intriguing."
Will's arrival and his buoyant spirit seemed to have defused Lori's anger at Burke's revelation. "It has been exciting," she said. "I met a grandmother I never knew about."