Burke took the sheet of stationery that Quinn handed him, a letterhead of R. K. Leverett, editor-in-chief, Flyte Tyme Publications, publisher of in-flight magazines for several smaller airlines. The typed and signed letter, dated the previous day, read:
Dear Mr. Hilclass="underline"
This will confirm our telephone conversation regarding the assignment to photograph Jaffa scenes for our article on the area. When you have submitted the photographs, we will pay you the agreed upon fee, plus reimburse all of your expenses.
I look forward to working with you on this project.
Sincerely,
R. K. Leverett
Editor-in-Chief
Burke gave Quinn a questioning look. "You must have been pretty busy these past couple of days."
"I took the liberty of getting a few things done in advance, anticipating you would agree to help out."
"And if I hadn't?"
"Let's not dwell upon the hypothetical, my friend," he said, rumpling his brow. "The important thing is that you're here, you're cleared, you're going to Israel tomorrow. And this is what you need to do when you arrive there."
He provided the address and description of a small cafe called The Casbah near the Jaffa Flea Market, then went over an identification routine with the restaurant's proprietor that would lead Burke to Quinn's source, an Israeli named Ben Shallit.
"You should get to Tel Aviv fairly early, giving plenty of time to make your contact during the day," Quinn said. "I want you to call me in Hong Kong that evening. Let's see… five Israeli time would be eleven in Hong Kong. Don't make it any later or I'd probably be so flaked out I would never hear the phone."
"I've got one other small problem," Burke said when Quinn had finished. "I brought a camera with me, but I don't have all the equipment I'd take on an assignment like this."
"Give me a list of what you need. I'll have somebody round it up for you." He raised a wary eyebrow. "Any other problems?"
"No, but if you're planning to leave early in the morning, I'd think you've got plenty to finish up this afternoon. Why don't you drop me off at my hotel and get on your way."
"Good suggestion. Let me tell my girl we're gone." He walked over and peeped through the door to see if she was busy. He found her alone, hanging up the phone. "We're finished, Lori. What are your plans for dinner?"
Burke walked up just in time to catch that enigmatic smile that seemed to do strange things inside him, like bumping his pulse rate a notch. He found it a bit disturbing, a sensation he hadn't encountered in years.
"I'm having two handsome gentlemen at my condo for dinner," she said. "What time should I expect you?"
"We'd better ask our guest if that's agreeable with him," Quinn said, turning to Burke.
He found the idea decidedly appealing. "Best offer I've had all day."
"Why don't I pick you up around seven?" Quinn suggested. She only lives about twenty minutes away."
"Is this formal, or come as you are?" Burke asked.
She laughed. "You can wear shorts if you like. That's what I'll have on. What would you gentlemen prefer for an entree?"
"Filet mignon will do for me," Quinn said.
"I'd just as soon have chicken or seafood." Burke shrugged. "Whatever you want to fix will be fine with me."
"A man after my own heart," said Lori. "Maybe if you'd stay around my Dad a while, you could teach him to lay off all that red meat and starchy food."
"Killjoy." Quinn gave her a dirty look.
Chapter 13
Lorelei Quinn's condo was an upscale townhouse development. It included two bedrooms, two baths and a small office upstairs, a living room, dining room, kitchen and a half-bath down. Colonial style furnishings complemented the building's architecture. It meshed the taste and charm of a decorator's eye with the lived-in look of a practical housekeeper. The dining room opened onto a patio at the rear, where the lady of the house was tending a gas-fired grille when they arrived. A glass-topped round table set for three stood nearby.
"We're having charbroiled salmon steaks," she announced, sprinkling a dash of something spicy on the large chunks of fish. "Flown in special from British Columbia."
Burke noted with an appreciative eye that she had donned a pair of purple shorts, as advertised. He sniffed the aroma coming from the grille. "Glad I packed a dandy appetite." He grinned at Quinn, licking his lips. "You said filet, didn't you? Look at those."
"If you two want to be health nuts, I presume I'll be forced to join you."
"How about something to drink while you're waiting?" Lori asked Burke.
He glanced questioningly at his burly companion.
"Go ahead," Quinn said. "I'll find something non-alcoholic."
"Got any white wine, Lori?" Burke inquired.
"We're having a nice Rhine with our fish. It's over next to the table. Why don't you give it a try?" Then, as he started toward the table, she added, "Pour me a little, too, if you would."
When Cam had returned from the kitchen with a tall glass of pineapple-flavored tea, Lori raised her wine and toasted, "To the two musketeers — may your forays be fruitful."
Quinn gave a cautious glance at the tall foliage that surrounded two sides of the patio, screening them from the outside but providing excellent cover for anyone who might want to eavesdrop. "Let's not talk business during dinner."
So they talked about what each had been doing, which was only natural since this was a long overdue gathering of old friends. Lori, who had a journalism degree from the University of Wisconsin, told about her stint as a reporter for the English language Herald-Tribune in Paris.
"That was the era of Giscard d'Estaing and the French intervention in Zaire and Chad," she said, remembering.
"Did you cover any of that?" Burke asked.
“Heavens, no! I was just a cub reporter then, and a very young cub at that. About the most exciting assignment I had at that time was an interview with a visiting violinist from the States. He was in Paris for a solo performance with the symphony. I remember introducing myself and asking if he would tell me a little of his background. Forty-five minutes later, I told him I had another assignment to get to. He hadn't stopped talking the whole time."
Burke shook his head with a grin. "Wasn't he about out of breath?"
"I was afraid he was just getting his second wind," Lori said. "The most egotistical man I ever saw. When I got up to leave, he pulled out a long card shaped like a violin, signed it and handed it to me. I hadn't even hinted that I'd like an autograph. Fortunately, I never encountered any more like him."
"What other kinds of stories did you write?" Burke asked. He found her a fascinating story teller.
"After the first year, I began to draw some assignments to cover meetings and conferences. I soon became the resident conference reporter. Covered a lot of meetings around France and all over Europe. All the traveling I did for the newspaper was what got me interested in the travel business."
Burke sipped at his wine. From what Quinn had told him, that extensive travel had also led to a succession of Agency assignments.
"After that, she got a job with a travel outfit in Paris," Quinn said between mouthfuls of salmon. For someone who had ridiculed the menu, he showed no hesitance at putting away a healthy share.
"We had lived in Paris for several years when I was young," Lori said. "I grew up speaking French like a Parisian."
"She's as good a linguist as I am," Quinn said. "I guess that comes from bouncing about the map the way we did. Her mother wasn't all that keen on it, but I think Lori loved it."