The realization that he was being followed hit him like a slap in the face. Lori had been right after all. He should have been more attentive. In the market, the man had followed too close for good surveillance procedure, though the character of the crowd likely made that seem necessary. Except for that sudden turn, Burke would never have noticed him.
How could anyone know who he was, what he was doing here? Even the vaunted Mossad could not be so careful that they checked out every visiting stranger. Somehow somebody, or something, had tipped them to him. But who, and how?
Chapter 18
With his senses sharpened, he became alert for anything the least bit out of its normal pattern. He crossed the broad plaza covered with pale brown paving stones, ringed by restaurants, entertainment places, night spots, and an art gallery. He took out Farouk’s map, checked his directions, and headed down the steps to the reconstructed ruins of Turkish palaces that housed artists’ studios, galleries, gift shops, and small cafes. Narrow streets of stone and similar flights of steps leading to lower levels wandered past restored structures with colorful wooden doors and artistic grillwork.
As he edged his way past a small group of American tourists, Burke smiled, looking unhurried and unconcerned. It was all a ruse. His mind raced through the possibilities of what could have gone wrong. He soon came up with a plausible scenario, though it didn't fit well with Cam's insistence that the Israelis weren’t involved.
Quite to the contrary, Burke’s analysis took the view that the Mossad had instigated Jabberwock. Since they knew Cam Quinn would be the most likely person in the Agency to be concerned about any potential problem, they would keep an eye on him. Even a loose surveillance would have picked up his relationship with Burke. As Lori had pointed out, his name wouldn’t appear as an intelligence agent on anybody's list. But should the Mossad have run Burke Hill through their computers, which undoubtedly had access to El Al's reservation bank, they would have turned up his name in the passenger list for the flight to Tel Aviv. It was all hypothetical, of course, but it provided the only explanation he could devise that fit.
He soon found the The Blue Nile sign beside an arched entrance. At four o’clock, he walked in carrying the newspaper in his left hand. A tinkling bell at the door announced his entrance. He found himself in a modest-sized room with paintings hanging around the walls. A large Oriental rug covered the floor. Spotting a painting of a Bedouin beside his kneeling camel, he stepped across to get a better look. Moments later he felt rather than heard the presence of someone at his side.
"Perhaps you would like to see a new work by this artist," said an attractive girl in a flowery print dress. Her moccasin-like shoes made no sound. "Please follow me."
She led him into a hallway that took them to the rear of the building. She opened a door at one side and waved him into a small cubicle where a large painting rested on an easel. A stool sat in front of the easel, a chair beside a small table.
"Please wait here," she said.
He stepped inside and the door closed without a sound. The room, with a window facing the sea, was lighted by an overhead fluorescent fixture. He sat on the stool and stared at the painting. It was a portrait of a beautiful young Arab girl. He concentrated so intently on the way the artist had captured her half smile that he failed to hear the door open. It took considerable control to keep from flinching at the sudden sound of a voice behind him.
"I understand you come from my friend Cameron Quinn."
Burke turned to find a handsome, black-haired young man, probably late thirties, his mouth turned up at the edges with an inquisitive smile. He stood with arms folded, his body tilted forward to put his weight on the balls of his feet. He looked like a man ready to make a move in any direction.
Burke stood and reached out his hand. "I'm Burke Hill. You must be Ben Shallit."
Shallit seized it with a firm squeeze. "A pleasure, Mr. Hill. How is our old friend Quinn? Was he unable to come himself?"
"He's fine. He said if he came, they would know he was here, and he didn't want to endanger you."
Shallit cocked his head. "And why should I be in any danger?"
"Cam wants you to find out something for him. He wants to know if the Mossad's files contain any reference to an Operation Jabberwock."
Shallit glanced out the window, then back at Burke. "He does want to put me at risk, doesn't he? Going through operational files. We had an agreement that I would not compromise certain types—"
"You don't understand. He doesn't want anything from the files. All he wants to know is if Operation Jabberwock means anything to the Mossad."
"That's all? Just if the name is in there?"
"Right. Can you do it?"
Shallit half-turned away from him, rubbing one fist into the other palm. "Obviously he doesn't wish to come right out and ask us if we know of such an operation. Which means there is a problem, or he is afraid there might be a problem."
Burke neither spoke nor altered his expression.
"This is important to him, eh?"
"Right. Very important."
"Getting access to the information would be no problem," Shallit said. "Since leaving the Institute, I've been in the computer business."
Burke recalled that Mossad officers referred to their organization as the Institute, since its full name was the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations. They never used the term Mossad. Publicly it was an organization that did not exist. "Can you get access to the Mossad computers?"
Shallit smiled. "My company wrote most of the software currently in use. I installed it personally." His smile faded. "Therein lies the problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"We designed the system to leave a trail that would identify anyone who uses it, along with what subjects they were accessing. I could log in as a sysop, as you Americans call it, and gain access to just about anything in the system, but it would keep a record of my inquiries."
Shallit shifted from one foot to the other. He looked like a foxhound that had just caught a scent and was ready to move. "Did Cameron say just how important this was to him?"
Burke noted it was the second time he had asked the question. "Frankly, he's had some difficulties. I think his career's hanging in the balance."
"Sorry to hear that. All right, I'll see what I can do. It will take some time to find a way around the problem. I have your phone number. I'll call you tomorrow afternoon. Please go back out front and look around a bit at the paintings before you leave."
Burke was impressed. He was really going to a lot of trouble to get what Cam wanted. Then he found the answer. As Shallit turned to leave, he looked back over his shoulder. "Give Cameron my regards. Without him, I wouldn't be here."
Cam was calling in all his markers on this one, Burke realized. He felt sure Shallit would come up with the answer. If the Mossad knew, as he half-expected, then it was most likely their operation. But if they didn't know, what then?
He considered telling Shallit about the man who had followed him, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to risk saying something that might cause the Israeli to abandon his effort to find the answer Quinn desperately needed.