She turned her full attention toward the man, thinking that he looked like a husky version of - what was that singer's name?

“No,” she said with a mixture of amusement and scorn. "Never?”

“I thought you'd forgiven me for missing our dinner date in Istanbul.” The voice had dropped several octaves.

Kaela gave him a hard look, especially the broad shoulders. “Good Lord! I didn't recognize you.”

“They don't call me the Man of a Thousand Faces for nothing,” Austin said, with a devilish smile, He spread his arms wide, “Is this what the well-dressed tabloid TV journalist wears?”

Austin wore black slacks, matching T-shirt and sports jacket and seventies-era Ray-Ban sunglasses, even though it was night, and scuffed New Balance running shoes, He wore a gold neck chain, and his silvery-gray hair was hidden under a dark brown wig.

“You look like a Hollywood undertaker,” Kaela said, “I especially like the wild hairpiece.” She squinted. “What did you do to your face?”

“Putty. A necessary evil in the age of face recognition technology.”

Kaela raised an eyebrow, suddenly remembering the name. “The only one they're likely to match you with is Roy Orbison.”

“I'll remember that in case someone wants my autograph. Now that I've passed inspection, how are you?”

“I'm fine, Kurt. It's good to see you again.”

“I'm hoping after business hours we can pick up where we left off.”

“I'd like that,” she said, with a flirtatious tilt of her head. “I'd like that very much.”

Kaela wore a taupe pantsuit whose silky folds emphasized the curves of her body. Austin found himself being drawn in again by her exotic looks. With great effort, he put a lid on his amorous thoughts. For now, anyway.

“Then it's a date. Cocktails at the Ritz Bar.” He looked around at the milling crowds of men and women dressed for the black-tie affair. “Ready to crash the party?”

Kaela hung a plastic laminated ill card around his neck. “From now on, you're Hank Simpson, our sound man. It should be easy to fake, Dundee's job was mostly hauling equipment around and holding a mike boom. I'll help you set up. Mickey is going to meet us at the press boat. Just grab those cases and play dumb.”

“Dumb I can do,” Austin said. Snatching up the heavy metal suitcases as if they were feathers, he followed Kaela to a section of the pier where a PRESS sign had been nailed onto a piling. An open launch was coming in to pick up the next load of journalists.

The short, stocky figure of Mickey Lombardo came trotting over with a steadi-cam on his shoulder. “I got some great shots of the Kennedys.” He recognized Austin despite his disguise. “Hey, it's our guardian angel,” he said, with a grin. “Good to see you again, pal.”

Austin held his finger up to his lips and glanced around.