Oranges and Apples (among others)

Oranges and Apples

She said to call her anytime

Taking an unfamiliar road

Write about changing clothes

Holy cow I'm 4 behind? I know this is somewhat against the spirit of the exercise but to get caught up, if we continue with the adventures of Claire Newton I think we can cover all 4 ;-) So here's the first two:
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Four hours into the flight Claire was having difficulties keeping her eyes open. Skimming through thousands of pages of abstracts and the files themselves, she still couldn't imagine what thread she was looking for that sewed the files together or the one that bound her to this case. Over Greenland, Aurora Borealis tinting the night sky greenish blue, she was reading a rather dry personnel section on Andrew Booten's international holdings. The fact that he had any was an interesting yet seemingly cursory fact.

While it seemed strange that a mid-level UN bureaucrat was so financially diversified, she had read other files regarding his family's holdings and how they had made countless fortunes over the generations as importers of all sorts of goods to Amsterdam and other locales within Holland. For example his family owned a sizable share of one of the larger South Pacific islands and imported exotic fish both for aquariums and for dining. He himself was a majority share holder in an Orange Grove near Valencia Spain, and actually owned outright an entire fleet of apple orchards near Yakima Washington. Claire thought to herself that she only owned her student loans, a 2008 Toyota Camry and other mementos that would maybe fill a closet.

The files had remarked on the fruit baskets he had sent Claire that Christmas and again for her birthday in May. Both baskets had taken up the majority of the apartment's coffee table. Oranges from Valencia, Apples from Washington, Pears from Nagoto Japan, Cheeses from Weggis Switzerland, two bottles of wine from Sonoma, a even a bottle of scotch from Scapa Scottland. She had had fun looking up on a map where all the components had come from.

But as the files dragged on and the hours crept by, page after page of invoice confirmations real-estate transactions and, business contracts took its toll on Claire's consciousness. Her eyelids began closing.

she remembered back to their few days together in the heat of the desert. How welcome that heat would be right now compared to the cold air from the airplane's vent.

Andrew had been a striking figure when he stepped off the plane in the Sahara. She had arrived a half day earlier to secure the records room at the administration building and to ease the way through the soon to be faced bureaucracy. Andrew Booten paused at the airplane's door. He took a deep breath and surveyed the airport. The plane seemed to have come straight from a Michael Curtiz movie. No jets servicing travelers here only a single shiny metallic Lockheed C101, its 4 giant propellers winding down and a handful of ground crew meandering towards the plane.

Andrew was fully two heads taller than everyone else descending the plane's stairs and he must have weighed at least 250 pounds more than anyone else around him.

He seemed to be the only man in the desert in a clean pressed white linen suit. He sported a white straw hat with a hat band with a very wide and stylized UN "continent" logo printed on it. A green silk handkerchief popped crisply from his coat's breast pocket. That one seemed merely for show as he kept another green cotton kerchief palmed most of the time to wipe the copious sweat from his brown and forehead. And then there was his signature scarf. "So European" she would think. Regardless of the temperature he would always wear it. It was, compared to the rest of the suit, a very ratty thing. It was sand colored, frayed at the edges, stained and discolored. He seemed to wear it more as a totem than as any particular fashion accouterment since it neither provided warmth or style.

They had shared a light dinner that night at a small bistro near their hotel. She looked at him in disbelief when all he had ordered at first was baba ganoush. A flicker of bemusement showed across his face.
"My dear mademoiselle" he said in English that was equal parts Flemish and Scottish, "Only you Americans choose to eat in such a barbarous manner. Food, like company, should be savored never rushed. Tonight we shall eat in eight courses. So for now choose an aperitif to whet the appetite."

Claire felt awkward at first talking with him. She was only five years out of grad school and seemed to have done nothing of note with her life. Even becoming a full field agent with the CIA seemed pale to the stories Andrew told. He was attached to accounting forensics with the UN currently, but before that he had had stints with the governments of Greece and Turkey, even Fiji. he had been in South Africa when Mandella had been freed. He had been in Germany when the wall had fallen. He had spent two years in Pakistan sussing a suspected opium export racket.

Some of his attachments with private consulting firms had been under less than ideal circumstances. He had reviewed Chechnen war debts to Russia when gunmen had stormed the building taking everyone hostage. After producing a convincing seizure, he had been released mere minutes before the Russian SWAT team had stormed the offices.

By ten PM, they were on to coffee. Andrew produced a silver flask from his jacket pocket and offered it to Claire.
"We have much work to do tomorrow morning mademoiselle. Would you like some Scotch to help you sleep?"
"No thank you" she had said, Jet lag already creeping around the peripheries of her vision. "I should be going to bed soon."
"Ah well. I'm told I shouldn't drink alone, but it is one of my favorite vices." She wasn't sure if he was talking about Scotch, drinking alone or both.
Claire gave him one of her business cards and she said to call her any time. The CIA had given her a satellite phone for the trip.
"Would you like to meet again for breakfast? And then head over to the records office" she asked?
He reached into the other side of his jacket and pulled out a business card a business card of his own, proffering it as he took hers..
"You have been a charming dinner companion this evening, indulging an old man and his tall tales. I look forward to tomorrow."

The plane touched down waking Claire from her nap. Bright sunlight streamed in through the windows.