Chameleon (24 page)

‘And who is this Hinge?’ O’Hara asked.

‘Bloody cowboy. Kills without thinking or hesitation. Men or women, no matter. He can do the trick with gun or knife, he can do it with darts or with rope. Hell, he could probably spit us both to fucking death.’

‘Nobody can kill you, Tony.’

‘I used to think so, until I worked with this new lad two days ago in Caracas.’

‘What the hell were you doing in Caracas the day before yesterday?’

‘I got an assignment. I didn’t know whether you were going to make it or not. I couldn’t turn them down without showing my hand.’

Who’s this young hotshot, a mere?’

‘Was, before this.’

They’re a dime a dozen, Tony.’

‘Not this one. There aren’t a dozen like him. Made a kill from nineteen hundred feet in Vietnam. And j was using a bloody night scope!’

‘What was this job you two did?’

‘Chap named Lavander got lifted by some local muchachos. We had to bring him in. But it’s what’s happened since that may give you the hook you’re looking for.’

‘And how’s that?’

Falmouth leaned over, his eyes gleaming, and smiled. ‘I’ll tell you that when we have a deal,’ he said.

O’Hara was watching movement twenty or so yards beyond the lines that skittered along the surface ,f the sea. He was still uncomfortable about turning over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to Tony Falmouth, but if Falmouth had additional information for him, it could change his mind.

‘I think I’ll go back to Japan,’ O’Hara said. ‘Live a nice, simple life. No computers running private intelligence agencies or ghosts running computers. It’s all too complicated. I didn’t want to take this job in the first place.’

The fin of a big fish sliced the surface for a moment and went under again.

‘You can’t back off now,’ Falmouth said.

‘The hell I can’t.’

‘You do and I’m a dead man.’

‘Just do a few more jobs and then run, said O’Hara. ‘I’m already on the dodge, I agreed last night I’d do another job, but I didn’t return Quill’s call to get the details. You don’t accept a job, then disappear, not without creating a certain level of anxiety in the heart of Mr Quill. By now he’s figuring either I’ve run or something happened to me. Whatever, he’s assigned someone else to the job, and that’s where I can help you.’

‘And how’s that?’ said O’Hara.

Falmouth’s gray eyes were twinkling, his lips playing with a smile. ‘Because I know the mark,’ he said. ‘I know where he’s going to be hit. I know when. And I know the assassin.’

And after he let that sink in, he added, ‘And I’ll give you the runner as a bonus.’

A runner. Someone else on the dodge. Now, that had possibilities. The bonus is what turned O’Hara. If someone other than Tony was dodging Chameleon and he could turn up the runner, he could verify Falmouth’s story.

The fin split the surface of the ocean again, this time about ten yards to the lee side of the line.

‘I’ll make a deal with you,’ said O’Hara. ‘If you give me that information, I’ll pay you half. If! score and the information is clean, I’ll deposit the other half anywhere you say or meet you and give you the rest.’

‘Goddamn, we’re playin rough, aren’t we, Sailor.’

‘It isn’t my money.’

Falmouth nodded very slightly and then stuck out his hand. ‘Done,’ he said, and they shook.

‘Let’s hear it,’ said O’Hara.

‘Listen here, Sailor, I can’t lie to you, tell you I understand everything that goes on here, okay? But I can tell you this there’s always a reason for them doing what they do. I’m not back from Caracas ten hours than I pick up an urgent from Quill. So I contact him. Now, understand — Hinge and I put our cojones on the line to spring this Lavander fella, right? So here it is, not two days later, and Quill tells me he’s got a fast job. He says it’ll all be over in four or five days. I’m to meet a cutout in the Caribbean area somewhere and stand by for a possible hit. The cutout will make the decision. And who’s the bloody subject? Lavander.’

O’Hara was genuinely surprised. ‘Lavander!’ he exclaimed.

‘Lavander. See what I mean? Can you make any sense outa that?’

‘Hell, they’re your pals, Tony, you make a guess

‘I thought a lot about it. Logically? It’s got to be that he’s become a security risk to someone.’

‘Why?’

‘He knows too much. About something, I don’t know what. He’s worked as a consultant for a lot of big companies all over the world. So he knows a lot about a lot of people. He knows a lot of company secrets,’

‘You think they’d kill this man just because he’s a security risk to some corporation?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Why the cutout, why not just send you in to waste the poor bastard?’

‘Guessing again, I’d say the cutout’s gonna give him a very subtle third degree. If he gives the wrong answers, au revoir, Monsieur Lavander.’

‘You say you know the place.’

‘Not exactly. But I do know he’s leaving Honduras very soon on a Caribbean cruise, courtesy of Sunset Oil, a little bonus for his trials and tribulations. I also know he’s travelling under the name 3. M. Teach. And last night Quill told me the job would be over in four or five days. Shouldn’t be hard to track down a steamer leaving Honduras sometime in the next day or so and find out her first port o’ call.’

‘Why’s he travelling under an assumed name?’

‘Because he’s weird. I told you, he’s an eccentric. I saw him for just a moment or two after he was released. There he was, eyes like a couple of wells, looked like he hadn’t slept in two days, and the first thing he asks is, “Did you check me out of the hotel while I was gone?” I mean, he was genuinely concerned about it. A true nut.’

There was a flash of sunlight on fin in the wake of the Miami Belle; the big line snapped from the outrigger, then the line jarred again and the reel began to sing as it fed out.

‘Christ, we got a big one,’ Falmouth cried. ‘It’s all yours, Sailor!’

O’Hara moved the rod quickly from its sheath on the rail to the cup between his legs and Falmouth tightened his safety belt as O’Hara began the fight.

The fish, a blue marlin, was enormous.

‘Three hundred pounds!’ Falmouth guessed. ‘She could be a record, lad.’

The fight lasted the better part of two hours. By the time it was over, O’Hara’s arms were leaden, his hands blistered. Cap’n K. manoeuvred the boat perfectly, using its big engines to tire the fish as O’Hara reeled the fighting marlin closer to the stern.

‘Ya got ‘im!’ the captain yelled down. ‘Get ‘im close enough to the stern so we can knock the fucker out. It’s gonna take all three of us to get him aboard.’

The fish sounded one last time, leaping high from the water, his tail thrashing angrily. Then he dove deep. O’Hara kept the pressure on. The marlin’s beaked head appeared a few feet from the stern. The fight was gone out of him.

‘You did fine there, Sailor. What a beauty! Well,’ Falmouth said, ‘too bad’ — and he bent over and pulled an old, rusty machete free of the rail where it was sticking out, and he reared back and the blade whistled past O’Hara’s head and hit the stern with a chock. The line was cut. The marlin speared the surface one last time, snapped its head and plunged into the wake of the boat. It was gone.

The captain screamed, ‘What in hell are ye doin’? That was a goddamn three-hundred-pound marlin, yuh crazy bastard!’ Cap’n K. continued to rave from the bridge, screaming obscenities at the wind, the gulls, the sea, at everything.

Falmouth looked down at the stunned O’Hara, who had sagged back in the fighting chair and was shaking the pain from his arms. ‘Wouldn’t do, would it now, us coming into Freeport with a record marlin on board. There’d be pictures and God knows what all, right? That’s all the papers have to write about there.’

O’Hara nodded very slowly. ‘Tony,’ he said, ‘I’m beginning to believe you. Now, who’s going after Lavander?’

Falmouth leaned over and smiled proudly. ‘Why, Hinge, of course. He knows Lavander. Besides, it’s got to be Hinge. If they think I’m running, they’ll send Gazinsky or Lavanieux after me.’

‘Why not Daniov?’

‘Because, Sailor, he’s the runner.’

10

‘Mr
Howe, please.’

‘Mr Charles Gordon Howe?’ the secretary asked.

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Howe is in conference and can’t be disturbed.’

‘Tell him O’Hara’s on the phone.’

‘I have explicit instructions not to disturb him,’ the secretary said sternly.

‘Just tell him it’s me, I’m sure he’ll take this call.’

There was a momentary pause, then an annoyed: ‘Just a moment, please.’

He was on hold for hardly a breath before he heard Howe’s crusty, laced-with-Irish brogue. ‘Where are you, Lieutenant?’

‘Down in the islands, but that’s not important. I need to do a little traveling. Is your Lear jet still available?’

‘Where d’you want it and when?’ Howe asked immediately. There was excitement in his voice.

‘As soon as possible. Fort Lauderdale airport.’

‘Can I assume we have a story, then?’

‘I’ll need a couple more days before I can commit for sure.’

‘You’re a cautious one, I’ll say that.’

‘It’s your money, Mr Howe.’

‘Fair enough. I assume you’ve met this Falmouth feller already.’

‘Yes.’

There was silence on the line as if Howe were waiting for O’Hara to go on. Finally the publisher said, ‘Well?’

‘I’m not ready to talk about it just yet. I can tell you I’ve paid him a hundred and twenty-five. He gets the rest if his information is good.’

‘I assume from what you’ve just said that you feel you’re on to something.’

‘I wouldn’t have parted company with all that money if I didn’t think he had something. Putting it all together may be a problem.’

‘I have the best libel lawyers in the business, Lieutenant. I want to be accurate, not cautious.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind. Usually it’s the other way around — the publisher tells me to be cautious.’

Howe chuckled. ‘My feelin’ about you, Lieutenant, is that if we have anything, it will be big.’

‘Thanks.’

A pause.

‘Are you in any danger, Lieutenant?’

O’Hara thought for a few seconds, then said, ‘There’s an element of risk. We’re dealing with some pretty mean characters here.’

‘You know them, then?’

‘Personally or by reputation. Right now, all I got’s conjecture. Talking about it further could be counterproductive and increase the risk.’

‘I don’t think I need t’ tell you to be careful.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Good. As I said from the start, lad, I trust you. But I’ll admit, my curiosity is about to short-circuit. Besides, I got a bit of a surprise for you.’

‘What is it?’

Howe chuckled. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

‘1 don’t like surprises, Mr Howe.’

‘Oh, I think you’ll like this one.’

O’Hara dropped the subject — Howe was probably going to send a couple of live lobsters down in the plane. ‘I’ll be back in touch in about three days,’ he said. ‘By then I’ll be able to tell you whether I flushed your hundred and twenty-five.’

‘I’ll have the Lear at Fort Lauderdale in four hours. If you need anything else, have any trouble, call me anytime. I may not be able to get war declared, but I can damn sure come close to it and will if it’s necessary.’

‘Thanks. I’ll be in touch.’

Getting through to the Magician was not as simple. The lines were tied up when he first called. He made the second call from Fort Lauderdale, after Cap’n K.’s air charter dropped him off. The line exploded with static and when the connection was finally completed, the operator sounded as if she were talking from somewhere near the centre of the earth.

‘Le Grand Gustavsen Hotel, s’il vous plait,’ O’Hara shouted.

‘Hotel?’ she said.

‘Oui. Le Grand Gustavsen.’

‘Pardonnez-moi— did you say Heelton?’

‘Gustavsen!’ O’Hara yelled, wondering how she could have mistaken Grand Gustavsen for Hilton,

‘Ah, oui, Goostafsen. Un moment, s'il vous plait.’

More static, more noise, before someone finally answered. It was a gruff voice; obviously a guest passing by the desk had picked up the receiver.

‘Yeah?’

‘Is the Magician there?’ O’Hara said.

‘The who?’

‘The Magician. Rothschild. The man who owns the hotel.’

‘You mean the piano player?’

‘Right.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Just give me someone connected with the hotel, please.’ There was a loud clatter on the other end, as though the man who had answered had thrown the phone across the room.

A few moments later Jolicoeur answered. ‘Allo. Que desirez-vous? May I be of service?’

‘Joli? It’s O’Hara.’

‘Ah, Francois! Comment ça va?

‘I’m doing okay, Joli. Ou est le Sorcier?

‘At the market.’

‘J’arrive ce soir. Voulez-vous me donner la pièce avec In sale de bain?

‘Volontiers! Quelle heure?’

‘Don’t know yet. Tres tard. Vers deux heures, peut-être.’

‘Bon! Ou êtes-vous?’

‘Florida. I’m waiting for the plane now. Tell him I’ll need his help.’

‘Excellent! We will put clean sheets on your bed.’

‘Damn generous there, Joli.’

‘Pour vous, mon ami, le mieux. We have a job, then?’ ‘We may. Listen, when Mike gets back, tell him I want a readout on four names. Can you hear me clearly?’

‘Oui.’

‘Very good. You have a pen?’

‘Oui. Shoot.’

‘Anthony Falmouth, spelling F-a-l-m-o-u-t-h. Formerly with M16. Hinge. H-i-n-g-e, no first name available. A mercenary.

Gregori Danilov. D-a-n-i-l-o-v. Bulgarian secret service. Avery Lavander. L-a-v-a-n-d-e-r. British subject; An oil consultant.

Oh, there is one other. All I have is a cover name Chameleon, like the lizard. Check all sources on that one. That ought to keep you busy until I get there.’

Jolicoeur repeated the names to O’Hara.

‘Perfect. See you later, pal.’

‘A bientôt, François! We will be ready when you get here.’

‘Anders Travel, Carole Jackowitz speaking.’

Her voice was a touch of Bronx mixed with Brooklyn, tempered by Manhattan chic.

‘Hi, Ms Jackowitz. My name’s O’Hara —remember me?’ ‘Oh, sure. The gentleman with a one-way ticket to Walker’s Cay, right? Was it a suicide trip? Nobody takes a one-way trip to Walker’s Cay. It isn’t much bigger than my backyard.’

‘I swam back.’

‘I see. And... uh, where would you like to swim back from this time?’

‘Honduras.’

‘Urn hm. Anyplace in particular or do you want to trust my judgment?’

‘Actually I’m interested in a cruise boat.’

She laughed. ‘No one-ways on a cruise ship. What’s its name?’

‘I don’t know.’

There was a long pause. ‘You don’t know the name of the ship you want to catch in Honduras?’

‘Right. But I’m sure it will be leaving sometime in the next day or two.’

Another pause and a chuckle. ‘I’m checking,’ she said musically. There was another pause, and then: ‘I’ll be damned. Oh, excuse me, I didn’t mean to swear, but a cruise ship did leave Port Cortez this morning. Hmm, the Gulf Star. King Line. Well, there are better lines I could recommend—’

‘Where does it go first?’

‘First port o’ call is ... Montego Bay, Jamaica. Three days. Let’s see, today’s Tuesday . . . it’ll be in early Friday morning. Want to pick it up there?’

‘I don’t want to pick it up at all, I want to send twelve dozen roses to one of its passengers.’

‘I knew there was a catch to this. Sorry, we’re not a messenger service.’

‘No romance in your soul, hunh?’

‘Only if the roses are going to me, dahling.’

‘You’ve been a great help. Sometime when I’m in Pompano Beach I’ll call. Maybe we can have lunch.’

‘If you’re sending twelve dozen roses to anybody, we can skip the lunch thing and start right off with dinner.’

‘Bye, Carole.’

‘Bye, Mr—uh...’

‘O’Hara.’

‘Gotcha.’

The King Steamship Line had a special operator to take messages for its passengers. O’Hara got him and said, ‘This goes to Mr J.M. Teach. He’s boarding the Gulf Star in Port Cortez, Honduras.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘J.M. ... colon ... Have additional information on the Master plan. Period. Do not leave ship in Montego Bay until I contact you. Period.’ Sign it ... “Quill.”

O’Hara half slept on the Lear as it streaked southward out over the ocean but was wide awake when they landed in St Lucifer. He was beginning to feel a little like a yo..yo. Japan to Boston to St Lucifer to Fort Lauderdale to the Bahamas to Fort Lauderdale, all in three days, and now, at one-thirty in the morning, he was back in St Lucy. A cab was waiting for him at the airport, which was closed for the night. Even customs was locked up. But what would anyone smuggle into St Lucy, anyway, day or night?

He heard the Mag, playing a furious version of ‘C-Jam Blues’ as he climbed the stairs to the main floor. The big room was almost empty. A young couple nuzzled each other at a table, and there were a few hangers-on at the bar. Jolicoeur was one of them and he excused himself as soon as he saw O’Hara. The Mag was oblivious, his six fingers rambling across the keyboard.

‘Bon soir, mon ami, good to see you! We lave interesting news.’

When the Magician saw him, he finished the tune he was playing, closed the piano and put a stand-up sign on its top that said: ‘Closed. Don’t mess with the piano. Violators will be shot at sunrise.’ He ambled across the room, a cigarette hanging at the corner of his mouth. ‘That was quick,’ he said, giving the weary reporter a bear hug.

O’Hara looked at him through bleary eyes. ‘Lead me to my digs, I don’t think I can stand up much longer.’

As they walked down the hail, Rothschild told him they had run all the names through the computer and had print-outs on three of them — Lavander, Falmouth and Daniov. There was nothing on Hinge so far, and checking out Chameleon had turned up dozens of references to zoological and biological booklets, articles from nature-study magazines, even several encyclopaedias.

‘What’re you so interested in chameleons for?’

Told Joli, it’s a cover. Try the CIA, military or naval intelligence, like that. Also you might run Cohn Bradley, CIA, through that infernal machine of yours. Chameleon supposedly burned Bradley last Christmas.’

‘What is going on?’ the Mag asked.

‘Later...’

O’Hara entered the room, conveniently located across from the Mag’s suite, dropped his suitcase and said, ‘Wake me around noon.’

‘We been getting these reports together ever since you called,’ the Magician said. ‘Aren’t you even gonna read them?’

‘Can’t,’ he mumbled. ‘Too much jet lag. Fishing. Sun. I’m a wreck,’ and peeling his clothes off, he collapsed in bed.

‘Call me for lunch,’ he said and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

The knocking on his door was insistent.

‘Go away,’ he groaned.

The knocking continued.

‘Do not disturb. Go away.’

More knocking.

‘A demain! A bientot! Au revoir! he yelled.

It did not help. The knocking became more intense. ‘Shit!’

That didn’t help either.

He stumbled out of bed and opened the door a crack, peering around the edge.

He stared at Lizzie Gunn for several moments, squinting his eyes. ‘Oh my God,’ he said.

She held a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. ‘Coffee?’ she said brightly.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he said finally.

‘Found you again,’ she said. Her smile was so bright it hurt his eyes.

‘What time is it?’ he asked.

‘Eight A.M.’

‘Eight AM.!’

‘Right. Eight AM.’

‘Unbelievable.’

‘Don’t you want your coffee?’

‘Not unless you want to see a grown man throw up.’

‘May I come in?’

‘Is there any way to stop you?’

‘Nope.

‘Let me get back in bed. I’m naked.’

‘I don’t mind, I had three brothers.’

‘Well, I’m not one of them.’ He staggered back to bed and pulled the sheet over his head.

‘Not very hospitable,’ she said.

‘I may die of terminal jet lag. Or lack of sleep. They’re both waiting for me ... in long black robes, just outside the door, there.’ He spoke from under the sheet.

She sat down in a chair and poised the coffee on her knee. He looked back at her from under the sheet. ‘You’re not going to go away, are you?’

‘Uh uh.’

‘Were you obnoxious as a child?’

She shook her head, still smiling.

‘Had to wait until you grew up, hunh.’ He retreated back under the sheet.

‘Mr Jolicoeur said you’d be this way.’

‘How the hell d’you know Jolicoeur?’

‘He was in the lobby, if that’s what they call it, when I got in.’ She took a sip of the coffee. ‘He kissed my hand.’

‘He kisses everybody’s hand. It’s one of the things he does, he kisses hands.’

‘Well, nobody’s ever kissed my hand before.’

‘Why don’t you go back down to the lobby. I’m sure he’ll be glad to kiss your hand all day long.’

She continued to sip her coffee. He sat up suddenly. ‘How the hell did you find me? How the hell did you get here this fast?’

‘The pilot had to file a flight plan in Boston and another one in Fort Lauderdale.’

‘That’s all it took, hunh?’

‘Well... I used to date him too.’

‘The pilot?’

‘Uh huh.’

O’Hara shook his head. ‘I should of stayed in Japan,’ he said, half aloud. He stared at her through lumpy eyes. ‘Does Howe know you’re down here?’

She nodded. ‘Yep.’

‘You’re the surprise Howe was talking about.

‘Howe told you I was coming?’

‘Not in so many words. He sent you to follow me, right?’

‘Well, not exactly...’

‘Well, exactly what did he do?’

‘He finally agreed that a little competition never hurt anybody.’

‘That makes a lot of sense, Gunn, assigning one of his reporters to scoop another one.’

‘I thought we could work together. After all, you’re print, and I’m video. There’s no real competition. This way Howe gets it both ways. He really gets his money’s worth.’

‘Always thinking, aren’t you?’

‘I try,’

‘How much do you know so far?’

‘Well, he let me read that letter from — uh...’

‘Falmouth.’