‘Maybe he can do it,’ she said optimistically.
The Magician leaned forward, his eyes flashing, his gloved fingers wiggling in front of his face. ‘And just maybe we’ll get lucky, come up with something, a list of his clients, maybe?’
‘We need a break,’ O’Hara said. ‘Right now we’re running on empty.’
‘Don’t be so sceptical,’ Eliza said. ‘It’s the only shot we’ve
‘Not quite, mam’selle et messieurs!’
Joli stood in the doorway, his mouth a keyboard of gleaming white teeth. ‘I told you I could hide a yellow elephant in Haiti. Au contraire, they could not hide a flea from me there. I have found the elusive one.’
‘Danilov?’ O’Hara cried.
‘Oui. But of course.’
‘In Haiti?’
The little man nodded rather grandly. ‘And I suggest you two move quickly.’
‘Two? I’m not included in this?’ Eliza said.
‘I am afraid, Eliza, you cannot go on this expedition. Both of us must stay behind this time.’
‘Why?’ she demanded indignantly.
‘Me, because I cannot go back to Haiti. You, because this place where Daniov hides is only for men.’
‘Only for men. Where is he, the Port-au-Prince YMCA?’
‘No. He is in a monastery.’
‘A monastery?’ O’Hara said.
‘Oui. It is near Cap-Haitien. La Montagne des Yeux Vides. I have arranged with a friend to meet you at the airport. He will lead you to the place and see to your entry.’
‘When?’ asked the Magician.
‘As soon as possible. It would be test to get there before dark. It is now only’ —he looked at the gold watch that glittered on his wrist—’twelve-thirty. If you leave by three o’clock, you can be in Cap-Haitien by four-thirty and at Les Yeux Vides by sundown.’
‘Here we go again,’ the Magician said. ‘Howe’s going to think we’ve gone west with his Lear jet.’
‘I’ll find the pilot,’ Eliza said. ‘Hopefully he’s not off deep-sea fishing or something.’ And she raced from the room.
‘Joli,’ O’Hara said, ‘how did you find Danilov so fast? Chameleon’s probably had some of his best operators tracking him for months.’
‘Because Joli knows everybody in Haiti,’ the Magician answered. ‘He may not be able to go back, but he sure can pull a lot of weight over the phone.’
‘How did you do it, Joli?’ O’Hara asked.
The little man beamed with pride. ‘It could remain my secret, but... first, I must admit that I know this Danilov. He was in and out of the hotel here many times for about a year. Le Sorcier was much too busy with his computer to pay any attention, but Joli! Hah, I got to know him, not by occupation, of course, he did not talk about that. But he confided that he had been visiting Haiti a lot, so I put him in touch with some of my friends. I knew if he was in Haiti, I could find him, and voila, I did it!’
‘A monastery,’ O’Hara said. ‘Who would ever think to look for the master assassin of Europe in a monastery!’
‘Yeah,’ the Magician agreed, ‘and what self-respecting monk would take the bastard in?’
‘You will soon find out,’ Joli said rather haughtily and left the room.
Cap-Haitien, the quiet city in the Basse Terre — the narrow strip of lowlands at the foot of the mountains of northern Haiti — was forty-five minutes behind them, as was thirty miles of the worst road O’Hara had ever seen. The Magician had taken it in stride, having spent the better part of ten years in the Caribbean. But as the dusty old Chevy growled and groaned up one of the many mountains that ridge the country’s northern seacoast, even the piano player began to show signs of nervousness. Black clouds lurked over the stiletto peaks, and rain had already begun to fall on the mountains beyond. The road ended abruptly at a stone wall. Beyond the wall was five hundred feet of nothing. A boy, no more than nine or ten, was waiting with three mules.
‘Those are donkeys!’ the Magician whispered. ‘Joli didn’t say anything about ridin’ a fuckin’ donkey.’
‘Joli didn’t say much of anything.’
‘That fuckin’ little chocolate frog. He’s got a very perverted sense of humor. This ain’t the first time he’s tied a can to my tail.’
‘And we’re not there yet,’ said O’Hara.
Billy, the guide, had said hardly a dozen words since he picked them up at the airport. He was not unfriendly, just uncommunicative. He was a tail man, rib-thin and the color of milk chocolate, with bulging muscles in arms and shoulders, and enormous, knobby hands. His face was long with hard angles and deep cheekbones. The youth with the mules looked enough like him to be his son.
Billy got out and motioned them to follow. He spoke briefly in French to the boy, and the youngster got in the car. Then Billy motioned them to get on the mules.
‘We should hurry. It would be best to get there before the storm hits.’
‘How far is it?’ the Magician asked.
