Chameleon

O’Hara looked at the Magician, his eyebrows rising into question marks.

‘You mean the oil rig that sank?’ the Magician asked.

‘Yes. Where we lost Thornby.’

‘You mean Thornley, the British agent?’ said O’Hara. ‘Yes, only he changed all that. Buried at sea, I understand. Poetic, don’t you think?’

‘Did Thornley recruit you into Master?’

‘Yes. Paris. Three years ago. My first job was ... was Simmons. Texas. In Houston. Gave him the old whack with the umbrella. Dead in six hours. Heart attack. They never knew.’ He smiled and winked.

‘Let’s get back to the Thoreau for a minute. Did they actually sink the Thoreau?’

‘Yes. With all hands. A hundred and some. Eighty million... a hundred million dollars. It was a terrifying feat. All we lost was Thornley, hardly a fair trade, yes? Took out one of the legs with plastique.’

‘And they wanted you to get pictures of the rig that someone else had taken, is that it?’

‘The photographs were of the pumping system. Very revolutionary, But they didn’t want to see them, they just wanted them destroyed, and the chap that took them. All the same day. Quaint, eh?’

‘What do you mean, the same day?’

‘The same day they sank the Thoreau was the day they wanted me for the take-out in Hawaii. I suppose they got someone else to do it. I was in London, couldn’t get out. Bad weather. Not surprising.’

‘Daniov, who ordered the take-out n Chameleon?’

‘The phone.’

‘Was it Quill?’

‘Yes.’

‘Quill gave you a sanction on Chameleon?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘There are no reasons. There are never any reasons.’

‘Can you guess?’

‘He has become a problem.’

‘Doesn’t he run Master?’

He nodded.

‘So Quill wants to get rid of Chameleon and take over the whole operation?’

Daniov shrugged. ‘There are no reasons,’ he said. Outside, the storm had subsided. Thunder still rumbled between the mountain peaks.

‘Where is Chameleon?’

‘I lost him.’

‘Where did you lose him?’

‘Tokyo.’

‘He lives in Tokyo?’

Daniov shrugged again. ‘Perhaps.’

‘So Quill ordered you to seek and destroy Chameleon and you followed him to Tokyo and lost him. Is that when you ran?’

‘No. Found him and lost him in Tokyo.’

‘Where? Where did you lose him?’

‘On the street. Poof! he was gone.’

‘How did you get on to him?’

‘Too long. One thing and another. Others failed before me.’

‘Danilov, how many people have you killed for Master?’

‘How many?’

‘All right, who?’

‘Simmons in Houston, Richman in New York, Garcia in Los Angeles, a man in Teheran, another in Greece. And . . . it was cold and rainy. . . always cold and rainy - . . jolly man. Fat. The boat man. This was in .. . in. . .‘ His memory had clouded over again.

‘Did anyone other than Quill ever give you an assignment?’

‘Cutout.’