‘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 bientot, Francois! 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.
