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?’
