‘Parlez-vous francais? Habla Usted español? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?’
‘English. We speak English.’
‘English’ he said, ‘so you are Englishmen, then?’ He spoke the language well, although with a guttural accent.
‘Americans.’
‘Americans!’ He stared at them suspiciously and then said, in a fevered and annoyed tone, ‘Yes, yes, what is it? I’m a busy man. Can’t you see I’m busy? Eh? Look at this desk, just look at it! Projects, projects, pro— Never enough hours in the day to get... My secretary... I haven’t seen ... uh, she’s off on holiday. That bitch.’
He frantically moved papers around on the desk.
‘Danilov?’ O’Hara said.
The haunted man peered at him through the flickering candlelight. ‘I know you,’ he said. There was panic in his voice. ‘You’re here to kill me.’ He backed into the corner of his cell-like room, whimpering like a scared puppy, holding his umbrella in front of him, its point gleaming dangerously. O’Hara backed away from the deadly weapon.
‘I want to help you,’ O’Hara said.
‘I don’t want help. Get away from me. You’re one of them.’
‘One of whom?’
Danilov’s mood changed suddenly. ‘Don’t try to-You think I’m a fool? How did you get— All right, all right, where’s Security? Security! How did you get— Security! They sold me sold me... Oh, those bastards.. .‘ He closed his eyes and
beat one fist on his knee.
‘Nobody sold you out, Danilov. I promise you, your secret is safe with us. I’ve been on the dodge myself — for over a year.’
Danilov’s mood changed again. He giggled and spoke in mock musical tones. ‘Don’t believe you,’ he said, as if he were singing a song. ‘You lie. Everyone lies. Did you know that lying is an art?’
He waited for an answer, his eyebrows raised, then went on, ‘In the KGB they teach lying, like they teach point in ballet. Basic. Basic!’ A long pause. ‘Who are you? I do know you, don’t I?’
‘We’ve never met officially. My name’s O’Hara.’
‘O’Hara ... O’Hara... Irish, eh? IRA?’
‘American.’
‘Yesyesyesyoutoldmethatallrightallright,’ he babbled in frustration. Then, just as quickly, he became almost playful again. ‘Well, Slip the doodle-do, right?’ He leaned on the umbrella and danced a jig around it. ‘The cock-a-doodle-do.’ He raised his head and crowed like a rooster.
‘Mad as a fuckin’ hatter,’ the Magician whispered. ‘Let’s get the hell outa here. This guy’s absolutely tutti-fruiti, off-the- wall, bananas, Sailor.’
‘We didn’t come all the way up here to end up with nothing, Magician.’ O’Hara raised his voice and called out, ‘Mr Danilov?’
The little man stopped and peered forlornly over his shoulder at O’Hara.
‘We have a similar problem, Mr Daniov.’
The little man stopped his dance and looked at O’Hara quizzically. ‘Oh, really? The soil up here ... terrible, terrible. But.. . I have prevailed, sir.’ He pointed to the daisies. ‘Grown in pure rock. This place is a veritable Gibraltar. But... I did
prevail.’
‘My problem is not gardening,’ O’ Hara said.
‘Oh?’
‘My problem is, my own section chief sanctioned me.’
Danilov looked at him with suspicion. Then his mind began to shift; there was a glimmer of recognition, perhaps. ‘Happens all the time,’ he said. ‘When you trust someone, that’s the one not to trust. I call it my reversal theory, eh? Or is it the other way around?’
‘We want to help you, Danilov.’
‘To do what?’
‘Do you know why you’re here?’
‘Peace. Serenity. I don’t want to leave here. I like it here. No surprises anymore. I can’t stand surprises. Can’t stand
wondering. Every day is the same here. Food is the same. People are the same. I have a garden, just outside there. But it’s raining. Later, perhaps, we can take a stroll. Perhaps in the morning. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. . . Time will tell, eh? Are you a guest here too?’
He skittered close to O’Hara and said in a low voice, ‘I must warn you, the food is wretched. But the service, ah, the service
superb. Absolutely ... superb. Not a lot of jibber-jabber, and quite prompt. Certainly not.. . not of course, of course not
absolutely not the Plaza or the Savoy, but then, the food was never any good in Egypt, either. Do you travel?’
‘I’m leaving,’ the Magician whispered. ‘I listen to much more of this, I’ll be certifiable.’
O’Hara ignored him and pressed the point. ‘Mr Daniov, do you know who I am?’
Danilov strolled the room again, studying O’Hara’s candle- jaundiced face flickering before him. ‘My friend? My brother? My teacher, my priest, my driver, my enemy? L’enemi, yes. My ... own .. . executioner.’
‘Do you know who lam?’ O’Hara insisted.
The mad Bulgarian sat down again and pursed his lips. ‘I was always very good at tests,’ he said, still pondering, and then he said, ‘You’re the one they call the Sailor.’
O’Hara was taken aback. ‘That’s right,’ he said with surprise.
‘And you,’ he said to the Magician, ‘are the one with the hotel.’
‘Be damned,’ the Magician said.
Danilov turned back to O’Hara. ‘You ditched it.’
‘Right again.’
‘Ditched it. Yes, I remember you. I ditched it too. Not an easy thing to do.’
‘Why do you think that is?’
‘Because they don’t want that. It’s unsafe. They prefer to give you the long sleep.’
‘Who is “they”?’
‘The faceless ones, telephone voices, kill this one, kill that one. For what reason? Never mind. Oh, excuse me, excusez moi, monsieur.’
‘Who is Chameleon?’
‘I know and I don’t know.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘Everybody, nobody. He is a chameleon. The chameleon is never what it seems.’
‘What do you know about Master?’
He became cautious again. His eyes flicked around the room. ‘It’s very dangerous, you know, to underestimate them.’
‘Underestimate whom? You mean Master?’
‘They’re philosophical racists. Couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it and now ... no place left for me but here. It is my. . . rabbit hole.’
‘Why did you run, Danilov?’
‘Too old. Arthritis.’ He held up his deformed hands. ‘Senseless. Too many faces. The jolly fat man in the rain you can’t retire. No such thing as quitting. When you are no longer useful, they dispose of you. Understand? They shove you down the ... what do you call it?’—he made a sound like brrrttt—’... garbage disposal.’
‘And the only reason Master wants you dead is because you got arthritis?’
Danilov nodded ruefully. ‘Yes, the unpardonable. To get sick. Tried to keep them from finding out. But eventually there were ... things I couldn’t do anymore.’
He dry-washed his hands, over and over. Then he said, ‘I failed them. No such thing . .. failure.’
‘How did you fail them?’
‘Chameleon.’
‘What about Chameleon?’
‘I missed Chameleon.’
‘Missed him? Were you trying to kill him?’