A muffled splash from the canal below. A few guests pause, then resume laughing.

“There’s a microfilm in the stem. The real list. Meet me in the grotto under the bridge at eleven forty-five. I’ll unmask the Chameleon. But don’t be late. I’m told my memory is... unreliable after midnight.”

“The Chameleon? That’s a fairy tale they tell new agents to keep them awake at night.”

“I remembered something. On the way down. The way the water echoes.”