Another sound. Another intruder. Also muted—this from the darkness of the sky.
An airplane, its engine idling, was descending rapidly.
It touched ground, and simultaneously the torch at the north end was extinguished. Seconds later the aircraft came to a stop by the flame at the south end. A man jumped out of the small cabin; the fire was put out instantly.
“Let’s go!” said McAuliff to the British agent. Together the two men started across the field.
They were no more than fifty yards into the grass when it happened.
The impact was so startling, the shock so complete, that Alex screamed involuntarily and threw himself to the ground, his pistol raised, ready to fire.
Hammond remained standing.
For two immensely powerful searchlights had caught them in the blinding convergence of the cross-beams.
“Put down your weapon, McAuliff,” came the words from beyond the blinding glare.
And Daniel, Minister of Council for the Tribe of Acquaba, walked through the light.
32
“When you came into the area you tripped the photoelectric alarms. Nothing mysterious.”
They were in the automobile, Daniel in front with the driver, Hammond and Alexander in the backseat. They had driven away from the field, out of Drax Hall, along the coast into Lucea Harbour. They parked on a deserted section of a dirt road overlooking the water. The road was one of those native offshoots on the coastal highway unspoiled by trespassing tourists. The moon was brighter by the ocean’s edge, reflected off the rippling surface, washing soft yellow light over their faces.
As they were driving, McAuliff had a chance to study the car they were in. From the outside it looked like an ordinary, not-very-distinguished automobile of indeterminate make and vintage—like hundreds of island vehicles, made from parts cannibalized from other cars. Yet inside the fundamental difference was obvious: it was a precision-tooled mobile fortress and communications center. The windows were of thick, bullet-proof glass; rubber slots were evident in the rear and side sections—slots that were for the high-blasting, short-barreled shotguns clamped below the back of the front seat. Under the dashboard was a long panel with dials and switches; a telephone was locked into a recess between two microphones. The engine, from the sound of it, was one of the most powerful Alex had ever heard.
The Halidon went first class in the outside world.
Daniel was in the process of dismissing McAuliff’s astonishment at the events of the past two hours. It seemed important to the minister that he convey the reality of the situation. The crisis was sufficiently desperate for Daniel to leave the community; to risk his life to be in command.
It was as though he wanted very much for R. C Hammond to realize he was about to deal with an extremely sensible and hard-nosed adversary.
“We had to make sure you were alone … the two of you, of course. That you were not somehow followed. There were tense moments this afternoon. You handled yourselves expertly, apparently. We could not help you. Congratulations.”
“What happened to Malcolm?” asked Alex.
Daniel paused, then spoke quietly, sadly. “We do not know yet. We are looking.… He is safe—or dead. There is no middle ground.” Daniel looked at Hammond. “Malcolm is the man you know as Joseph Myers, Commander Hammond.”
McAuliff shifted his gaze to the agent. So Hammond the manipulator was a Commander. Commander Hammond, liar, manipulator … and risker-of-life to save another’s.
Hammond reacted to Daniel’s words by closing his eyes for precisely two seconds. The information was a professional burden he did not care for; the manipulator was outflanked again.
“Do I have a single black man working for me? For the Service?”
The minister smiled gently. “By our count, seven. Three, however, are quite ineffectual.”
“Thank you for enlightening me. I’m sure you can furnish me with identities.… They all look so much alike, you see.”
Daniel accepted the clichéd insult calmly, his smile disappearing, his eyes cold in the yellow moonlight. “Yes. I understand the problem. There appears to be so little to distinguish us … from such a viewpoint. Fortunately, there are other standards. You will not be needing the identities.”
Hammond returned Daniel’s look without intimidation. “McAuliff conveyed your demands. I say to you what I said to him. They’re impossible, of course—”
“Please, Commander Hammond,” said Daniel rapidly, interrupting, ’there are so many complications, let us not compound them with lies. From the beginning your instructions were clear. Would you prefer we deal with the Americans? Or the French? The Germans, perhaps?”
The silence was abrupt. There was a cruelty to it, a blunt execution of pain. Alexander watched as the two enemies exchanged stares. He saw the gradual, painful cognizance in Hammond’s eyes.
“Then you know,” said the Englishman softly.
“We know,” replied Daniel simply.
Hammond remained silent and looked out the window.
The Minister of the Halidon turned to McAuliff. “The global mendacity, Doctor. Commander Hammond is the finest Intelligence officer in the British service. The unit he directs is a coordinated effort between the aforementioned governments. It is, however, coordinated in name only. For M.I. Five—as the prime investigatory agency—does not apprise its fellow signatories of its progress.”
“There are good and sufficient reasons for our actions,” said Hammond, still looking out the window.
“Reduced to one, is that not right, Commander?… Security. You cannot trust your allies.”
“Our counterparts are leak-prone. Experience has confirmed this.” The agent did not take his eyes off the water.
“So you mislead them,” said Daniel. “You give false information, tell them you are concentrating in the Mediterranean, then South America—Argentina, Nicaragua. Even nearby Haiti … but never Jamaica.” The minister paused for emphasis. “No, never Jamaica.”
“Standard procedure,” answered Hammond, allowing Daniel a brief, wary look.
“Then it will not surprise you to learn that this mistrust is shared by your foreign confederates. They have sent out teams, their best men. They are presently tracking down every scrap of information M.I. Six has made available. They are working furiously.”
Hammond snapped his head back to Daniel. “That is contrary to our agreement,” he said in an angry monotone.
The minister did not smile. “I do not think you are in a position to be sanctimonious, Commander.” Daniel shifted his eyes again to Alexander. “You see, McAuliff, since Dunstone, Limited, was a London-based conglomerate, it was agreed to give the first-level assignment to British Intelligence. It was understandable; M.I. Five and Six are the finest in the West; the Commander is their finest. On the theory that the fewer clandestine services operating, the less likely were breaches of security, the British agreed to function alone and keep everyone current. Instead, they continuously furnished erroneous data.” Daniel now permitted himself a minor smile. “In a sense, they were justified. The Americans, the French, and the Germans were all breaking the agreement, none had any intention of keeping it. Each was going after Dunstone, while claiming to leave the field to the English.… Dunstone has to be dismantled. Taken apart economic brick by economic brick. The world markets can accept no less. But there are so many bricks. Each government believes that if only it can get there first—get the Dunstone list before the others—well, arrangements can be made/assets transferred.”
Hammond could not remain silent. “I submit—whoever you are—that we are the logical … executors.”
“The term ‘logic’ being interchangeable with ‘deserving.’ I will say this for your cause. God, Queen, and Empire have paid heavily in recent decades. Somewhat out of proportion to their relative sins, but that is not our concern, Commander. As I said, your instructions were clear at the outset: Get the Dunstone list at all costs. The cost is now cl
ear. We will give you the list. You will get out of Jamaica. That is the price.”
Again, the silence; once more, the exchange of analyzing stares. A cloud passed over the Montego moon, causing a dark shadow to fall over the faces. Hammond spoke.
“How can be we be sure of its authenticity?”
“Can you doubt us after the events of the day? Remember, it is in our mutual interest that Dunstone be eliminated.”
“What guarantees do you expect from us?”
Daniel laughed. A laugh formed in humor. “We do not need guarantees, Commander. We will know. Can you not understand that? Our island is not a continent; we know every liaison, conduit, and contact with whom you function.” The smile from the laugh formed in humor disappeared. “These operations will stop. Make whatever settlements you must, but then no more. Give—really give—Jamaica to its rightful owners. Struggles, chaos, and all.”
“And”—the Englishman spoke softly—“if these decisions are outside my control—”
“Make no mistake, Commander Hammond!” Daniel’s voice rose, cutting off the agent. “The executions that took place today began at noon London time. And each day, the chimes in Parliament’s clocktower ring out another noon. When you hear them, remember. What we were capable of today, we are capable of tomorrow. And we will add the truth of our motives. England will be a pariah in the community of nations. You cannot afford that.”
“Your threat is ludicrous!” countered Hammond, with equal fever. “As you said, this island is not a continent. We’d go in and destroy you.”
Daniel nodded and replied quietly. “Quite possible. And you should know that we are prepared for that eventuality. We have been for over two hundred years. Remarkable, isn’t it?… By all you believe holy, pay the price, Hammond; take the list and salvage what you can from Dunstone. You do deserve that. Not that you’ll salvage much; the vultures will fly in from their various geographies and dive for the carrion. We offer you time, perhaps only a few days. Make the best of it!”
A red light on the panel beneath the dashboard lit up, throwing a glow over the front seat. There were the sharp, staccato repeats of a high-pitched buzzer. The driver reached for the telephone and pulled it to his ear, held it there for several seconds, and then handed the instrument to Daniel.
The Minister of the Halidon listened. Alexander saw his face in the rearview mirror. Daniel could not conceal his alarm.
And then his anger.
“Do what you can but risk no lives. Our men are to pull out. No one is to leave the community. That is final. Irreversible!” He replaced the telephone in its upright recess firmly and turned his eyes on the Englishman as he spoke sarcastically. “British expertise, Commander. John Bull know-how. The West Indian specialists, M.I. Six, Caribbean, have just received their orders from Dunstone. They are to go into the Cock Pit and intercept the survey. They are to make sure it does not come out.”
“Oh, my God!” McAuliff pitched forward on the seat. “Can they reach them?”
“Ask the eminent authority,” said Daniel bitingly, his eyes wide on Hammond. “They are his men.”
The agent was rigid, as though he had stopped breathing. Yet it was obvious his mind was operating swiftly, silently. “They are in contact with the radio receivers … the signals transmitted from the campsite. The location can be pinpointed—”
“Within a thousand yards,” cut in Alexander, completing Hammond’s statement.
“Yes.”
“You’ve got to stop them!”
“I’m not sure there’s a way—”
“Find one. For Christ’s sake, Hammond, they’re going to be killed!” McAuliff grabbed Hammond by the lapels of his jacket, yanking him forward viciously. “You move, mister. Or I’ll kill you!”
“Take your hands—”
Before the agent could finish the obvious, Alexander whipped his right hand across Hammond’s face, breaking the skin on the Englishman’s lips. “There isn’t anything more, Commander! I want those guarantees! Now!”
The agent spoke through rivulets of blood. “I’ll do my best. All I’ve ever given you was … our best efforts.”
“You son of a bitch!” McAuliff brought his hand back once again. The driver and Daniel grabbed his arm.
“McAuliff! You’ll accomplish nothing!” roared the minister.
“You tell him to start accomplishing!” Then Alexander stopped and turned to Daniel, releasing the Englishman. “You’ve got people there.” And then McAuliff remembered the terrible words Daniel had spoken into the telephone: Risk no lives. Our men … pull back. No one is to leave the community. “You’ve got to get on that phone. Take back what you said. Protect them!”
The minister spoke quietly. “You must try to understand. There were traditions, revelations … a way of life extending over two hundred years. We cannot jeopardize these things.”
Alexander stared at the black man. “You’d watch them die? My God, you can’t!”
“I am afraid we could. And would. And we would then be faced with the taking of your life. It would be taken as swiftly …” Daniel turned up the collar of his shirt, revealing a tiny bulge in the cloth. Tablets, sewn into the fabric. “… as I would bite into these, should I ever find myself in a position where it was necessary. I would not think twice about it.”
“For God’s sake, that’s you! They’re not you; they’re no part of you. They don’t know you. Why should they pay with their lives?”
Hammond’s voice was startling in its quiet incisiveness. “Priorities, McAuliff. I told you. For them … for us.”
“The accidents of war, Doctor. Combat’s slaughter of innocents, perhaps.” Daniel spoke simply, denying the implication of his words. “Things written and unwritten—”
“Bullshit!” screamed McAuliff. The driver removed a pistol from his belt; his action was obvious. Alexander looked rapidly back and forth between the Minister of the Halidon and the British Intelligence officer. “Listen to me. You said on that phone for them to do what they can. You. Hammond. You offered your … goddamned ‘best efforts.’ All right. Give me a chance!”
“How?” asked Daniel. “There can be no Jamaican police, no Kingston troops.”
The words came back to Alexander. Words spoken by Sam Tucker in the glow of the campsite fire. A quiet statement made as Sam watched the figure of Charles Whitehall and the black giant, Lawrence, talking in the compound. They’re our protection. They may hate each other …
They’re our protection.
McAuliff whirled on Hammond. “How many defectors have you got here?”
“I brought six specialists from London—”
“All but one has sold out to Dunstone,” interrupted Daniel.
“That’s five. How many others could they pick up?” McAuliff addressed the Halidonite.
“On such short notice, perhaps three or four; probably mercenaries. That is only a guess.… They would be more concerned with speed than numbers. One automatic rifle in the hands of a single soldier—”
“When did they get the Dunstone orders?” asked Alex swiftly, breaking off Daniel’s unnecessary observations.
“Within the hour is our estimate. Certainly no more than an hour.”
“Could they get a plane?”
“Yes. Ganja aircraft are always for hire. It would take a little time; ganja pilots are a suspicious breed, but it could be done.”
Alex turned to Hammond. The agent was wiping his lips with his fingers … his goddamn fingers, as if dusting the pastry crumbs off his mouth during tea at the Savoy! “Can you raise the people monitoring the signals from the campsite? With that radio?” McAuliff pointed to the panel under the dashboard.
“I have the frequency—”
“Does that mean yes?”
“Yes.”
“What is the point?” asked Daniel.
“To see if his goddamn specialists have reached them. To get the position—”
“You want our plane?” interrupted t
he Minister of the Halidon, knowing the answer to his question.
“Yes!”
Daniel signaled to the driver to start the car. “You don’t need the position. There is only one place to land: the grassland two miles southwest of the campsite. We have the coordinates.”
The automobile lurched out of the parking area, careened off the primitive border, and sped into the darkness toward the highway.
Hammond gave the frequency-band decimals to Daniel; the minister transmitted them, handing the microphone to the British agent.
There was no pickup.
No answer over the airways.
“It will take time to get the plane.” Daniel spoke quietly as the car roared over the wide roadway.
Alex suddenly put his hand on the minister’s shoulder. “Your runner, the one who used the name Marcus. Tell him to get word to Sam Tucker.”
“I have instructed our men to pull out,” answered Daniel icily. “Please remember what I told you.”
“For Christ’s sake, send him back. Give them a chance!”
“Don’t you mean give her a chance?”
McAuliff wanted—as he had never wanted anything before—to kill the man. “You had to say it, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Daniel, turning in his seat to look Alexander in the eye. “Because it is related to the condition on which you have use of the plane. If you fail, if the woman is killed, your life is taken also. You will be executed. Quite simply, with her death you could never be trusted.”
Alexander acknowledged the penetrating stare of Daniel the Halidonite. “Quite simply,” he said, “my answer is easy. I’ll give the firing order myself.”
R. C. Hammond leaned forward. His speech was measured, precise as ever. “I am going in with you, McAuliff.”
Both Daniel and Alex looked at the Englishman. Hammond, in a few words, had quietly moved into a strange defenseless position. It astonished both men.
The Cry of the Halidon Page 39
