The Cry of the Halidon (43 page)

“There is no point in pursuing this,” said Daniel. “For centuries the colonial law of Jamaica spelled out an absolute: all precious metals discovered on the island were the possession of the Crown. It was the primary reason no one searched.”

“
Fowler
,” said McAuliff softly. “Jeremy Fowler …”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Crown Recorder in Kingston. More than a hundred years ago …”

Daniel paused. “Yes. In 1883, to be exact. So that was Piersall’s fragment.” The minister of the Halidon wrote on another page of notepaper. “It will be removed.”

“This Fowler,” said Alex softly. “Did he know?”

Daniel looked up from the paper, tearing it off the pad as he did so. “No. He believed he was carrying out the wishes of a dissident faction of Maroons conspiring with a group of north-coast landowners. The object was to destroy the records of a tribal treaty so thousands of acres could be cleared for plantations. It was what he was told and what he was paid for.”

“The family in England still believes it.”

“Why not? It was”—the minister smiled—“
Colonial Service
. Shall we return to more currently applicable questions? You see, Dr. McAuliff, we want you to understand.
Thoroughly.”

“Go ahead.”

According to Daniel, the Halidon had no ambitions for political power. It never had such ambitions; it remained outside the body politic, accepting the historical view that order emerges out of the chaos of different, even conflicting ideologies. Ideas were greater monuments than cathedrals, and a people must have free access to them. That was the lesson of Acquaba. Freedom of mobility, freedom of thought … freedom to do battle, if need be. The religion of the Halidon was essentially humanist, its jungle gods symbols of continuously struggling forces battling for the mortals’ freedom. Freedom to survive in the world in the manner agreed upon within the tribe, without imposing that manner on the other tribes.

“Not a bad premise, is it?” asked Daniel confidently, again rapidly.

“No,” answered McAuliff. “And not particularly original, either.”

“I disagree,” said the minister. “The thoughts may have a hundred precedents, but the practice is almost unheard of.… Tribes, as they develop self-sufficiency, tend to graduate to the point where they are anxious to impose themselves on as many other tribes as possible. From the pharaohs to Caesar; from the Empire—several empires, Holy Roman, British, et cetera—to Adolf Hitler; from Stalin to your own conglomeratized government of self-righteous proselytizers. Beware the pious believers, McAuliff. They were all pious in their fashions. Too many are still.”

“But you’re not.” Alex looked over at the enormous leaded glass and the rushing, plummeting water beyond. “You just decide who is … and act accordingly. Free to ‘do battle,’ as you call it.”

“You think that is a contradiction of purpose?”

“You’re damned right I do. When ‘doing battle’ includes killing people … because they don’t conform to your idea of what’s acceptable.”

“Whom have we killed?”

Alex shifted his gaze from the waterfall to Daniel. “I can
start with last night. Two carriers on the survey who were probably picking up a few dollars from British Intelligence; for what? Keeping their eyes open? Reporting what we had for dinner? Who came to see us? Your runner, the one I called Marcus, said they were agents; he killed them. And a fat pig named Garvey, who was a pretty low-level, uniformed liaison and, I grant you, smelled bad. But I think a fatal accident on the road to Port Maria was a bit drastic.” McAuliff paused for a moment and leaned forward in the chair. “You massacred an entire survey team—every member—and for all you know, they were hired by Dunstone the same way I was: just looking for work. Now, maybe you can justify all those killings, but neither you nor anyone else can justify the death of Walter Piersall.… Yes, Mr. High and Mighty Minister, I think you’re pretty violently pious yourself.”

Daniel had sat down in the chair behind the hatch table during Alex’s angry narrative. He now pushed his foot against the floor, sending the chair gently to his right, toward the huge window. “Over a hundred years ago, this office was the entire building. One of my early predecessors had it placed here. He insisted that the minister’s room—‘chamber,’ it was called then—overlook this section of our waterfall. He claimed the constant movement and the muffled sound forced a man to concentrate, blocked out small considerations.… That long-forgotten rebel proved right. I never cease to wonder at the different bursts of shapes and patterns. And while wondering, the mind really concentrates.”

“Is that your way of telling me those who were killed were … small considerations?”

Daniel pushed the chair back in place and faced McAuliff. “No, Doctor. I was trying to think of a way to convince you. I shall tell you the truth, but I am not sure you will believe it. Our runners, our guides—our infiltrators, if you will—are trained to use
effect
wherever possible. Fear, McAuliff, is an extraordinary weapon. A nonviolent weapon; not that we are necessarily nonviolent.… Your carriers are not dead. They were taken prisoner, blindfolded,
led to the outskirts of Weston Favel, and released. They were not hurt, but they were frightened severely. They will not work for M. I. Five or M. I. Six again. Garvey
is
dead, but we did not kill him. Your Mr. Garvey sold anything he could get his hands on, including women, especially young girls. He was shot on the road to Port Maria by a distraught father, the motive obvious. We simply took the credit.… You say we massacred the Dunstone survey. Reverse that, Doctor. Three of the four white men tried to massacre our scouting party. They killed six of our young men after asking them into the camp for conference.”

“One of those … white men was a British agent.”

“So Malcolm tells us.”

“I don’t believe a trained Intelligence man would kill indiscriminately.”

“Malcolm agrees with you. But the facts are there. An Intelligence agent is a man first. In the sudden pitch of battle, a man takes sides. This man, whichever one he was, chose his side.… He did not have to choose the way he did.”

“The fourth man? He was different, then?”

“Yes.” Daniel’s eyes were suddenly reflective. “He was a good man. A Hollander. When he realized what the others were doing, he objected violently. He ran out to warn the rest of our party. His own men shot him.”

For several moments, neither men spoke. Finally McAuliff asked, “What about Walter Piersall? Can you find a story for that?”

“No,” said Daniel. “We do not know what happened. Or who killed him. We have ideas, but nothing more. Walter Piersall was the last man on earth we wanted dead. Especially under the circumstances. And if you do not understand that, then you’re stupid.”

McAuliff got out of the chair and walked aimlessly to the huge window. He could feel Daniel’s eyes on him. He forced himself to watch the crashing streams of water in front of him. “Why did you bring me here? Why have you told me so much? About you … and everything else.”

“We had no choice. Unless you lied or unless Malcolm
was deceived, neither of which I believe.… And we understand your position as well as your background. When Malcolm flew out of England, he brought with him M. I. Five’s complete dossier on you. We are willing to make you an offer.”

Alex turned and looked down at the minister. “I’m sure it’s one I can’t refuse.”

“Not readily. Your life. And, not incidentally, the lives of your fellow surveyors.”

“Piersall’s documents?”

“Somewhat more extensive, but those, too, of course,” answered Daniel.

“Go on.” McAuliff remained by the window. The muted sound of the waterfall was his connection to the outside somehow. It was comforting.

“We know what the British want: the list of names that comprise the Dunstone hierarchy. The international financiers that fully expect to turn this island into an economic sanctuary, another Switzerland. Not long ago, a matter of weeks, they gathered here on this island from all over the world. In Port Antonio. A few used their real names, most did not. The timing is propitious. The Swiss banking institutions are breaking down their traditional codes of account-secrecy one after another. They are under extraordinary pressures, of course.… We have the Dunstone list. We will make an exchange.”

“It for our lives? And the documents …”

Daniel laughed, neither cruelly nor kindly. It was a genuine expression of humor. “Doctor, I am afraid it is you who are obsessed with small considerations. It is true we place great value on Piersall’s documents, but the British do not. We must think as our adversaries think. The British want the Dunstone list above all things. And above all things, we want British Intelligence, and everything it represents, out of Jamaica. That is the exchange we offer.”

McAuliff stood motionless by the window. “I don’t understand you.”

The minister leaned forward. “We demand an end to English influence … as we demand an end to the influence
of all other nations—
tribes
, if you wish, Doctor—over this island. In short words, Jamaica is to be left to the Jamaicans.”

“Dunstone wouldn’t leave it to you,” said Alex, groping. “I’d say its influence was a hell of a lot more dangerous than anyone else’s.”

“Dunstone is
our
fight; we have our own plans. Dunstone was organized by financial geniuses. But once confined in our territory, our alternatives are multiple. Among other devices, expropriation … But these alternatives take time, and we both know the British do not have the time. England cannot afford the loss of Dunstone, Limited.”

McAuliff’s mind raced back to the room in the Savoy Hotel … and R. C. Hammond’s quiet admission that
economics were a factor. A rather significant one
.

Hammond the manipulator.

Alex walked back to the armchair and sat down. He realized Daniel was allowing him the time to think, to absorb the possibilities of the new information. There were so many questions; most, he knew, could not be answered, but several touched him. He had to try.

“A few days ago,” he began awkwardly, “when Barak Moore died, I found myself concerned that Charles Whitehall had no one to oppose him. So did you. I saw what you wrote down—”

“What is your question?” asked Daniel civilly.

“I was right, wasn’t I? They’re the two extremes. They have followers. They’re not just hollow fanatics.”

“Whitehall and Moore?”

“Yes.”

“Hardly. They’re the charismatic leaders. Moore
was
, Whitehall
is
. In all emerging nations there are generally three factions: right, left, and the comfortable middle—the entrenched holdovers who have learned the daily functions. The middle is eminently corruptible, for it continues the same dull, bureaucratic chores with sudden new authority. It is the first to be replaced. The healthiest way is by an infusion of the maturest elements from both extremes. Peaceful balance.”

“And that’s what you’re waiting for? Like a referee? An umpire?”

“Yes. That’s very good, Doctor. There’s merit in the struggle, you know; neither side is devoid of positive factors.… Unfortunately, Dunstone makes our task more difficult. We must observe the combatants carefully.”

The minister’s eyes had strayed again; and, again, there was the brief nearly imperceptible reflection. “Why?” asked Alex.

Daniel seemed at first reluctant to answer. And then he sighed audibly. “Very well … Barak Moore’s reaction to Dunstone would be violent. A bloodbath … chaos. Whitehall’s would be equally dangerous. He would seek temporary collusion, the power base being completely financial. He could be used as many of the German industrialists honestly believed they were using Hitler. Only the association feeds on absolute power … absolutely.”

McAuliff leaned back in the chair. He was beginning to understand. “So if Dunstone’s out, you’re back to the—what was it—the healthy struggle?”

“Yes,” said Daniel quietly.

“Then you and the British want the same thing. How can you make conditions?”

“Because our solutions are different. We have the time and the confidence of final control. The English … and the French and the Americans and the Germans … do not have either. The economic disasters they would suffer could well be to our advantage. And that is all I will say on the subject. We have the Dunstone list. You will make the offer to the British.”

“I go to with Malcolm to Montego—”

“You will be escorted, and guarded,” interrupted Daniel harshly. “The members of your geological survey are hostages. Each will be summarily executed should there be the slightest deviation from our instructions.”

“Suppose British Intelligence doesn’t believe you? What the hell am I supposed to do then?”

Daniel stood up. “They will believe you, McAuliff. For your trip to Montego Bay is merely part of the news that
will soon be worldwide. There will be profound shock in several national capitals. And you will tell British Intelligence that this is our proof. It is only the tip of the Dunstone iceberg. Oh, they will believe you, McAuliff. Precisely at noon, London time. Tomorrow.”

“That’s all you’ll tell me?”

“No. One more thing. When the acts take place, the panicked giant—Dunstone—will send out its killers. Among others, you will be a target.”

McAuliff found himself standing up in anger. “Thank you for the warning,” he said.

“You are welcome,” replied Daniel. “Now, if you will come with me.”

Outside the office, Malcolm, the priest figure, was talking quietly with Jeanine. At the sight of Daniel, both fell silent. Jeanine blocked Daniel’s path and spoke.

“There is news from the Martha Brae.”

Alex looked at the minister and then back at the girl. “Martha Brae” had to mean the survey’s campsite. He started to speak, but was cut off by Daniel.

“Whatever it is, tell us both.”

“It concerns two men. The young man, Ferguson, and the ore specialist, Peter Jensen.”

Alex breathed again.

“What happened?” asked Daniel. “The young man first.”

“A runner came into camp bringing him a letter from Arthur Craft Senior. In it Craft made promises, instructing Ferguson to leave the survey, come up to Port Antonio, to the Foundation. Our scouts followed and intercepted them several miles down the river. They are being held there, south of Weston Favel.”