straw broom, chasing child and fowl out into the yard, laughing and scolding simultaneously. This was a different sort of insurgence. Bandana-headed mothers were replaced by visor-capped men of the state; straw brooms became high-powered rifles. The chickens were ideas... far more deadly to the uniformed servants of the state than the loose feathers were to the bandana-headed servants of the family.
Barak dead.
It seemed incredible. Yet not without its positive effect. Barak had not understood the problems of their island; therefore, he had not understood the proper solutions. Barak's solutions were decades away.
First there had to be strength. The many led by a very strong, militant few.
Perhaps one.
In the downhill distance there was a billow of dust; a station wagon was travelling much too fast over the old dirt road.
McAuliff was anxious too.
Charles started back across the field to the entrance drive of the house. He had requested that his Drax Hall host be absent between the hours of twelve and three. No explanations were given, and no questions were asked.
A messiah had returned. That was enough.
'Here it is,' said McAuliff, standing in front of Whitehall in the cool toolshed, holding the smaller archive case in his left hand. 'But before you start fiddling around, I want a couple of things clear.'
Charles Whitehall stared at the American. 'Conditions are superfluous. We both know what must be done.'
'What's not superfluous,' countered Alex, 'is that you understand there'll be no... unilateral decisions. This isn't your private war, Charley-mon.'
'Are you trying to sound like Barak?'
'Let's say I'm looking after his interests. And mine.'
'Yours I can comprehend. Why his? They're not compatible, you know.'
'They're not even connected.'
'So why concern yourself?' Whitehall shifted his eyes to the archive case. He realized that his breathing had become audible; his anxiety was showing, and again he was annoyed with himself. 'Let me have that, please.'
'You asked me a question. I'm going to answer it first,' replied McAuliff. 'I don't trust you, Charley. You'll use anyone. Anything. Your kind always does. You make pacts and agreements with anything that moves. And you do it very well. You're so flexible you meet yourself around corners. But all the time it's sturm-und-drang, and I'm not much for that.'
'Oh, I see. You subscribe to Barak's canefield paratroopers. The chaos of the Fidelisti, where the corporals spit and chew cigars and rape the generals' daughters so society is balanced. Three-year plans and five-year plans and crude uneducated bullies managing the affairs of state. Into disaster, I might add. Don't be a fool, McAuliff. You're better than that.'
'Cut it out, Charley. You're not on a podium addressing your chiefs of staff,' said Alex wearily. 'I don't believe in that oversimplification any more than I believe in your two-plus-two solutions. Pull in your hardware. I'm still the head of this survey. I can fire you in a minute. Very publicly. Now, that might not get you off the island, but your situation won't be the same.'
'What guarantee do I have that you won't force me out?'
'Not much of one. You'll just have to take my word that I want those bastards off my back as badly as you do. For entirely different reasons.'
'Somehow I think you're lying.'
'I wouldn't gamble on that.'
Whitehall searched McAuliff's eyes. 'I won't. I said this conversation was superfluous, and it is. Your conditions are accepted because of what must be done... Now, may I have that case, please?'
Sam Tucker sat on the terrace, alternately reading the newspaper and glancing over the sea wall to the beach, where Alison and James Ferguson were in deck chairs near the water. Every now and then, when the dazzling Caribbean sun had heated their skin temperatures sufficiently, Alison and the young botanist waded into the water. They did not splash or jump or dive; they simply fell onto the calm surface, as though exhausted. It seemed to be an exercise of weariness for both of them.
There was no joy sur la plage, thought Sam, who nevertheless picked up a pair of binoculars whenever Alison began paddling about and scanned the immediate vicinity around which she swam. He focused on any swimmer who came near her; there were not many, and all were recognizable as guests of Bengal Court.
None was a threat, and that's what Sam Tucker was looking for.
Ferguson had returned from Montego Bay a little before noon, just after Alex had driven off to Drax Hall. He had wandered onto the connecting terraces, startling Sam and the temporarily disoriented Lawrence, who had been