a little festive, though.' Tucker got out of the chair and walked to the sea wall. 'I think Alison should have a birthday.'
The telephone rang in McAuliffs room. The doors were closed against the heat, and the harsh bell echoed from beyond the slatted panels. Tucker and Lawrence looked at each other, each knowing the other's thoughts. Although McAuliff had not elaborated on his late-morning departure from Bengal Court, neither had he concealed it. Actually, he had asked the desk for a road map, explaining only that he was going for a drive. Therefore, the front desk knew that he was not in his room.
Tucker crossed rapidly to the double doors, opened them, and went inside to the telephone.
'Mr McAuliff?' The soft, precise Jamaican voice answered Sam's question with the obvious explanation. It was that of the switchboard operator.
'No, Mr McAuliff is out. May I give him a message?'
'Please, sir, I have a call from Kingston. From a Mr Latham. Will you hold the line, please?'
'Certainly. Tell Mr Latham you've got Sam Tucker on the phone. He may want to speak with me.'
Sam held the telephone under his wrinkled chin as he struck a match to a thin cigar. He had barely drawn the first smoke when he heard the double click of the connecting line. The voice was now Latham's. Latham, the proper bureaucrat from the Ministry who was also committed to the cause of Barak Moore. As Latham spoke, Tucker made the decision not to tell him of Barak's death.
'Mr Tucker?'
'Yes, Mr Latham. Alex drove into Ocho Rios.'
'Very well. You can handle this, I'm sure. We were able to comply with McAuliff's request. He's got his interior runners several days early. They're in Duanvale and will be driving on Route 11 into Queenhythe later this afternoon.'
'Queenhythe's near here, isn't it?'
'Three or four miles from your motel, that's all. They'll telephone when they get in.'
'What are their names?'
'They're brothers. Marcus and Justice Hedrik. They're Maroons, of course. Two of the best runners in Jamaica; they know the Cock Pit extremely well, and they're trustworthy.'
'That's good to hear. Alexander will be delighted.'
Latham paused but obviously was not finished. 'Mr Tucker... ?'
'Yes, Mr Latham?'
'McAuliff's altered the survey's schedule, it would appear. I'm not sure we understand...'
'Nothing to understand, Mr Latham. Alex decided to work from a geographical midpoint. Less room for error that way; like bisecting a triangle from semicircular coordinates. I agree with him.' Tucker inhaled on his thin cigar while Latham's silence conveyed his bewilderment. 'Also,' continued Sam, 'it gives everyone a lot more to do.'
'I see... The reasons, then, are quite compatible with... let us say, professional curiosity?'
'Very professional, Mr Latham.' Tucker realized that Latham would not speak freely on the telephone. Or felt he could not. 'Beyond criticism, if you're worried about the Ministry's concerns. Actually, Alexander could be saving you considerable sums of money. You'll get a lot more data much quicker.'
Latham paused again, as though to telegraph the importance of the following statement. 'Naturally, we're always interested in conserving funds... And I assume you all agree with the decision to go in so quickly. Into the Cock Pit, that is.'
Sam knew that Latham's statement could be translated into the question: Does Barak Moore agree!
'We all agree, Mr Latham. We're all professionals.'
'Yes... Well, that's splendid. One last item, Mr Tucker.'
'Yes, Mr Latham?
'We want Mr McAuliff to use all the resources provided him. He's not to stint in an effort to save money; the survey's too important for that.'
Tucker again translated Latham's code easily: Alex was to maintain contact with British Intelligence liaisons. If he avoided them, suspicions would be aroused.
'I'll tell him that, Mr Latham, but I'm sure he's aware of it. These past two weeks have been very routine, very dull - simple coastline geodometrics. Not much call for equipment. Or resources.'
'As long as he knows our feelings,' said Latham rapidly, now anxious to terminate the conversation. 'Goodbye, Mr Tucker.'
'Goodbye, Mr Latham.' Sam held his finger down on the telephone button for several moments, then released it and waited for the switchboard. When the operator came on the line, Tucker asked for the front desk.
'Bengal Court, good afternoon.'
'This is Mr Tucker, west wing 6, Royal Society survey.'
'Yes, Mr Tucker?'
'Mr McAuliff asked me to make arrangements for tonight. He didn't have time this morning; besides, it was awkward. Mrs Booth was with him.' Sam paused, letting his words register.
The clerk automatically responded. 'Yes, Mr Tucker. What can we do for you?'