of cigarettes and walked to the single nylon-strapped chair in the centre of the tent. He sat down, knowing that Charley-mon would not; the black was too agitated, trying almost comically to remain calm. 'That's funny. Alison used the same words a little while ago. For different reasons... What's the message from Maroon Town?'
'Affirmative! The Colonel will meet with us What's more important - so much more important - is that his reply was in units of four!'
Whitehall approached the chair, his eyes filled with that messianic anxiety Alex had seen in Drax Hall. 'He made a counter-proposal for our meeting. Unless he hears otherwise, he will assume it is acceptable... He asks for eight days. And rather than four hours after sundown, he requests the same four hours after two in the morning. Two in the morning! Diagramatically to the right of the setting sun. Don't you see? He understands, McAuliff. He understands! Piersall's first step is confirmed!'
'I thought it would be,' replied Alex lamely, not quite sure how to handle Whitehall's agitation.
'It doesn't matter to you, does it?' The Jamaican stared at McAuliff incredulously. 'A scholar had made an extraordinary discovery. He'd followed elusive threads in the archives going back over two hundred years. His work proved out; it could have enormous academic impact. The story of Jamaica might well have to be rewritten... Can't you see?'
'I can see you're excited, and I can understand that. You should be... But right now, I'm concerned with a less erudite problem. I don't like the delay.'
Whitehall silently exploded in exasperation. He looked up at the canvas ceiling, inhaled deeply, and quickly regained his composure. The judgment he conveyed was obvious: The blunt mind in front of him was incapable of being reached. He spoke with condescending resignation. 'It's good. It indicates progress.'
'Why?'
'I did not tell you, but I included a message with our request for a meeting. It was admittedly a risk but I felt - unilaterally - that it was worth taking. It could expedite our objective with greater speed. I told the courier to say the request came from... new believers of Acquaba.'
McAuliff tensed; he was suddenly angry with Whitehall, but had the presence to minimize his anger. The horrible memory of the fate of the first Dunstone survey came to mind. 'For such a brilliant guy, I think that was pretty stupid, Charley-mon.'
'Not stupid. A calculated risk. If the Halidon decides to make contact on the strength of Piersall's code, it will arrive at that decision only after it learns more about us. It will send out for information; it will see that I am part of the unit. The elders of the Halidon will know of my credentials, my scholarship, my contributions to the Jamaican story. These will be in our favour.'
Alex leaped out of the chair and spoke quietly, viciously. 'You egomaniacal son of a bitch! Has it occurred to you that your... other credentials may not be favourable? You could be the one piece of rotten meat!'
'Impossible'
'You arrogant prick! I won't have the lives of this team jeopardized by your inflated opinion of yourself! I want protection, and I'm going to get it!'
There was a rustling outside the tent. Both men whipped around towards the canvas flap of the entrance. The canvas parted, and the black revolutionary, Lawrence, walked in slowly, his hands in front of him, bound by rope. Behind Lawrence was another man. It was the runner Marcus Hedrik. In his hand was a gun. It was jabbed into the flesh of his prisoner.
Hedrik spoke quietly. 'Do not go for your weapons. Don't make noise. Just stay exactly where you are.'
'Who are you?' asked McAuliff, amazed that Hedrik's voice had lost the hesitant, dull tones he had heard for the better part of the week.
'For the moment, that is not important.'
'Garvey!' whispered Alex. 'Garvey said it! He said there were others... he didn't know who. You're with British Intelligence!'
'No,' replied Marcus Hedrik softly, even politely. Two of your couriers were English agents. They're dead. And the obese Garvey had an accident on the road to Port Maria. He is dead also.'
'Then - '
'It is not you who will ask the questions, Mr McAuliff. It is I. You will tell me... you new believers... what you know of Acquaba.'
Chapter Twenty-Five
TWENTY FIVE
They talked for several hours, and McAuliff knew that for the time being he had saved their lives. At one point Sam Tucker interrupted, only to receive and acknowledge the plea