pride of wild pigs was disturbed. The warm breeze bent the reeds of the tall grass ever so slightly; crickets were everywhere. All these were absorbed by Alex's senses. And he understood, too, the audible, trembling intake of breath from the darkness behind him. He could feel the mounting, uncontrollable pitch of anger.
'No, mon!' The man with the pistol cried out, lunging forward.
Simultaneously, McAuliff felt the rush of air and heard the rustle of cloth that precedes the instant of impact from behind. Too late to turn; defence only in crouching, hugging the earth.
One man tried to stop the priest figure as he lunged forward; the weight of two furious bodies descended on Alex's shoulders and back. Arms were thrashing, fingers spastically clutched; hard steel and soft cloth and warm flesh enveloped him. He reached above and grasped the first objects his hands touched, yanked with all his strength, and rolled forward.
The priest figure somersaulted over his back; Alex crashed his shoulders downward, rising on one knee for greater weight, and threw himself on the coarse cloth of the caftan. As he pinned the priest, he felt himself instantly pulled backward, with such force that the small of his back ached in pain.
The two Halidonites locked his arms, stretching his chest to the breaking point; the man with the pistol held the barrel to his temple, digging it into his skin. 'That will be enough, mon.'
Below him on the ground, the yellow moonlight illuminating a face creased with fury, was the priest figure.
McAuliff instantly understood the bewildering, unfocused images of blinding, coloured lights his mind had associated with the panicked words stop it, stop it.
He had last seen this 'priest' of the Halidon in London's Soho. During the psychedelic madness that was The Owl of Saint George. The man lying on the ground in a caftan had been dressed in a dark suit then, gyrating on the crowded dance floor. He had screamed at McAuliff to Stop... stop it!. He had delivered a crushing fist into Alex's midsection; he had disappeared into the crowds, only to show up an hour later in a government car on the street by a public telephone.
This 'priest' of the Halidon was an agent of British Intelligence.
'You said your name was Tallon.' McAuliff strained his speech through the pain, the words interrupted by his lack of breath. 'In the car that night you said your name was Tallon. And... when I called you on it, you said you were... testing me.'
The priest figure rolled over and slowly began to rise. He nodded to the two Halidonites to relax their grips and addressed them. 'I would not have killed him. You know that.'
'You were angry, mon,' said the man who had taken Alex out of the camp.
'Forgive us,' added the man who had cried out and lunged at the priest figure. 'It was necessary.'
The 'priest' smoothed his cassock and tugged at the thick rope around his waist. He looked down at McAuliff. 'Your recollection is sharp, Doctor. I sincerely hope your ability to think clearly is equally acute.'
'Does that mean we talk?'
'We talk.'
'My arms hurt like hell. Will you tell your sergeants to let go of me?'
The 'priest' nodded once again, and flicked his wrist in accord. Alex's arms were released; he shook them.
'My sergeants, as you call them, are more temperate men than I. You should be grateful to them.'
The man with the pistol belt demurred, his voice respectful. 'Not so, mon. When did you last sleep?'
'That does not matter. I should have more control... My friend refers to a hectic several weeks, McAuliff. Not only did I have to get myself out of England, avoiding Her Majesty's Service, but also a colleague who had disappeared in a Bentley around a Soho corner... A West Indian in London has a thousand hiding places.'
Alex remembered vividly. 'That Bentley tried to run me down. The driver wanted to kill me. Only someone else was killed... because of a neon light.'
The priest figure stared at McAuliff. He, too, seemed to recall the evening vividly. 'It was a tragedy born of the instant. We thought a trap had been set, the spring caught at the last moment.'
'Three lives were lost that night. Two with cyanide - '
'We are committed,' interrupted the Halidonite, who looked at his two companions and spoke gently. 'Leave us alone, please.'
In warning, both men removed the weapons from their belts as they pulled Alex to his feet. As ordered, they retreated into the field.