McAuliff watched them. A ragged-clothed twosome with the unlikely jackets and pistol belts. 'They not only do as you say, they protect you from yourself.'
The priest figure also looked at his retreating subordinates. 'When we are in our formative years, we are all given batteries of tests. Each is assigned areas of instruction and future responsibility from the results. I often think grave errors are made.' The man tugged at his caftan and turned to McAuliff. 'We must deal now with each other, must we not?... As I am sure you have surmized, I was an impermanent member of MI5.'
'An "infiltrator" is the word that comes to mind.'
'A very successful one, Doctor. Holcroft himself twice recommended me for citations. I was one of the best West Indian specialists... I was reluctant to leave. You - and those manoeuvring you - created the necessity.'
'How?'
'Your survey suddenly contained too many dangerous components. We could live with several, but when we found out that your closest associate on the geological team - Mr Tucker - was apparently a friend of Walter Piersall, we knew we had to keep you under a microscope... Obviously, we were too late.'
'What were the other components?'
The priest figure hesitated. He touched his forehead, where a grass burn had developed from his fall to the ground. 'Do you have a cigarette? This very comfortable sheet has one disadvantage: There are no pockets.'
'Why do you wear it?'
'It is a symbol of authority, nothing more.'
McAuliff reached into his pocket, withdrew a pack of cigarettes, and shook one up for the Halidonite. As he lighted it for him, he saw that the black hollows in the very black skin beneath the eyes were stretched in exhaustion. 'What were the dangerous components?'
'Oh, come, Doctor, you know them as well as I do.'
'Maybe I don't; enlighten me. Or is that dangerous, too?'
'Not now. Not at this point. The reality is the danger. Piersall's documents are the reality. The... components are inconsequential.'
'Then tell me.'
The priest figure inhaled on his cigarette and blew the smoke into the soft breeze of the dull yellow light. 'The woman you know about. There are many who fear her on the Continent. Among those, one of the Dunstone hierarchy... the Marquis de Chatellerault. Where she is, so is an arm of the Intelligence service. The boy, Ferguson, is deep with the Craft interests; actually, they fear him. Or did. And rightly so. He never understood the calamitous economic potential of his fibre work.'
'I think he did,' interrupted Alex. 'And does. He expects to make money out of Craft.'
The Halidonite laughed quietly. 'They will never let him. But he is a component. Where does Craft stand? Is he part of Dunstone? Nothing happens in Jamaica that the soiled hand of Craft has not touched... Samuel Tucker I have told you about: his association with the suddenly vital Walter Piersall. Whose summons did he answer? Is he on the island because of his old friend McAuliff? Or his new friend Piersall? Or is it coincidence?'
'It is coincidence,' said Alex. 'You'd have to know Sam to understand that.'
'But we do not, you see. We only understand that among the first telephone calls he made was to a man who was disturbing us profoundly. Who was walking around Kingston with the secrets of two hundred years in his brain... and somewhere on paper.' The priest figure looked at McAuliff - stared at him, really. His eyes in the moonlight conveyed a supplication for Alex to understand. He looked away and continued. 'Then there is Charles Whitehall. A very... very dangerous and unpredictable component. You must know his background; Holcroft certainly did. Whitehall feels his time on the island has come. His is the hot mysticism of the fanatic. The black Caesar come to ride up Victoria Park on nigger-Pompei's horse. He has followers throughout Jamaica. If there is anyone who might expose Dunstone - wittingly or otherwise - it could well be Whitehall and his fascists.'
'Holcroft didn't know that,' protested McAuliff. 'He made it clear that you... the Halidon... were the only ones who could stop Dunstone.'
'Holcroft is a professional. He creates internal chaos, knowing that his breakthrough can come at any instant during the panic. Would it surprise you to know that Holcroft is in Kingston now?'
Alex thought for a moment. 'No... I'm surprised he hasn't let me know it.'
'There is a sound reason. He doesn't want you to fall back on him. He wants the forces to remain on collision courses. He