flew in when word was received that Chatellerault was in Savanna-la-Mar... You knew that, didn't you?'
'He knows it because I told Westmore Tallon.'
'And then there are the Jensens. That charming, devoted couple. So normal, so lovable, really... who send back word to Julian Warfield of every move you make, of every person you make contact with; who bribe Jamaicans to spy on you... The Jensens made a huge mistake once, years ago. Dunstone, Limited, stepped in and recruited them. In exchange for obliterating that mistake.' McAuliff looked up at the clear night sky. A single elongated cloud was drifting from a distant mountain towards the yellow moon. He wondered if the condensation would disappear before it reached the shining satellite, or blur it from beneath... envelope it from the ground.
As he was so enveloped.
'So those are the components,' said Alex aimlessly. 'The Halidon knows a lot more than anyone else, it seems. And I'm not sure what that means.'
'It means, Doctor, that we are the silent caretakers of our land.'
'I don't recall any election. Who gave you the job?'
'To quote an American writer: "It comes with the territory." It is our heritage. We do not swim in the political rivers, however. We leave those to the legitimate competitors. We do try our best to keep the pollution to a minimum.' The priest figure finished his cigarette and crushed the burning end under his sandalled foot.
'You're killers,' said McAuliff simply. 'I know that. I think that's the worst kind of human pollution.'
'Are you referring to Dunstone's previous survey?'
'I am.'
'You don't know the circumstances. And I'm not the one to define them. I am here only to persuade you to give me Piersall's documents.'
'I won't do that.'
'Why?' The Halidonite's voice rose in anger, as before. His black eyes above the black hollows pierced into McAuliffs.
'Mon?' came the shouted query from the field. The priest figure waved his arm in dismissal.
'This is not your business, McAuliff. Understand that and get out. Give me the documents and take your survey off the island before it is too late.'
'If it was that simple, I would. I don't want your fight, goddamn it. It has no appeal for me... on the other hand, I don't relish being chased all over the globe by Julian Warfield's guns. Can't you understand that?'
The priest figure stood immobile. His eyes softened; his lips parted in concentration as he stared at Alexander He spoke slowly; he was barely audible. 'I warned them that it might come to this. Give me the nagarro, doctor. What is the meaning of the Halidon?'
McAuliff told him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
TWENTY SIX
They returned to the river campsite, McAuliff and the runner who had assumed the name and function of 'Marcus Hendrik.' There was no pretence now. As they neared the bivouac area, black men in rags could be seen in the bush, the early dawn light shafting through the dense foliage, intermittently reflecting off the barrels of their weapons.
The survey camp was surrounded, the inhabitants prisoners of the Halidon.
A hundred yards from the clearing, the runner - now preceding Alex on the narrow jungle path, pistol secure in his field jacket belt - stopped and summoned a Halidon patrol. He did so by snapping his fingers repeatedly until a large black man emerged from between the trees.
The two men spoke briefly, quietly, and when they were finished the patrol returned to his post in the tropic forest. The runner turned to McAuliff.
'Everything is peaceful. There was a skirmish with Charles Whitehall, but it was anticipated. He severely wounded the guard, but others were nearby. He is bound and back in his tent.'
'What about Mrs Booth?'
'The woman? She is with Samuel Tucker. She was asleep half an hour ago... That Tucker, he will not sleep. He sits in the chair in front of his tent, a rifle in his hands. The others are quiet. They will be rising soon.'
'Tell me,' said Alex while the runner still faced him, 'what happened to all that Arawak language? The Maroon Colonel, the units of four, the eight days?'
'You forgot, Doctor. I led the Whitehall-mon to his courier. The Colonel of the Maroons never got the message. The reply you received came from us.' The runner smiled. Then he turned, gesturing for Alex to follow him into the clearing.
Under the eyes of the runner, McAuliff waited for the white light of the miniature panel to reach full illumination. When it did, he pressed the signal-transmitter button, holding his left hand over