prongs, tugged once more, and slapped the bulging outsides. He lifted the canvas sack by the shoulder harness and let it fall to the dirt. 'There! I'm set for a fortnight if need be.'
'How will I know?'
'When I don't come back with my carrier. If I pull it off right, he might even be too petrified to return himself.' Peter saw the tremble on his wife's lips, the terrible fear in her eyes. He motioned for her to come to him, which she did. Rushing into his arms.
'Oh, God, Peter -
'Please, Ruth. Shhh. You mustn't,' he said, stroking her hair. 'Julian has been everything to us. We both know that. And Julian thinks we'd be very happy at Peale Court. Dunstone will need many people in Jamaica, he said. Why not us?'
When the unknown carrier came into camp, James Ferguson could see that the runner, Marcus Hedrik, was as angry as he was curious. They were all curious. McAuliff had left early that morning for the coast; it seemed strange that the carrier had not met him on the river. The carrier insisted he had seen no one but wandering hill people, some fishing, some hunting - no white man.
The carrier had been sent by the Government Employment Office, a branch in Falmouth that knew the survey was looking for additional hands. The carrier was familiar with the river offshoot, having grown up in Weston Favel, and was anxious for work. Naturally, he had the proper papers, signed by some obscure functionary at GEO, Falmouth.
At 2.30 in the afternoon, James Ferguson, having rested after lunch, sat on the edge of his cot, prepared to gather up his equipment and head back into the field. There was a rustling outside his tent. He looked up, and the new carrier suddenly slapped open the flap and walked in. He was carrying a plastic tray.
'I say - '
'I pick up dishes, mon,' said the carrier rapidly. 'Alia time be very neat.'
'I have no dishes here. There's a glass or two need washing...'
The carrier lowered his voice. 'I got message for Fergumon. I give it to you. You read it quick.' The black reached into his pocket and withdrew a sealed envelope. He handed it to Ferguson.
James ripped the back and pulled out a single page of stationery. It was the stationery of The Craft Foundation, and Ferguson's eyes were immediately pulled to the signature. It was known throughout Jamaica - the scrawl of Arthur Craft, Senior, the semiretired but all-powerful head of the Craft enterprises.
My dear James Ferguson:
Apologies from a distance are always most awkward and often the most sincere. Such is the present case.
My son has behaved badly, for which he, too, offers his regrets. He sends them from the South of France where he will be residing for an indeterminate - but long - period of time.
To the point: your contributions in our laboratories on the baracoa experiments are immense. They led the way to what we believe can be a major breakthrough that can have a widespread industrial impact. We believe this breakthrough can be accelerated by your immediate return to us. Your future is assured, young man, in the way all genius should be rewarded. You will be a very wealthy man.
However, time is of the essence. Therefore I recommend that you leave the survey forthwith - the messenger will explain the somewhat odd fashion of departure but you may be assured that I have appraised Kingston of my wishes and they are in full agreement. (The baracoa is for all Jamaica.) We are also in mutual agreement that it is unnecessary to involve the survey director, Dr McAuliff, as his immediate interests are rightfully in conflict with ours. A substitute botanist will join the survey within a matter of days.
I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.
Very truly yours, Arthur Craft, Senior
James Ferguson held his breath in astonishment as he reread the letter.
He had done it.
He had really done it.
Everything.
He looked up at the carrier, who smiled and spoke softly.
'We leave late this afternoon, mon. Before dark. Come back early from your work. I will meet you on the river bank and we will go.'
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TWENTY SEVEN
The priest figure identified himself by the single name of 'Malcolm.' They travelled south on hidden routes that alternated between steep rocky climbs, winding grottoes, and dense jungle. The Halidonite in the ragged clothes and the field jacket led the way, effortlessly finding concealed paths in the forests and covered openings