Twelve was also the hour of noon. Four was the ritual Arawak unit. The odyssey of death. No time for thought.
He found the path at the opposite side of the small clearing and began to run, gathering speed as he raced towards the banks of the Martha Brae. There was no air left in his lungs now, not breath as he knew it; only the steady explosions of exhaustion from his throat, blood and perspiration falling from his head, rivering down his neck onto his shoulders and chest.
There was the river. He had reached the river! It was only then that he realized the pounding rain had stopped; the jungle storm was over. He swung the flashlight to his left; there were the rocks of the path bordering the final few hundred yards into the campsite.
He had heard no rifle fire. There had been no shots. There were five experienced killers in the darkness behind him, and the terrible night was not over... but he had a chance.
That's all he had asked for, all that was between him and his command to a firing squad ending his life.
Willingly, if he failed. Willingly to end it without Alison.
He ran the last fifty yards as fast as his exhausted muscles could tolerate. He held the flashlight directly in front of him; the first object caught by its beam was the lean-to at the mouth of the campsite area. He raced into the clearing.
There were no fires, no signs of life. Only the dripping of a thousand reminders of the jungle storm, the tents silent monuments of recent living.
He stopped breathing. Cold terror gripped him. The silence was an overpowering portent of horror.
'Alison. Alison' he screamed, and raced blindly towards the tent. 'Sam! Sam!'
When the words came out of the darkness, he knew what it was to be taken from death and be given life again.
'Alexander... You damn near got killed, boy,' said Sam Tucker from the black recesses of the jungle's edge.
Chapter Thirty-Four
THIRTY FOUR
Sam Tucker and the runner called 'Marcus' walked out of the bush. McAuliff stared at the Halidonite, bewildered. The runner saw his expression and spoke.
'There is no time for lengthy explanations. I have exercised an option, that is all.'
The runner pointed to the lapel of his jacket. Alex needed no clarification. Sewn into the cloth were the tablets he had seen in the wash of yellow moonlight on the back road above Lucea Harbour. I would not think twice about it, Daniel had said. 'Where is Alison?'
'With Lawrence and Whitehall. They're farther down the river,' answered Sam.
'What about the Jensens?'
Tucker paused. 'I don't know, Alexander.'
'What?'
'They disappeared. That's all I can tell you... Yesterday Peter was lost; his carrier returned to camp, he couldn't find him. Ruth bore up well, poor girl... a lot of guts in her. We sent out a search. Nothing... And then this morning, I can't tell you why - I don't know -I went to the Jensen tent. Ruth was gone. She hasn't been seen since.' McAuliff wondered. Had Peter Jensen seen something? Sensed something? And fled with his wife? Escaped past the Tribe of Acquaba?
Questions for another time.
'The carriers?' asked Alex warily, afraid to hear the answer.
'Check with our friend here,' replied Tucker, nodding to the Halidonite.
'They have been sent north, escorted north on the river,' said the man with the usurped name of Marcus. 'Jamaicans will not die tonight unless they know why they are dying. Not in this fight.'
'And you? Why you? Is this your fight?'
'I know the men who come for you. I have the option to fight.'
'The limited freedoms of Acquaba?' asked Alex softly.
Marcus shrugged; his eyes betrayed nothing. 'An individual's freedom of choice, Doctor.'
There was a barely perceptible cry of a bird, or the muted screech of a bat, from the dense, tropic jungle. Then there followed another. And another. McAuliff would not have noticed... there were so many sounds, so continuously. A never-ending nocturnal symphony; pleasant to hear, not pleasant to think about.
But he was compelled to notice now.
Marcus snapped his head up reacting to the sound. He swiftly reached over and grabbed Alexander's flashlight and ripped it out of his hand while shouldering Tucker away.
'Get down!' he cried, as he pushed McAuliff violently, reeling him backward, away from the spot where he was standing.
Seven rifle shots came out of the darkness, some thumping into trees, others cracking into the jungle distance, two exploding into the dirt of the clearing.