to purchase by way of syndication twenty square miles of land on the north border of the Cock Pit. It was a harmless gesture, really. Such a purchase would take years in the courts and involve the satisfactory settling of historic island treaties; his point was merely to prove Kingston's willingness to accept the filing. That the land was not controlled by outsiders.
'Since that day, Alexander, Piersall's life was made a hell.' Sam Tucker lit a thin native cigar; the aromatic smoke whipped out the open window into the onrushing darkness. 'He was harassed by the police, pulled into the parish courts dozens of times for nonsense; his lectures were cancelled at the university and the Institute; his telephone tapped - conversations repeated by government attorneys... Finally, the whispers he tried to silence killed him.'
McAuliff said nothing for several moments. 'Why was Piersall so anxious to contact you?' he asked Tucker.
'In my cable I told him I was doing a big survey in Trelawny. A project out of London by way of Kingston. I didn't want him to think I was travelling six thousand miles to be his guest; he was a busy man, Alexander.'
'But you were in Kingston tonight. Not in a bamboo camp on the Martha Brae. Two of these men' - McAuliff gestured front - 'followed me this afternoon. In this car.'
'Let me answer you, Mr McAuliff,' said the Jamaican by the window, turning and placing his arm over the seat. 'Kingston intercepted Mr Tuck's cable; they made kling-kling addition, mon. They thought Mr Tuck was mixed up with Dr Piersall in bad ways. Bad ways for them, mon. They sent dangerous men to Mo'Bay. To find out what Mr Tuck was doing - '
'How do you know this?' broke in Alex.
For the briefest instant, the black by the window glanced at the driver. It was difficult to tell in the dim light and rushing shadows, but McAuliff thought the driver nodded imperceptibly.
'We took the men who came to Mo'Bay after Mr Tuck. That is all you need to know, mon. What was learned caused Dr Piersall much concern. So much, mon, that we flew to Kingston. To reach you, mon... Dr Piersall was killed for that.'
'Who killed him?'
'If we knew, there would be dead men hung in Victoria Park.'
'What did you learn... from the men in Montego?'
Again, the black who spoke seemed to glance at the driver. In seconds he replied, 'That people in Kingston believed Dr Piersall would interfere further. When he went to find you, mon, it was their proof. By killing him they took a big sea urchin out of their foot.'
'And you don't know who did it - '
'Hired niggers, mon,' interrupted the black.
'It's insane!' McAuliff spoke to himself as much as to Sam Tucker. 'People killing people... men following other men. It's goddamn crazy!'
'Why is it crazy to a man who visits Tallon's Fish Market?' asked the black suddenly.
'How did - ' McAuliff stopped. He was confused; he had been so careful. 'How did you know that? I lost you at the racetrack!'
The Jamaican smiled, his bright teeth catching the light from the careening reflections through the windshield. 'Ocean trout is not really preferable to the fresh-water variety, mon.'
The counterman! The nonchalant counterman in the striped linen apron. 'The man behind the counter is one of you. That's pretty good,' said McAuliff quietly.
'We're very good. Westmore Tallon is a British agent... So like the English: Enlist the clandestine help of the vested interests. And so fundamentally stupid. Tallon's senile Etonian classmates might trust him; his countrymen do not.'
The Jamaican removed his arm from the seat and turned front. The answer was over.
Sam Tucker spoke pensively, openly. 'Alexander... now tell me what the hell is going on. What have you done, boy?'
McAuliff turned to Sam. The huge, vital, capable old friend was staring at him in the darkness, the rapid flashes of light bouncing across his face. Tucker's eyes held confusion and hurt. And anger.
What in hell had he done, thought Alex.
'Here we are, mon,' said the driver in the baseball cap, who had not spoken throughout the trip.
McAuliff looked out the windows. The ground was flat now, but high in the hills and surrounded by them. Everything was sporadically illuminated by a Jamaican moon filtering through the low-flying clouds of the Blue Mountains. They were on a dirt road; in the distance, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, was a structure, a small cabinlike building. A dim light could be