Whitehall, approaching the table, 'is that it's preposterous to think the Halidon would cooperate with the English. It is inconceivable. It is the Halidons of this island that drove the British from Jamaica. Put simply, MI5 is not to be trusted.'
'What is the Halidon?' Alex watched the black scholar, who stood motionless, his eyes on Barak Moore.
'It is a force,' said Whitehall quietly.
McAuliff looked at Moore; he was returning Whitehall's stare. 'That doesn't say very much, does it?'
'There is no one in this room who can tell you more, mon.' Barak Moore shifted his gaze to Alex.
Charles Whitehall spoke. 'There are no identities, McAuliff. The Halidon is an unseen curia, a court that has no chambers. No one is lying to you. Not about this... This small contingent here, these three men; Moore's elite corps, as it were - '
'Your words, Charley-mon! We don't use them! Elite!' Barak spat out the word.
'Immaterial,' continued Whitehall. 'I venture to say there are no more than five hundred people in all Jamaica who have heard of the Halidon. Less than fifty who know for certain any of its members. Those that do would rather face the pains of Obeah than reveal identities.'
'Obeah,' Sam Tucker's comment was in his voice. He had no use for the jingoistic diabolism that filled thousands upon thousands of native minds with terror - Jamaica's counterpart of the Haitian voodoo. 'Obeah's horseshit, boy! The sooner your hill and village people learn that, the better off they'll be!'
'If you think it's restricted to the hills and the villages, you are sadly mistaken,' said Whitehall. 'We in Jamaica do not offer Obeah as a tourist attraction. We have too much respect for it.'
Alex looked up at Whitehall. 'Do you have respect for it? Are you a believer?'
Whitehall levelled his gaze at McAuliff, his eyes knowing - with a trace of humour. 'Yes, Mr McAuliff, I have respect for Obeah. I have traced its strains to its origins in Mother Africa. I have seen what it's done to the veldt, in the jungles. Respect; I do not say commitment or belief.'
'Then the Halidon is an organization.' McAuliff took out his cigarettes. Barak Moore reached over to accept one; Sam Tucker leaned forward in his chair. Alex continued. 'A secret society that has a lot of clout. Why?... Obeah?'
'Partly, mon,' answered Moore, lighting his cigarette like a man who does not smoke often. 'It is also very rich. It is whispered that it possesses wealth beyond anyone's thinking, mon.'
Suddenly, McAuliff realized the obvious. He looked back and forth between Charles Whitehall and Barak Moore.
'Christ Almighty! You're as anxious to reach the Halidon as I am! As British Intelligence is!'
'That is so, mon.' Moore crushed out his barely smoked cigarette on the surface of the table.
'Why?' asked Alex.
Charles Whitehall replied. 'We are dealing with two giants, Mr McAuliff. One black, one white. The Halidon must win.'
Chapter Fifteen
FIFTEEN
The meeting in the isolated farmhouse high in the hills of the Blue Mountains lasted until two o'clock in the morning.
The common objective was agreed to: contact with the Halidon.
And since Barak Moore's and Charles Whitehall's judgment that the Halidon would not deal directly with British Intelligence was convincing, McAuliff further agreed to cooperate with the two black antagonists. Barak and his 'elite' guerrillas would provide additional safety for the survey team. Two of the three men sitting against the wall of the farmhouse would fly to Ocho Rios and be hired as carriers.
If the Jamaicans suspected he knew more than he was telling them, they did not press him, thought Alex. They accepted his story - now told twice to Whitehall - that initially he had taken the survey as an investment for future work. From Kingston. MI5 was a complication thrust upon him.
It was as if they understood he had his own concerns, unrelated to theirs. And only when he was sure those concerns were not in conflict would he be completely open.
Insane circumstances had forced him into a war he wanted no part of, but one thing was clear above all other considerations: the safety of those he had brought to the island.
... Two things.
One million dollars.
From either enemy. Dunstone, Limited, or British Intelligence.
'MI5 has not told you, then, who is behind this land rape,' said Barak Moore - not asking a question - continuing immediately. 'It goes beyond the Kingston flunkies, mon.'
'If the British reach the Halidon, they'll tell them what they know,' said McAuliff. I'm sure of that. They want to pool