in a sling! Count it, mark it; what's the difference?'
Ferguson opened the bulky envelope. The denominations were all tens and fives, over a hundred bills. He had not asked for small denominations; it was convenient, though, he had to admit that. Less suspicious than hundreds or fifties or even twenties.
He started counting the bills.
Twice Craft's man interrupted him with insignificant questions, causing James to lose his count. He had to start over again both times.
When he had finished, the driver suddenly handed him a wrapped package. 'Oh, because our friend wants to show there's no bad feeling - he's a sport, you know what I mean? - he sent you one of those new Yashica .35 millimeters. He remembered you're crazy about photography.'
Ferguson saw the Yashica label on the top of the package. A seven-hundred-dollar instrument! One of the very best! Craft the Younger was indeed a frightened man. 'Thank... Arthur for me. But tell him this isn't deductible from any future payments.'
'Oh, I'll tell him... Now, I'm going to tell you something, Fergy-baby. You're on fuckin' Candid Camera.' The driver spoke quietly.
'What are you talking about?'
'Right behind you, Fergy-baby.'
Ferguson whipped around towards the high linked fence and the deserted area beyond. There were two men in the shadows of a doorway. They came out slowly, perhaps thirty yards away from him. And one of the men carried a tripod with a camera attached. 'What have you done?'
'Just a little insurance, Fergy-baby. Our friend is contract-conscious, you know what I mean? Infrared film, babe. I think you know what that is. And you just gave a terrific performance counting out money and taking Christ knows what from a guy who hasn't been seen in public north of Caracas for over six months. You see, our friend flew me out of Rio just to get my picture taken... with you.'
'You can't do this! Nobody would believe this!'
'Why not, babe? You're a hungry little prick, you know what I mean? Hungry little pricks like you get hung easy... Now, you listen to me, asshole. You and Arthur, you're one on one. Only his one is a little heavier. That film would raise a lot of questions you couldn't find any answers for. I'm a very unpopular man, Fergy. You'd get thrown off the island... but probably you'd get thrown into the can first. You wouldn't last fifteen minutes with those social rejects, you know what I mean? They'd peel your white skin, babe, layer by layer... Now, you be a good boy, Fergy. Arthur says for you to keep the thousand. You'll probably earn it.' The man held up the empty envelope. 'Two sets of prints on this. Yours and mine... Ciao, baby. I've got to get out of here and back to non-extradition country.'
The driver gunned the engine twice and slapped the gearshift effortlessly. He swung the Triumph expertly in a semicircle and roared off into the darkness of Harbour Street.
Julian Warfield was in Kingston now. He had flown in three days ago and used all of Dunstone's resources to uncover the strange activities of Alexander McAuliff. Peter Jensen had followed instructions to the letter; he had kept McAuliff under the closest scrutiny, paying desk clerks and doormen and taxi drivers to keep him informed of the American's every move.
And always he and his wife were out of sight, in no way associated with that scrutiny.
It was the least he could do for Julian Warfield... He would do anything Julian asked, anything Dunstone, Limited, demanded. He would deliver nothing but his best to the man and the organization that had taken him and his wife out of the valley of despair and given them a world with which they could cope and in which they could function.
Work they loved, money and security beyond the reach of most academic couples. Enough to forget.
Julian had found them nearly twenty years ago, beaten, finished, destroyed by events... impoverished, with nowhere and no one to return to. He and Ruth had been caught; it was a time of madness, of Klaus Fuchs and Guy Burgess and convictions born of misplaced zeal. He and his wife had supplemented their academic income by working for the government on covert geological operations - oil, gold, minerals of value. And they had willingly turned over everything in the classified files to a contact at the Soviet Embassy.
Another blow for equality and justice.
And they were caught.
But Julian Warfield came to see them.
Julian Warfield offered them their lives again... in exchange