the edge of the bed and sat down beside her. 'I was long-winded, wasn't I?'
'I couldn't shut you up; there was simply no way. You drank a great deal of Scotch - how's your head, incidentally?'
'Fine. As though I'd had Ovaltine...'
'... straight alcohol couldn't have stayed with you. I've seen that before, too... Sorry. I forgot you object to my British pronouncements.'
'I made a few myself last night. I withdraw my objections.'
'Do you still believe them? Your pronouncements? As they say... in the cold logic of the morning?'
'I think I do; the thrust of my argument being that no one fights better for his own turf than he who lives on it, depends on it... Yes, I believe it. I'd feel more confident if Barak hadn't been hurt.'
'Strange name, Barak.'
'Strange man. And very strong. He's needed, Alison. Boys can become men quickly, but they're still not seasoned. His ken is needed.'
'By whom?'
McAuliff looked at her; at the lovely way her eyebrows rose quizzically above her clear, light blue eyes. 'By his own side,' he answered simply.
'Which is not Charles Whitehall's side.' There was no question implied.
'No. They're very different. And I think it's necessary... at this point, under these circumstances... that Barak's faction be as viable as Charley-mon's.'
'That concern strikes me as dangerously close to interference, darling.'
'I know. It's just that everything seems so complicated to me. But it doesn't to Whitehall. And it doesn't to Barak Moore. They see a simple division muddled up by second and third parties... Don't you see? They're not distracted. They first go after one objective, then another, and another; knowing ultimately they'll have to deal with each other. Neither one loses sight of that. Each stores his apples as he goes along.'
'What?' Alison leaned back on the pillow, watching McAuliff as he stared blankly at the wall. 'I don't follow that.'
'I'm not sure I can explain it. A wolf pack surrounds its victims, who huddle in the centre. The dogs set up an erratic rhythm of attack, taking turns lunging in and out around the circle until the quarry's confused to the point of exhaustion. Then the wolves close in.' Alex stopped; he was uncertain.
'I gather Charles and this Barak are the victims,' said Alison, trying to help him.
'Jamaica's the victim, and they're Jamaica. The wolves - the enemies - are Dunstone and all it represents: Warfield and his crowd of... global manipulators - the Chatelleraults of this world; British Intelligence, with its elitists, like Tallon and his crowd of colonial opportunists; the Crafts of this island... internal bleeders, you could call them. Finally, maybe even this Halidon, because you can't control what you can't find; and even if you find it, it may not be controllable... There are a lot of wolves.'
'There's a lot of confusion,' added Alison.
McAuliff turned and looked at her. 'For us. Not for them. That's what's remarkable. The victims have worked out a strategy: Take each wolf as it lunges. Destroy it.'
'What's that got to do with... apples?'
'I jumped out of the circle and went into a straight line.'
'Aren't we abstract,' stated the girl.
'It's valid. As any army - and don't kid yourself, Charles Whitehall and Barak Moore have their armies - as any army moves forward, it maintains its lines of supply. In this case, support. Remember. When all the wolves have been killed, they face each other. Whitehall and Moore both are piling up apples... support.' McAuliff stopped again and got up from bed. He walked to the window to the right of the terrace doors, pulled the curtain, and looked out at the beach. 'Does any of this make sense to you?' he asked softly.
'It's very political, I think, and I'm not much at that sort of thing. But you're describing a rather familiar pattern, I'd say - '
'You bet your life I am,' interrupted Alex, speaking slowly and turning from the windows. 'Historical precedents unlimited... and I'm no goddamn historian. Hell, where do you want to start? Caesar's Gaul? Rome's Ferrara? China in the thirties? The Koreas, the Vietnams, the Cambodias? Half a dozen African states? The words are there, over and over again. Exploitation from outside, inside revolt - insurgence and counterinsurgence. Chaos, bloodbath, expulsion. Ultimately reconstruction in so-called compromise. That's the pattern. That's what Barak and Charley-mon expect to play out. And each knows that while he's joining the other to kill a wolf, he's got to entrench himself further in the turf at the same time. Because when the compromise comes...