The following moments, McAuliff felt, were like a play within a play. A brief, staged exercise with acutely familiar dialogue, acted out in front of a bored audience of other, more energetic actors. But with a surprise that made Alex consider Hammond’s skill in a very favorable light.
He did know the middle-aged man across from Hammond. And his wife. Not well, of course, but they were acquaintances. He’d met them two or three times before, on previous London trips. They weren’t the sort of memorable people one recognized on the street—or in The Owl of Saint George—unless the circumstances were recalled.
Hammond was introduced by his correct name and McAuliff was seated next to him.
«How the hell did you arrange this?» asked Alex after five excruciating minutes remembering the unmemorable with the acquaintances. «Do they know who you are?»
«Laugh occasionally,» answered Hammond with a calm, precise smile. «They believe I’m somewhere in that great government pyramid, juggling figures in poorly lit rooms… The arrangements were necessary. Warfield has doubled his teams on you. We’re not happy about it; he may have spotted us, but, of course, it’s unlikely.»
«He’s spotted something, I guarantee it.» Alex bared his teeth, but the smile was false. «I’ve got a lot to talk to you about. Where can we meet?»
«Here. Now,» was the Britisher’s reply. «Speak occasionally to the others, but it’s perfectly acceptable that we strike up a conversation. We might use it as a basis for lunch or drinks in a day or two.»
«No way. I leave for Kingston the day after tomorrow in the morning.»
Hammond paused, his glass halfway to his lips. «So soon? We didn’t expect that.»
«It’s insignificant compared to something else… Warfield knows about Halidon. That is, he asked me what I knew about it.»
«What?»
«Mr. McAuliff?» came the shouted inquiry from across the table. «Surely you know the Bensons, from Kent …»
The timing was right, thought Alex. Hammond’s reaction was one of astonishment. Shock that changed swiftly to angered acceptance. The ensuing conversation about the unremembered Bensons would give Hammond time to think. And Alex wanted him to think.
«What exactly did he say?» asked Hammond. The revolving psychedelic lights now projected their sharp patterns on the table, giving the agent a grotesque appearance. «The exact words.»
«‘What does the word ‘Halidon’ mean to you?’ That’s what he said.»
«Your answer?»
«What answer? I didn’t have one. I told him it was a town in New Jersey.»
«I beg your pardon?»
«Halidon, New Jersey. It’s a town.»
«Different spelling, I believe. And pronunciation. Did he accept your ignorance?»
«Why wouldn’t he? I’m ignorant.»
«Did you conceal the fact that you’d heard the word? It’s terribly important!»
«Yes … yes, I think I did. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about something else. Several other things—»
«Did he bring it up later?» broke in the agent.
«No, he didn’t. He stared hard, but he didn’t mention it again. What do you think it means?»
Suddenly a gyrating, spaced-out dancer careened against the table, his eyes half focused, his lips parted without control.
«Well, if it ain’t old Mums and Dadsies!» he said, slurring his words with rough Yorkshire. «Enjoying the kiddie’s show-and-tell, Mums?»
«Damn!» Hammond had spilled part of his drink.
«Ring for the butler, Pops! Charge it to old Edinburgh. He’s a personal friend, good old Edinburgh.»
The solo, freaked-out dancer bolted away as quickly as he had intruded. The other middle-aged straights were appropriately solicitous of Hammond, simultaneously scathing of The Owl’s patrons; the youngsters did their best to mollify.
«It’s all right, nothing to be concerned with,» said the agent good-naturedly. «Just a bit of damp, nothing to it.» Hammond removed his handkerchief and began blotting his front. The table returned to its prior and individual conversations. The Britisher turned to McAuliff, his resigned smile belying his words. «I have less than a minute; you’ll be contacted tomorrow if necessary.»
«You mean that … collision was a signal?»
«Yes. Now, listen and commit. I haven’t time to repeat myself. When you reach Kingston, you’ll be on your own for a while. Quite frankly, we weren’t prepared for you so soon—»
«Just a minute!» interrupted McAuliff, his voice low, angry. «Goddamn you! You listen … and commit! You guaranteed complete safety, contacts twenty-four hours a day. It was on that basis I agreed—»
«Nothing has changed.» Hammond cut in swiftly, smiling paternalistically—in contradiction to the quiet hostility between them. «You have contacts; you’ve memorized eighteen, twenty names—»
«In the north country, not Kingston! You’re supposed to deliver the Kingston names!»
«We’ll do our best for tomorrow.»
«That’s not good enough!»
«It will have to be, Mr. McAuliff,» said Hammond coldly. «In Kingston, east of Victoria Park on Duke Street, there is a fish store called Tallon’s. In the last extremity—and only then—should you wish to transmit information, see the owner. He’s quite arthritic in his right hand. But, mind you, all he can do is transmit. He’s of no other use to you. Now, I really must go.»
«I’ve got a few other things to say.» Alex put his hand on Hammond’s arm.
«They’ll have to wait—»
«One thing. Alison Booth. You knew, didn’t you?»
«About her husband?»
«Yes.»
«We did. Frankly, at first, we thought she was a Dunstone plant. We haven’t ruled it out… Oh, you asked about Warfield’s mention of Halidon; what he meant. In my judgment, he knows no more than we do. And he’s trying just as hard to find out.»
With the swiftness associated with a much younger man, Hammond lifted himself up from the booth, slid past McAuliff, and excused himself from the group. McAuliff found himself seated next to the middle-aged woman he presumed had come with Hammond. He had not listened to her name during the introductions, but as he looked at her now, he did not have to be told. The concern—the fear—was in her eyes; she tried to conceal it, but she could not. Her smile was hesitant, taut.
«So you’re the young man …» Mrs. Hammond stopped and brought the glass to her lips.
«Young and not so young,» said McAuliff, noting that the woman’s hand shook, as his had shaken an hour ago with Warfield. «It’s difficult to talk in here with all the blaring. And those godawful lights.»
Mrs. Hammond seemed not to hear or be concerned with his words. The psychedelic oranges and yellows and sickening greens played a visual tattoo on her frightened features. It was strange, thought Alex, but he had not considered Hammond as a private man with personal possessions or a wife or even a private, personal life.
And as he thought about these unconsidered realities, the woman suddenly gripped his forearm and leaned against him. Under the maddening sounds and through the wild, blinding lights, she whispered in McAuliff’s ear: «For God’s sake, go after him!»
The undulating bodies formed a violently writhing wall. He lunged through, pushing, pulling, shoving, finally shouldering a path for himself amid the shouted obscenities. He tried looking around for the spaced-out intruder who had signaled Hammond by crashing into the table. He was nowhere to be found.
Then, at the rear of the crowded, flashing dance floor, he could see the interrupted movements of several men pushing a single figure back into a narrow corridor. It was Hammond!
He crashed through the writhing wall again, toward the back of the room. A tall black man objected to Alex’s assault.