«Cyanide.»
«Why?»
«Fanatics, obviously. It was preferable to revealing information … unwillingly, of course. They misread us. It began when you made such an obvious attempt to follow me out of The Owl of Saint George. That was their first panic; when they inflicted … this.» Hammond waved his hand just once at his midsection.
McAuliff did not bother to conceal his anger. «I’ve about had it with your goddamn caustic deductions!»
«I told you it was a gamble bringing you here—»
«Stop telling me things!»
«Please bear in mind that without us you had a life expectancy of four months—at the outside.»
«Your version.» But the agent’s version had more substance than McAuliff cared to think about at the moment. Alex turned away from the unpleasant sight. For no particular reason, he ripped the torn lining from the base of his jacket and leaned against the hood of the car. «Since you hold me responsible for so much tonight, what happened?»
The Britisher told him. Several days ago, M.I.5’s surveillance had picked up a second «force» involved with Dunstone’s movements. Three, possibly four, unidentifiable subjects who kept reappearing. The subjects were black. Photographs were taken, fingerprints obtained by way of restaurants, discarded objects—cigarette packs, newspapers, and the like—and all the data fed into the computers at New Scotland Yard and Emigration. There were no records; the subjects were «negative» insofar as Dunstone was concerned. Obvious … then proven without doubt earlier in the evening, when one of the subjects killed a Dunstone man who spotted him.
«We knew then,» said Hammond, «that we had centered in; the target was accurate. It remained to make positive contact, sympathetic contact. I even toyed with the idea of bringing these men and you together in short order, perhaps this morning. So much resolved so damned quickly …»
A cautious preliminary contact was made with the subjects: «so harmless and promising, we damn near offered what was left of the Empire. They were concerned, of course, with a trap.»
A rendezvous was arranged at The Owl of Saint George, a racially integrated club that offered a comfortable environment. It was scheduled for 2:30 in the morning, after Hammond’s meeting with McAuliff.
When Alex made his panicked—and threatening—call to Hammond’s number, insisting that they meet regardless of time, the agent left his options open. And then made his decision. Why not The Owl of Saint George? Bring the American into Soho, to the club, and if it proved the wrong decision, McAuliff could be stopped once inside. If the decision was the right one, the circumstances would be optimal—all his parties present.
«What about Warfield’s men?» asked Alex. «You said he doubled his teams on me.»
«I lied. I wanted you to remain where you were. Warfield had a single man on you. We diverted him. The Dunstone people had their own anxieties: One of their men had been killed. You couldn’t be held responsible for that.»
The night progressed as Hammond had anticipated: without incident. The agent made arrangements for the table—«we know just about everyone you’ve met in London, chap»—and awaited the compatible merging of elements.
And then, in rapid succession, each component fell apart. First was Alex’s statement that the survey team was leaving in two days—M.I.5 and its counterpart overseas, M.I.6, were not ready for them in Kingston. Then the information that Warfield had spoken the name of «Halidon»; it was to be expected, of course. Dunstone would be working furiously to find the killers of the first survey team. But, again, M.I.5 had not expected Dunstone to have made such progress. The next breakdown was the spaced-out agent who crashed into the table and used the word «Edinburgh»—used it twice.
«Each twenty-four-hour period we circulate an unusual word that has but one connotation: ‘abort, extreme prejudice.’ If it’s repeated, that simply compounds the meaning: Our cover is blown. Or misread. Weapons should be ready.»
At that moment, Hammond saw clearly the massive error that had been made. His agents had diverted Warfield’s men away from Alex, but not one of the black men. McAuliff had been observed in Warfield’s company at midnight for a considerable length of time. Within minutes after he had walked into The Owl, his black surveillance had followed, panicked that his colleagues had been led into a trap.
The confrontation had begun within the gyrating, psychedelic madness that was The Owl of Saint George.
Hammond tried to stop the final collapse.
He broke the rules. It was not yet 2:30, but since Alexander McAuliff had been seen with him, he dared not wait. He tried to establish a bridge, to explain, to calm the raging outburst.
He had nearly succeeded when one of the black men—now dead behind the wheel—saw McAuliff leap from his seat in the booth and plunge into the crowds, whipping people out of his way, looking frantically—obviously—for Hammond.
This sight triggered the panic. Hammond was cut, used as a shield, and propelled out the rear door into the alley by two of the subjects while the third fled through the crowds in front to alert the car for escape.
«What happened during the next few minutes was as distressing as it was comforting,» said Hammond. «My people would not allow my physical danger, so the instant my captors and I emerged on the pavement, they were taken. We put them in this car and drove off, still hoping to reestablish goodwill. But we purposely allowed the third man to disappear—an article of faith on our part.»
The M.I.5 had driven out to the deserted field. A doctor was summoned to patch up Hammond. And the two subjects—relieved of weapons, car key removed unobtrusively—were left alone to talk by themselves, hopefully to resolve their doubts, while Hammond was being bandaged.
«They made a last attempt to get away but, of course, there were no keys in the vehicle. So they took their deadly little vials or tablets and, with them, their lives. Ultimately, they could not trust us.»
McAuliff said nothing for several moments. Hammond did not interrupt the silence.
«And your ‘article of faith’ tried to kill me.»
«Apparently. Leaving one man in England we must try to find: the driver. You understand that we cannot be held accountable; you completely disregarded our instructions—»
«We’ll get to that,» broke in McAuliff. «You said you brought me out here for two reasons. I get the first: Your people are quick, safety guaranteed … if instructions aren’t ‘disregarded.’» Alex mimicked Hammond’s reading of the word. «What’s the second reason?»
The agent walked directly in front of McAuliff and, through the night light, Alex could see the intensity in his eyes. «To tell you that you have no choice but to continue now. Too much has happened. You’re too involved.»
«That’s what Warfield said.»
«He’s right.»
«Suppose I refuse? Suppose I just pack up and leave?»
«You’d be suspect, and expendable. You’d be hunted down. Take my word for that, I’ve been here before.»
«That’s quite a statement from a—what was it, a financial analyst?»
«Labels, Mr. McAuliff. Titles. Quite meaningless.»
«Not to your wife.»
«I beg your—» Hammond inhaled deeply, audible. When he continued, he did not ask a question. He made a quiet, painful statement. «She sent you after me.»