Twelve, noon. London.
Los Angeles, California. At precisely 4:00 A.M. the junior senator from Nevada—recently implicated (but not indicted) in a Las Vegas tax fraud—stepped off a launch onto a pier in Marina del Ray. The launch was filled with guests returning from the yacht of a motion-picture producer. Somewhere between the launch and the base of the pier, the junior senator from Nevada had his stomach ripped open with a blade so long and a cut so deep that the cartilage of his backbone protruded through spinal lacerations. He fell among the revelers, carried along by the boisterous crowd until the eruptions of the warm fluid that covered so many was recognized for the blood that it was. Panic resulted, the terror alcoholic but profound. Four in the morning. Pacific time.
Twelve noon. London.
McAuliff looked over at the silent, stunned Hammond.
«The last death reported was four in the morning … twelve o’clock in London. In each country four died, with four corresponding—identical—methods of killing … The Arawak units of four—the death Odyssey … that’s what they call it.»
«What are you talking about?»
«Deal with the Halidon, Hammond. You have no choice; this is their proof. They said it was only the tip.»
«The tip?»
«The tip of the Dunstone iceberg.»
«Impossible demands!» roared R. C. Hammond, the capillaries in his face swollen, forming splotches of red anger over his skin. «We will not be dictated to by goddamn niggers!»
«Then you won’t get the list.»
«We’ll force it out of them. This is no time for treaties with savages!»
Alexander thought of Daniel, of Malcolm, of the incredible lakeside community, of the grave of Acquaba, the vaults of Acquaba. Things he could not, would not, talk about. He did not have to, he considered. «You think what’s happened the work of savages? Not the killings, I won’t defend that. But the methods, the victims … Don’t kid yourself.»
«I don’t give a damn for your opinions.» Hammond walked rapidly to the telephone on the bedside table. Alex remained in a chair by the television set. It was the sixth time Hammond had tried to place his call. The Britisher had only one telephone number he could use in Kingston; embassy telephones were off-limits for clandestine operations. Each time he had managed to get a line through to Kingston—not the easiest feat in Montego—the number was busy.
«Damn! Goddammit!» exploded the agent.
«Call the embassy before you have a coronary,» said McAuliff. «Deal with them.»
«Don’t be an ass,» replied Hammond. «They don’t know who I am. We don’t use embassy personnel.»
«Talk to the ambassador.»
«What in God’s name for? What am I supposed to say? ‘Pardon me, Mr. Ambassador, but my name’s so-and-so. I happen to be …’ The bloody explanation—if he’d listen to it without cutting me off—would take the better part of an hour. And then the damn fool would start sending cables to Downing Street!» Hammond marched back to the window.
«What are you going to do?»
«They’ve isolated me, you understand that, don’t you?» Hammond remained at the window, his back to McAuliff.
«I think so.»
«The purpose is to cut me off, force me to absorb the full impact of the … past three hours…» The Britisher’s voice trailed off in thought.
McAuliff wondered. «That presupposes they know the Kingston telephone, that they shorted it out somehow.»
«I don’t think so,» said Hammond, his eyes still focused on the waters of the bay. «By now Kingston knows I’ve been taken. Our men are no doubt activating every contact on the island, trying to get a bearing on my whereabouts. The telephone would be in constant use.»
«You’re not a prisoner; the door’s not locked.» Alex suddenly wondered if he was correct. He got out of the chair, crossed to the door, and opened it.
Down the corridor were two Jamaicans by the bank of the elevators. They looked at McAuliff, and although he did not know them, he recognized the piercing, controlled calm of their expressions. He had seen such eyes, such expressions high in the Flagstaff Mountains. They were members of the Halidon.
Alex closed the door and turned to Hammond, but before he could say anything, the Britisher spoke, his back still to Alex.
«Does that answer you?» he asked quietly.
«There are two men in the corridor,» said McAuliff pointlessly. «You knew that.»
«I didn’t know it, I merely assumed it. There are fundamental rules.»
«And you still think they’re savages?»
«Everything’s relative.» Hammond turned from the window and faced Alex. «You’re the conduit now. I’m sure they’ve told you that.»
«If ‘conduit’ means I take back your answer, then yes.»
«Merely the answer? They’ve asked for no substantive guarantees?» The Englishman seemed bewildered.
«I think that comes in Phase Two. This is a step contract, I gather. I don’t think they’ll take the word of Her Majesty’s obedient servant. He uses the term ‘nigger’ too easily.»
«You’re an ass,» said Hammond.
«You’re an autocratic cipher,» replied McAuliff, with equal disdain. «They’ve got you, agent-mon. They’ve also got the Dunstone list. You play in their sandbox … with their ‘fundamental rules.’»
Hammond hesitated, repressing his irritation. «Perhaps not. There’s an avenue we haven’t explored. They’ll take you back… I should like to be taken with you.»
«They won’t accept that.»
«They may not have a choice—»
«Get one thing straight,» interrupted Alex. «There’s a survey team in the Cock Pit—white and black—and no one’s going to jeopardize a single life.»
«You forget,» said Hammond softly—aloofly. «We know the location within a thousand yards.»
«You’re no match for those guarding it. Don’t think you are. One misstep, one deviation, and there are mass executions.»
«Yes,» said the Britisher. «I believe just such a massacre took place previously. The executioners being those whose methods and selections you admire so.»
«The circumstances were different. You don’t know the truth—»
«Oh, come off it, McAuliff! I shall do my best to protect the lives of your team, but I’m forced to be honest with you. They are no more the first priority for me than they are for the Halidon! There are more important considerations.» The Englishman stopped briefly, for emphasis. «And I can assure you, our resources are considerably more than those of a sect of fanatic … coloreds. I’d advise you not to change your allegiances at this late hour.»
The announcer on the television screen had been droning, reading from pages of script handed to him by others in the studio. Alex couldn’t be sure—he had not been listening—but he thought he had heard the name, spoken differently … as if associated with new or different information. He looked down at the set, holding up his hand for Hammond to be quiet.
He had heard the name.
And as the first announcement three hours ago had been the prelude—a single instrument marking a thematic commencement—McAuliff recognized this as the coda. The terror had been orchestrated to a conclusion.
The announcer looked earnestly into the camera, then back to the papers in his hand.