THE CRY OF THE HALIDON BY ROBERT LUDLUM

This man, whichever one he was, chose his side…. He did not have to

choose the way he did.”

“The fourth man? He was different, then?”

“Yes.” Daniel’s eyes were suddenly reflective. “He was a good man. A

Hollander. When he realized what the others were doing, he objected

violently. He ran out to warn the rest of our party. His own men shot

him.”

For several moments, neither men spoke. Finally McAuliff asked, “What

about Walter Piersall? Can you find a story for that?”

“No,” said Daniel. “We do not know what happened. Or who killed him.

We have ideas, but nothing more. Walter Piersall was the last man on

earth we wanted dead. Especially under the circumstances. And if you

do not understand that, then you’re stupid.”

McAuliff got out of the chair and walked aimlessly to the huge window.

He could feel Daniel’s eyes on him. He forced himself to watch the

crashing streams of water in front of him. “Why did you bring me here?

Why have you told me so much? About you … and everything else.”

“We had no choice. Unless you lied or unless Malcolm was deceived,

neither of which I believe…. And we understand your position as well

as your background. When Malcolm flew out of England, he brought with

him MI-5’s complete dossier on you. We are willing to make you an

offer.”

Alex turned and looked down at the minister. “I’m sure it’s one I can’t

refuse.”

“Not readily. Your life. And, not incidentally, the lives of your

fellow surveyors.”

“Piersall’s documents?”

“Somewhat more extensive, but those, too, of course,”

answered Daniel.

“Go on.” McAuliff remained by the window. The muted sound of the

waterfall was his connection to the outside somehow. It was comforting.

” We know what the British want: the list of names that comprise the

Dunstone hierarchy. The international financiers that fully expect to

turn this island into an economic sanctuary, another Switzerland. Not

long ago, a matter of weeks, they gathered here on this island from all

over the world. In Port Antonio. A few used their real names, most did

not. The timing is propitious. The Swiss banking institutions are

breaking down their traditional codes of account-secrecy one after

another. They are under extraordinary pressures, of course…. We have

the Dunstone list. We will make an exchange.”

“It for our lives? And the documents . .

Daniel laughed, neither cruelly nor kindly. It was a genuine expression

of humor. “Doctor, I am afraid it is you who are obsessed with small

considerations. It is true we place great value on Piersall’s

documents, but the British do not. We must think as our adversaries

think. The British want the Dunstone list above all things. And above

all things, we want British Intelligence, and everything it represents,

out of Jamaica. That is the exchange we offer.”

McAuliff stood motionless by the window. “I don’t understand you.”

The minister leaned forward. “We demand an end to English influence …

as we demand an end to the influence of all other nations-tribes, if you

wish, Doctor-over this island. In short words, Jamaica is to be left to

the Jamaicans.”

“Dunstone wouldn’t leave it to you,” said Alex, groping.

“I’d say its influence was a hell of a lot more dangerous than anyone

else’s.”

“Dunstone is our fight; we have our own plans. Dunstone was organized

by financial geniuses. But once confined in our territory, our

alternatives are multiple. Among other devices, expropriation . . .

But these alternatives take time, and we both know the British do not

have the time. England cannot afford the loss of Dunstone, Limited.”

McAuliff’s mind raced back to the room in the Savoy Hotel … and R. C.

Hammond’s quiet admission that economics were afactor. A rather

significant one.

Hammond the manipulator.

Alex walked back to the armchair and sat down. He realized Daniel was

allowing him the time to think, to absorb the possibilities of the new

information. There were so many questions; most, he knew, could not be

answered, but several touched him. He had to try.

“A few days ago,” he began awkwardly, “when Barak Moore died, I found

myself concerned that Charles Whitehall had no one to oppose him. So

did you. I saw what you wrote down-”

“What is your question?” asked Daniel civilly.

“I was right, wasn’t I? They’re the two extremes. They have followers.

They’re not just hollow fanatics.”

“Whitehall and Moore?”

“Yes.”

“Hardly. They’re the charismatic leaders. Moore was, Whitehall is. In

all emerging nations there are generally three factions: right, left,

and the comfortable middle-the entrenched holdovers who have learned the

daily functions.

The middle is eminently corruptible, for it continues the same dull,

bureaucratic chores with sudden new authority. It is the first to be

replaced. The healthiest way is by an infusion of the maturest elements

from both extremes. Peaceful balance.”

“And that’s what you’re waiting for? Like a referee? An umpire?”

“Yes. That’s very good, Doctor. There’s merit in the struggle, you

know; neither side is devoid of positive factors…. Unfortunately,

Dunstone makes our task more difficult. We must observe the combatants

carefully.”

The minister’s eyes had strayed again; and, again, there was the brief

nearly imperceptible reflection. “Why?” asked Alex.

Daniel seemed at first reluctant to answer. And then he sighed audibly.

“Very well … Barak Moore’s reaction to Dunstone would be violent. A

bloodbath … chaos. Whitehall’s would be equally dangerous. He would

seek temporary collusion, the power base being completely financial.

He could be used as many of the German industrialists honestly believed

they were using Hitler. Only the association feeds on absolute power

… absolutely.”

McAuliff leaned back in the chair. He was beginning to understand. “So

if Dunstone’s out, you’re back to the what was it-the healthy struggle?”

“Yes,” said Daniel quietly.

“Then you and the British want the same thing. How can you make

conditions?”

“Because our solutions are different. We have the time and the

confidence of final control. The English … and the French and the

Americans and the Germans … do not have either. The economic

disasters they would suffer could well be to our advantage’ And that is

all I will say on the subject.

We have the Dunstone list. You will make the offer to the British.”

“I go to with Malcolm to Montego-@’

“You will be escorted, and guarded,” interrupted Daniel harshly. “The

members of your geological survey are hostages. Each will be summarily

executed should there be the slightest deviation from our instructions.”

“Suppose British Intelligence doesn’t believe you? What the hell am I

supposed to do then?”

Daniel stood up. “They will believe you, McAuliff. For your trip to

Montego Bay is merely part of the news that will soon be worldwide.

There will be profound shock in several national capitals. And you will

tell British Intelligence that this is our proof It is only the tip of

the Dunstone iceberg. Oh, they will believe you, McAuliff, Precisely at

noon, London time. Tomorrow.”

“That’s all you’ll tell me?”

“No. One more thing. When the acts take place, the panicked

giant-Dunstone-will send out its killers. Among others, you will be a

target.”

McAuliff found himself standing up in anger. “Thank you for the

warning,” he said.

“You are welcome,” replied Daniel. “Now, if you will come with me.”

Outside the office, Malcolm, the priest figure, was talking quietly with

Jeanine. At the sight of Daniel, both fell silent.

Jeanine blocked Daniel’s path and spoke.

“There is news from the Martha Brae.”

Alex looked at the minister and then back at the girl.

“Martha Brae” had to mean the survey’s campsite. He started to speak,

but was cut off by Daniel.

“Whatever it is, tell us both.”

“It concerns two men. The young man, Ferguson, and the ore specialist,

Peter Jensen.”

Alex breathed again.

“What happened?” asked Daniel. “The young man first.”

“A runner came into camp bringing him a letter from Arthur Craft Senior.

In it Craft made promises, instructing Ferguson to leave the survey,

come up to Port Antonio, to the Foundation. Our scouts followed and

intercepted them several miles down the river. They are being held

there, south of Weston Favel.”

“Craft found out about his son,” said Alex. “He’s trying to buy off

Ferguson.”

“The purchase might well be to Jamaica’s advantage, and Ferguson is not

a hostage high on your scale of values.”

“I brought him to the island. He is valuable to me,” answered Alex

coldly.

“We shall see.” Daniel turned to the girl. “Tell the scouts to stay

where they are. Hold Ferguson and the runner; instructions will follow.

What about the Jensen man?”

:’He is all right. The scouts are tracking him.”

“He left camp?”

“He’s pretending to be lost, our men think. Early this morning, soon

after Dr. McAuliff left, he had his carrier stretch what is called an

… azimuth line. He had the man walk quite a distance while he reeled

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