The Cry of the Halidon Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mr. Hammond.”
    “Naturally. No one ever gets used to them.… Yes, we think he would kill you. Have you killed, of course. After picking your brains.”
    McAuliff leaned against the wall, staring at the whiskey in his glass, but not drinking. “You’re not giving me an alternative, are you?”
    “Of course we are. I can leave these rooms; we never met.”
    “Suppose someone sees you? That surveillance you spoke of.”
    “They won’t see me; you will have to take my word for that.” Hammond leaned back in the chair. He brought his fingers together pensively. “Of course, under the circumstances, we’d be in no position to offer protection. From either faction—”
    “Protection from the unprovable,” interjected Alex softly.
    “Yes.”
    “No alternative …” McAuliff pushed himself away from the wall and took several swallows of whiskey. “Except one, Hammond. Suppose I cooperate, on the basis that there may be substance to your charges … or theories, or whatever you call them. But I’m not accountable to you.”
    “I’m not sure I understand.”
    “I don’t accept orders blindly. No puppet strings. I want that condition—on the record. If that’s the phrase.”
    “It must be. I’ve used it frequently.”
    McAuliff crossed in front of the Englishman to the arm of his chair. “Now put it in simple words. What am I supposed to do?”
    Hammond’s voice was calm and precise. “There are two objectives. The first, and most vital, is Dunstone’s opposition. Those knowledgeable enough and fanatical enough to have killed the first survey team. If uncovered, it is conceivable that they will lead you to the second and equally important objective: the names of Dunstone’s unknown hierarchy. The faceless men in London, Paris, Berlin, Washington … even one or two. We’d be grateful for anything specific.”
    “How do I begin?”
    “With very little, I’m afraid. But we do have something. It’s only a word, a name, perhaps. We don’t know. But we have every reason to think it’s terribly important.”
    “A word?”
    “Yes. ‘Halidon.’ ”

4
    I t was like working in two distinct spheres of reality, neither completely real. During the days, McAuliff conferred with the men and women in the University of London’s geophysics laboratories, gathering personnel data for his survey team. The university was Dunstone’s cover—along with the Royal Historical Society—and neither was aware that Dunstone’s finances were behind the expedition.
    During the nights, into the early morning hours, he met with R. C. Hammond, British Intelligence, in small, guarded houses on dimly lit streets in Kensington and Chelsea. These locations were reached by two changes of vehicles—taxis driven by M.I.5. And for each meeting Alex was provided with a cover story regarding his whereabouts: a dinner party, a girl, a crowded restaurant he was familiar with; nothing out of the ordinary, everything easily explained and verifiable.
    The sessions with Hammond were divided into areas of instruction: the political and financial climate of Jamaica, M.I.5 contacts throughout the island, and basic skills—with instruments—in communication and countersurveillance.
    At several sessions, Hammond brought in West Indian “specialists”—black agents who were capable of answering just about any question McAuliff might raise. He had few questions; he had surveyed for the Kaiser bauxite interests near Oracabessa a little over a year ago, a fact he suspected had led Julian Warfield to him.
    When they were alone, R. C. Hammond droned on about the attitudes and reactions Alex should foster.
    Always build on part of the truth … keeping it simple … the basics easily confirmed …
    You’ll find it quite acceptable to operate on different levels … naturally, instinctively. Your concentration will separate independently …
    Very rapidly your personal antennae will be activated … second nature. You’ll fall