The Cry of the Halidon (12 page)

He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small, square-shaped metal instrument the size of a cigarette pack. It was one of several items given him by Hammond. (Hammond had cleared his boarding pass with British Airways in London, eliminating the necessity of his declaring whatever metallic objects were on his person.)

The small metal box was an electronic scanner with a miniaturized high-voltage battery. Its function was simple, its mechanism complex, and Hammond claimed it was in very common use these days. It detected the presence of electronic listening devices within a nine- by nine-foot area. Alex had intended to use it the minute he entered the room. Instead, he absentmindedly had opened the doors to his small balcony and gazed for a brief time at the dark, majestic rise of the Blue Mountains beyond in the clear Kingston night.

Alison Booth stared at the scanner and then at McAuliff. Both anger and fear were in her eyes, but she had the presence of mind to say nothing.

As he had been taught, Alex switched on the instrument and made half circles laterally and vertically, starting from the far corner of the room. This pattern was to be followed in the other three corners. He felt embarrassed, almost ludicrous, as he waved his arm slowly, as though administering some occult benediction. He did not care to look at Alison as he went through the motions.

Then, suddenly, he was not embarrassed at all. Instead, he felt a pain in the center of his upper stomach, a sharp sting as his breath stopped and his eyes riveted on the inch-long, narrow bar in the dial of the scanner. He had seen that bar move often during the practice sessions with Hammond; he had been curious, even fascinated at its wavering, stuttering movements. He was not fascinated now. He was afraid.

This was not a training session in an out-of-the-way, safe practice room with Hammond patiently, thoroughly,
explaining the importance of overlapping areas. It was actually happening; he had not really thought that it
would
happen. It all had been … well, basically
insincere
, somehow so improbable.

Yet now, in front of him, the thin, inch-long bar was vibrating, oscillating with, a miniature violence of its own. The tiny sensors were responding to an intruder.

Somewhere within the immediate area of his position was a foreign object whose function was to transmit everything being said in this room.

He motioned to Alison; she approached him warily. He gestured and realized that his gestures were those of an unimaginative charade contestant. He pointed to the scanner and then to his lips. When she spoke he felt like a goddamned idiot.

“You promised me a drink in that lovely garden downstairs. Other considerations will have to wait … 
luv
.” She said the words quietly, simply. She was very believable.

“You’re right,” he answered, deciding instantly that he was no actor. “Just let me wash up.”

He walked swiftly into the bathroom and turned the faucets on in the basin. He pulled the door to within several inches of closing; the sound of the rushing water was discernible, not obvious. He returned to where he had been standing and continued to operate the scanner, reducing the semicircles as the narrow bar reacted, entering in on the location of the object as he had been taught to do by Hammond.

The only nonstunning surprise was the fact that the scanner’s tiny red light went on directly above his suitcase, against the wall on a baggage rack.

The red light indicated that the object was within twelve inches of the instrument.

He handed Alison the scanner and opened the case cautiously. He separated his clothes, removing shirts, socks, and underwear, and placing them—throwing them—on the bed. When the suitcase was more empty than full, he stretched the elasticized liner and ran his fingers against the leather wall.

McAuliff knew what to feel for; Hammond had showed him dozens of bugs of varying sizes and shapes.

He found it.

It was attached to the outer lining: a small bulge the size of a leather-covered button. He let it stay and, as Hammond had instructed, continued to examine the remainder of the suitcase for a second, backup device.

It was there, too. On the opposite side.

He took the scanner from Alison, walked away from the area, and rapidly “half circled” the rest of the room. As Hammond had told him to expect, there was no further movement on the scanner’s dial. For if a transmitter was planted on a movable host, it usually indicated that it was the only source available.

The rest of the room was clean. “Sterile” was the word Hammond had used.

McAuliff went into the bathroom; it, too, was safe. He turned off the faucets and called out to Alison.

“Are you unpacked?”
Now why the hell did he say that? Of all the stupid
 …

“I’m an old hand at geo trips,” came the relaxed reply. “All my garments are synthetic; they can wait. I really want to see that lovely garden. Do hurry.”

He pulled the door open and saw that she was closing the balcony door, drawing the curtains across the floor-to-ceiling glass. Alison Booth was doing the right thing, he reflected. Hammond had often repeated the command:
When you find a transmitter, check outside sight lines; assume visual surveillance
.

He came out of the bathroom; she looked across at him.… No, he thought, she did not look at him, she stared at him.

“Good,” she said. “You’re ready. I think you missed most of your beard, but you’re presentable. Let’s go … 
luv
.”

Outside the room, in the hotel corridor, Alison took his arm, and they walked to the elevator. Several times he began to speak, but each time he did so, she interrupted him.

“Wait till we’re downstairs,” she kept repeating softly.

In the patio garden, it was Alison who, after they had
been seated, requested another table. One on the opposite side of the open area; a table, Alex realized, that had no palms or plants in its vicinity. There were no more than a dozen other couples, no single men or unescorted women. McAuliff had the feeling that Alison had observed each couple closely.

Their drinks arrived; the waiter departed, and Alison Booth spoke.

“I think it’s time we talked to each other … about things we haven’t talked about.”

Alex offered her a cigarette. She declined, and so he lighted one for himself. He was buying a few seconds of time before answering, and both of them knew it.

“I’m sorry you saw what you did upstairs. I don’t want you to give it undue importance.”

“That would be funny, darling, except that
you
were halfway to hysterics.”

“That’s nice.”

“What?”

“You said ‘darling.’ ”

“Please. May we stay professional?”

“Good Lord! Are you? Professional, I mean?”

“I’m a geologist. What are you?”

McAuliff ignored her. “You said I was … excited upstairs. You were right. But it struck me that you weren’t. You did all the correct things while I was fumbling.”

“I agree. You were rumbling.… Alex, were you told to hire me?”

“No. I was told to think twice or three times before accepting you.”

“That could have been a ploy. I wanted the job badly; I would have gone to bed with you to get it. Thank you for not expecting that.”

“There was no pressure one way or the other about you. Only a warning. And that was because of your recent husband’s sideline occupation, which, incidentally, apparently accounts for most of his money. I say money because it’s not considered income, I gather.”

“It accounts for
all
of his money, and is not reported as
income. And I don’t for a minute believe the Geophysics Department of the University of London would have access to such information. Much less the Royal Society.”

“Then you’d be wrong. A lot of the money for this survey is a grant from the government funneled through the society and the university. When governments spend money, they’re concerned about personnel and payrolls.” McAuliff was pleasantly surprised at himself. He was responding as Hammond said he would: creating instant, logical replies.
Build on part of the truth, keep it simple
.… Those had been Hammond’s words.

“We’ll let that dubious, American-oriented assessment pass,” said Alison, now reaching for his cigarettes. “Surely you’ll explain what happened upstairs.”

The moment had come, thought Alex, wondering if he could carry it off the way Hammond said:
Reduce any explanation to very few words, rooted in common sense and simplicity, and do not vary
. He lighted her cigarette and spoke as casually as possible.

“There’s a lot of political jockeying in Kingston. Most of it’s petty, but some of it gets rough. This survey has controversial overtones. Resentment of origin, jealousies, that sort of thing. You saw it at Customs. There are people who would kill to discredit us. I was given that goddamned scanner to use in case I thought something very unusual happened. I thought it had, and I was right.” Alex drank the remainder of his drink and watched the girl’s reaction. He did his best to convey only sincerity.

“Our bags, you mean,” said Alison.

“Yes. That note didn’t make sense, and the clerk at the desk said they got here just before we did. But they were picked up at Palisados over two hours ago.”

“I see. And a geological survey would drive people to those extremes? That’s hard to swallow, Alex.”

“Not if you think about it. Why are surveys made? What’s generally the purpose? Isn’t it usually because someone—some people—expect to build something?”

“Not one like ours, no. It’s too spread out over too great an area. I’d say it’s patently,
obviously
academic. Anything
else would—” Alison stopped as her eyes met McAuliff’s. “Good Lord! If it
was
anything else, it’s unbelievable!”

“Perhaps there are those who do believe it. If they did, what do you think they’d do?” Alex signaled the waiter by holding up two fingers for refills. Alison Booth’s lips were parted in astonishment.

“Millions and millions and
millions
,” she said quietly. “My God, they’d buy up everything in sight!”

“Only if they were convinced they were right.”

Alison forced him to look at her. When, at first, he refused, and glanced over at the waiter, who was dawdling, she put her hand on top of his and made him pay attention. “They
are
right, aren’t they, Alex?”

“I wouldn’t have any proof of it. My contract’s with the University of London, with countersigned approvals from the Society and the Jamaican ministry. What they do with the results is their business.” It was pointless to issue a flat denial. He was a professional surveyor, not a clairvoyant.

“I don’t believe you. You’ve been primed.”

“Not primed. Told to be on guard, that’s all.”

“Those … deadly little instruments aren’t given to people who’ve only been told to be on guard.”

“That’s what I thought. But you know something? You and I are wrong, Alison. Scanners are in common use these days. Nothing out of the ordinary. Especially if you’re working outside home territory. Not a very nice comment on the state of trust, is it?”

The waiter brought their drinks. He was humming and moving rhythmically to the beat of his own tune. Alison continued to stare at McAuliff. He wasn’t sure, but he began to think she believed him. When the waiter left, she leaned forward, anxious to speak.

“And what are you supposed to do now? You found those awful things. What are you going to do about them?”

“Nothing. Report them to the Ministry in the morning, that’s all.”

“You mean you’re not going to take them out and step on them or something? You’re just going to leave them there?”

It was not a pleasant prospect, thought Alex, but Hammond
had been clear: If a bug was found, let it remain intact and use it. It could be invaluable. Before eliminating any such device, he was to report it and await instructions. A fish store named Tallon’s, near Victoria Park.

“They’re paying me … paying us. I suppose they’ll want to quietly investigate. What difference does it make? I don’t have any secrets.”

“And you
won’t
have,” Alison said softly but pointedly, removing her hand from his.

McAuliff suddenly realized the preposterousness of his position. It was at once ridiculous and sublime, funny and not funny at all.

“May I change my mind and call someone now?” he asked.

Alison slowly—very slowly—began to smile her lovely smile. “No. I was being unfair.… And I
do
believe you. You’re the most maddeningly unconcerned man I’ve ever known. You are either supremely innocent or superbly ulterior. I can’t accept the latter; you were far too nervous upstairs.” She put her hand back on top of his free one. With his other, he finished the second drink.

“May I ask why you weren’t? Nervous.”

“Yes. It’s time I told you. I owe you that.… I shan’t be returning to England, Alex. Not for many years, if ever. I can’t. I spent several months cooperating with Interpol. I’ve had experience with those horrid little buggers. That’s what we called them. Buggers.”

McAuliff felt the stinging pain in his stomach again. It was fear, and more than fear. Hammond had said British Intelligence doubted she would return to England. Julian Warfield suggested that she might be of value for abstract reasons having nothing to do with her contributions to the survey.

He was not sure how—or why—but Alison was being used.

Just as he was being used.

“How did
that
happen?” he asked with appropriate astonishment.

Alison touched on the highlights of her involvement. The marriage was sour before the first anniversary. Succinctly
put, Alison Booth came to the conclusion very early that her husband had pursued and married her for reasons having more to do with her professional travels than for anything else.

“… it was as though he had been ordered to take me, use me, absorb me.…”

The strain came soon after they were married: Booth was inordinately interested in her prospects. And, from seemingly nowhere, survey offers came out of the blue, from little-known but well-paying firms, for operations remarkably exotic.