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.But his knowledge of tides and currents, his observations during the last three hours, led his conclusions to one end.The man on the stretcher had died.His corpse would soon be stripped of identification, weighted down with net lead, and thrown into the water, eventually to be carried by floor currents far away from the island of Jamaica.Perhaps to be washed ashore weeks or months from now on some Cayan reef or, more fortuitously, torn apart and devoured by the predators of the deep.Peter knew it was time to call Julian, meet with Julian.Immediately.McAuliff rolled over on his side, the sharp pain in his shoulder suddenly surging through his chest.He sat up quickly, momentarily bewildered.He focused his thoughts; it was morning; the night before had been a series of terrifying confusions.The pieces would have to be put back together, plans made.He looked down at Alison, beside him.She was breathing deeply, steadily, in complete sleep.If the evening had been a nightmare for him, it had been no less a torment for her.Perhaps worse.At least he had been in motion, constant, unceasing movement.She had been waiting, thinking; he had had no time for thoughts.It was worse to wait.In some ways.Slowly, as silently as he could, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.His whole body was stiff; his joints pained him, especially his kneecaps.It was understandable.The muscles he had used last night were dormant strings of an unused instrument, called into play by a panicked conductor.The allusion was proper, thought Alex - about his thoughts.He nearly smiled as he conjured up the phrase: so out of tune.Everything was out of tune.But the notes were forming recognizable chords… somewhere.In the distance.There was a melody of sorts that could be vaguely distinguished.Yet not distinguished.Hardly noble.Not yet.An odour assaulted his nostrils.It was not the illusion of spice and vanilla, but nevertheless sweet.If there was an association, it was south Oriental… Java, the Sunda Trench, pungent, a bit sickening.He crossed quietly to the terrace door, about to open it, when he realized he was naked.He walked silently to a chair by the curtained window, where he had thrown a pair of swimming trunks several days ago.He removed them from the wooden rim and put them on.'I hope they're not wet,' said Alison from the bed.'The maid service here is a touch lacking, and I didn't hang them up.''Go back to sleep,' Alex replied.'You were asleep a moment ago.Very much asleep.''I'm very much awake now… Good heavens, it's a quarter past eight.''And?''Nothing, really… I just didn't think we'd sleep this long.''It's not long.We didn't get to bed until after three.Considering everything that happened, noon would have been too early.''How's your arm? The shoulder?''A little sore… like most of me.Not crippling.''What is that terrible smell?' Alison sat up; the sheet fell away, revealing a curiously prim nightgown, opaque cotton with buttons.She saw Alex's gaze, the beginning of a smile on his lips.She glanced down and laughed.'My granny nightshirt.I put it on after you fell asleep.It was chilly, and you hadn't the slightest interest in anything but philosophical discourse.'He walked to the edge of the bed and sat down beside her.'I was long-winded, wasn't I?''I couldn't shut you up; there was simply no way.You drank a great deal of Scotch - how's your head, incidentally?''Fine.As though I'd had Ovaltine…''… straight alcohol couldn't have stayed with you.I've seen that before, too… Sorry.I forgot you object to my British pronouncements.''I made a few myself last night.I withdraw my objections.''Do you still believe them? Your pronouncements? As they say… in the cold logic of the morning?''I think I do; the thrust of my argument being that no one fights better for his own turf than he who lives on it, depends on it… Yes, I believe it.I'd feel more confident if Barak hadn't been hurt.''Strange name, Barak.''Strange man.And very strong.He's needed, Alison.Boys can become men quickly, but they're still not seasoned.His ken is needed.''By whom?'McAuliff looked at her; at the lovely way her eyebrows rose quizzically above her clear, light blue eyes.'By his own side,' he answered simply.'Which is not Charles Whitehall's side.' There was no question implied.'No.They're very different.And I think it's necessary… at this point, under these circumstances… that Barak's faction be as viable as Charley-mon's.''That concern strikes me as dangerously close to interference, darling.''I know.It's just that everything seems so complicated to me.But it doesn't to Whitehall.And it doesn't to Barak Moore.They see a simple division muddled up by second and third parties… Don't you see? They're not distracted.They first go after one objective, then another, and another; knowing ultimately they'll have to deal with each other.Neither one loses sight of that.Each stores his apples as he goes along.''What?' Alison leaned back on the pillow, watching McAuliff as he stared blankly at the wall.'I don't follow that.''I'm not sure I can explain it.A wolf pack surrounds its victims, who huddle in the centre.The dogs set up an erratic rhythm of attack, taking turns lunging in and out around the circle until the quarry's confused to the point of exhaustion.Then the wolves close in.' Alex stopped; he was uncertain.'I gather Charles and this Barak are the victims,' said Alison, trying to help him.'Jamaica's the victim, and they're Jamaica [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]