He could not think any longer. He could only listen.
Daniel covered the initial groundwork rapidly. He asked Alex if he had read Walter Piersall’s papers. McAuliff nodded.
The minister then proceeded to confirm the accuracy of Piersall’s studies by tracing the Tribe of Acquaba from its beginnings in the Maroon wars in the early eighteenth century.
«Acquaba was something of a mystic, but essentially a simple man. A Christ figure without the charity or extremes of mercy associated with the Jesus beliefs. After all, his forebears were born to the violence of the Coromanteen jungles. But his ethics were sound.»
«What is the source of your wealth?» asked Alex, his faculties returning. «If there is wealth. And a source.»
«Gold,» replied Daniel simply.
«Where?»
«In the ground. On our lands.»
«There is no gold in Jamaica.»
«You are a geologist. You know better than that. There are traces of crystalline deposit in scores of minerals throughout the island—»
«Infinitesimal,» broke in McAuliff. «Minute, and so impacted with worthless ores as to make any attempt at separation prohibitive. More expensive than the product.»
«But … gold, nevertheless.»
«Worthless.»
Daniel smiled. «How do you think the crystalline traces became impacted? I might even ask you—theoretically, if you like—how the island of Jamaica came to be.»
«As any isolated landmass in the oceans. Geologic upheavals—» Alex stopped. The theory was beyond imagination, made awesome because of its simplicity. A section of a vein of gold, millions upon millions of years ago, exploding out of the layers of earth beneath the sea, impacting deposits through the mass that was disgorged out of the waters. «My God … there’s a vein…»
«There is no point in pursuing this,» said Daniel. «For centuries the colonial law of Jamaica spelled out an absolute: all precious metals discovered on the island were the possession of the Crown. It was the primary reason no one searched.»
«Fowler,» said McAuliff softly. «Jeremy Fowler …»
«I beg your pardon?»
«The Crown Recorder in Kingston. More than a hundred years ago …»
Daniel paused. «Yes. In 1883, to be exact. So that was Piersall’s fragment.» The minister of the Halidon wrote on another page of notepaper. «It will be removed.»
«This Fowler,» said Alex softly. «Did he know?»
Daniel looked up from the paper, tearing it off the pad as he did so. «No. He believed he was carrying out the wishes of a dissident faction of Maroons conspiring with a group of north-coast landowners. The object was to destroy the records of a tribal treaty so thousands of acres could be cleared for plantations. It was what he was told and what he was paid for.»
«The family in England still believes it.»
«Why not? It was»—the minister smiled—«Colonial Service. Shall we return to more currently applicable questions? You see, Dr. McAuliff, we want you to understand. Thoroughly.»
«Go ahead.»
According to Daniel, the Halidon had no ambitions for political power. It never had such ambitions; it remained outside the body politic, accepting the historical view that order emerges out of the chaos of different, even conflicting ideologies. Ideas were greater monuments than cathedrals, and a people must have free access to them. That was the lesson of Acquaba. Freedom of mobility, freedom of thought … freedom to do battle, if need be. The religion of the Halidon was essentially humanist, its jungle gods symbols of continuously struggling forces battling for the mortals’ freedom. Freedom to survive in the world in the manner agreed upon within the tribe, without imposing that manner on the other tribes.
«Not a bad premise, is it?» asked Daniel confidently, again rapidly.
«No,» answered McAuliff. «And not particularly original, either.»
«I disagree,» said the minister. «The thoughts may have a hundred precedents, but the practice is almost unheard of… Tribes, as they develop self-sufficiency, tend to graduate to the point where they are anxious to impose themselves on as many other tribes as possible. From the pharaohs to Caesar; from the Empire—several empires, Holy Roman, British, et cetera—to Adolf Hitler; from Stalin to your own conglomeratized government of self-righteous proselytizers. Beware the pious believers, McAuliff. They were all pious in their fashions. Too many are still.»
«But you’re not.» Alex looked over at the enormous leaded glass and the rushing, plummeting water beyond. «You just decide who is … and act accordingly. Free to ‘do battle,’ as you call it.»
«You think that is a contradiction of purpose?»
«You’re damned right I do. When ‘doing battle’ includes killing people … because they don’t conform to your idea of what’s acceptable.»
«Whom have we killed?»
Alex shifted his gaze from the waterfall to Daniel. «I can start with last night. Two carriers on the survey who were probably picking up a few dollars from British Intelligence; for what? Keeping their eyes open? Reporting what we had for dinner? Who came to see us? Your runner, the one I called Marcus, said they were agents; he killed them. And a fat pig named Garvey, who was a pretty low-level, uniformed liaison and, I grant you, smelled bad. But I think a fatal accident on the road to Port Maria was a bit drastic.» McAuliff paused for a moment and leaned forward in the chair. «You massacred an entire survey team—every member—and for all you know, they were hired by Dunstone the same way I was: just looking for work. Now, maybe you can justify all those killings, but neither you nor anyone else can justify the death of Walter Piersall… Yes, Mr. High and Mighty Minister, I think you’re pretty violently pious yourself.»
Daniel had sat down in the chair behind the hatch table during Alex’s angry narrative. He now pushed his foot against the floor, sending the chair gently to his right, toward the huge window. «Over a hundred years ago, this office was the entire building. One of my early predecessors had it placed here. He insisted that the minister’s room—‘chamber,’ it was called then—overlook this section of our waterfall. He claimed the constant movement and the muffled sound forced a man to concentrate, blocked out small considerations… That long-forgotten rebel proved right. I never cease to wonder at the different bursts of shapes and patterns. And while wondering, the mind really concentrates.»
«Is that your way of telling me those who were killed were … small considerations?»
Daniel pushed the chair back in place and faced McAuliff. «No, Doctor. I was trying to think of a way to convince you. I shall tell you the truth, but I am not sure you will believe it. Our runners, our guides—our infiltrators, if you will—are trained to use effect wherever possible. Fear, McAuliff, is an extraordinary weapon. A nonviolent weapon; not that we are necessarily nonviolent… Your carriers are not dead. They were taken prisoner, blindfolded, led to the outskirts of Weston Favel, and released. They were not hurt, but they were frightened severely. They will not work for M. I. Five or M. I. Six again. Garvey is dead, but we did not kill him. Your Mr. Garvey sold anything he could get his hands on, including women, especially young girls. He was shot on the road to Port Maria by a distraught father, the motive obvious. We simply took the credit… You say we massacred the Dunstone survey. Reverse that, Doctor. Three of the four white men tried to massacre our scouting party. They killed six of our young men after asking them into the camp for conference.»