Free The Cry of the Halidon by Robert Ludlum Page A

psychedelic lights now projected their sharp patterns on the table, giving the agent a grotesque appearance. “The exact words.”
    “ ‘What does the word ‘Halidon’ mean to you?’ That’s what he said.”
    “Your answer?”
    “What answer? I didn’t have one. I told him it was a town in New Jersey.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Halidon, New Jersey. It’s a town.”
    “Different spelling, I believe. And pronunciation. Did he accept your ignorance?”
    “Why wouldn’t he? I’m ignorant.”
    “Did you conceal the fact that you’d heard the word? It’s terribly important!”
    “Yes … yes, I think I did. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about something else. Several other things—”
    “Did he bring it up later?” broke in the agent.
    “No, he didn’t. He stared hard, but he didn’t mention it again. What do you think it means?”
    Suddenly a gyrating, spaced-out dancer careened against the table, his eyes half focused, his lips parted without control.“Well, if it ain’t old Mums and Dadsies!” he said, slurring his words with rough Yorkshire. “Enjoying the kiddie’s show-and-tell, Mums?”
    “Damn!” Hammond had spilled part of his drink.
    “Ring for the butler, Pops! Charge it to old Edinburgh. He’s a personal friend, good old Edinburgh.”
    The solo, freaked-out dancer bolted away as quickly as he had intruded. The other middle-aged straights were appropriately solicitous of Hammond, simultaneously scathing of The Owl’s patrons; the youngsters did their best to mollify.
    “It’s all right, nothing to be concerned with,” said the agent good-naturedly. “Just a bit of damp, nothing to it.” Hammond removed his handkerchief and began blotting his front. The table returned to its prior and individual conversations. The Britisher turned to McAuliff, his resigned smile belying his words. “I have less than a minute; you’ll be contacted tomorrow if necessary.”
    “You mean that … collision was a signal?”
    “Yes. Now, listen and commit. I haven’t time to repeat myself. When you reach Kingston, you’ll be on your own for a while. Quite frankly, we weren’t prepared for you so soon—”
    “Just a minute!” interrupted McAuliff, his voice low, angry. “Goddamn you!
You
listen … and commit! You guaranteed complete safety, contacts twenty-four hours a day. It was on that basis I agreed—”
    “Nothing has changed.” Hammond cut in swiftly, smiling paternalistically—in contradiction to the quiet hostility between them. “You have contacts; you’ve memorized eighteen, twenty names—”
    “In the north country, not Kingston! You’re supposed to deliver the Kingston names!”
    “We’ll do our best for tomorrow.”
    “That’s not good enough!”
    “It will have to be, Mr. McAuliff,” said Hammond coldly. “In Kingston, east of Victoria Park on Duke Street, there is a fish store called Tallon’s. In the last extremity—and only then—should you wish to transmit information,see the owner. He’s quite arthritic in his right hand. But, mind you, all he can do is transmit. He’s of no other use to you. Now, I really must go.”
    “I’ve got a few other things to say.” Alex put his hand on Hammond’s arm.
    “They’ll have to wait—”
    “One thing. Alison Booth. You knew, didn’t you?”
    “About her husband?”
    “Yes.”
    “We did. Frankly, at first, we thought she was a Dunstone plant. We haven’t ruled it out.… Oh, you asked about Warfield’s mention of Halidon; what he meant. In my judgment, he knows no more than we do. And he’s trying just as hard to find out.”
    With the swiftness associated with a much younger man, Hammond lifted himself up from the booth, slid past McAuliff, and excused himself from the group. McAuliff found himself seated next to the middle-aged woman he presumed had come with Hammond. He had not listened to her name during the introductions, but as he looked at her now, he did not have to be told. The