The Cry of the Halidon

by Robert Ludlum

  As near to his or her twelfth birthday as possible, the Halidonite was tested extensively by teachers, the elders of the Council, and finally by the minister himself. On the basis of these examinations, individuals were selected for training for the outside world. There followed three years of preparation, concentrating on specific skills or professions.

  When he or she reached sixteen, the Halidonite was taken from the community and brought to a family residence on the outside, where the father and mother were members of the tribe. Except for infrequent returns to the community and reunions with his own parents, the outside family would be the Haldonite’s guardians for a number of years to come.

  “Don’t you have defections?” asked Alex.

  “Rarely,” replied Daniel. “The screening process is most thorough.”

  “What happens if it isn’t thorough enough? If there are—”

  “That is an answer I will not give you,” interrupted the minister. “Except to say the Maze of Acquaba is a threat no prison can compete with. It keeps offenders—within and without—to a minimum. Defections are extremely rare.”

  From the tone of Daniel’s voice, Alex had no desire to pursue the subject. “They’re brought back?”

  Daniel nodded.

  The population of the Halidon was voluntarily controlled. Daniel claimed that for every couple that wanted more children, there invariably was a couple that wanted fewer or none. And, to McAuliff’s astonishment, the minister added: “Marriages take place between ourselves and those of the outside. It is, of course, unavoidable and, by necessity, desirable. But it is a complicated procedure taking place over many months and with stringent regulations.”

  “A reverse screening process?”

  “The harshest imaginable. Controlled by the guardians.”

  “What happens if the marriage doesn’t …”

  “That answer, too, is not in bounds, Doctor.”

  “I have an idea the penalties are stiff,” said Alex softly.

  “You may have all the ideas you like,” said Daniel, starting up again across the field. “But what is of the greatest importance is that you understand that we have scores … hundreds of guardians—halfway houses—throughout the countries of the world. In every profession, in all governments, in dozens of universities and institutions everywhere. You will never know who is a member of the Halidon. And that is our threat, our ultimate protection.”

  “You’re saying that if I reveal what I know, you’ll have me killed?”

  “You and every member of your family. Wife, children, parents … in the absence of the formal structure, lovers, closest associates, every person who was or is an influence on your life. Your identity, even your memory, will be erased.”

  “You can’t know every person I talk to, every telephone call I make. Where I am every minute. No one can! I could mount an army; I could find you!”

  “But you will not,” said Daniel quietly, in counterpoint to McAuliff’s outburst. “For the same reason others have not.… Come. We are here.”

  They were standing now on the edge of the field. Beyond was the tentacled foliage of the Cock Pit forest, in shadowed blackness.

  Suddenly, startlingly, the air was filled with a penetrating sound of terrible resonance. It was a wailing, inhuman lament. The tone was low, breathless, enveloping everything and echoing everywhere. It was the sound of a giant woodwind, rising slowly, receding into a simple obscure theme and swelling again to the plaintive cry of a higher melody.

  It grew louder and louder, the echoes now picking up the bass tones and hurling them through the jungles, crashing them off the sides of the surrounding mountains until the earth seemed to vibrate.

  And then it stopped, and McAuliff stood transfixed as he saw in the distance the outlines of figures walking slowly, purposefully, in the measured cadence, across the fields in the chiaroscuro shadows of the early darkness. A few carried torches, the flames low.

  At first there were only four or five, coming from the direction of the gate. Then there were some from the south bank of the black, shining lake; others from the north, emerging out of the darkness. Flat-bottomed boats could be seen crossing the surface of the water, each with a single torch.

  Within minutes there were ten, then twenty, thirty … until McAuliff stopped counting. From everywhere. Dozens of slowly moving bodies swaying gently as they walked across the darkened fields.

  They were converging toward the spot where Alex stood with Daniel.

  The inhuman wailing began again. Louder—if possible—than before, and McAuliff found himself bringing his hands up to his ears; the vibrations in his head and throughout his body were causing pain—actual pain.

  Daniel touched him on the shoulder; Alex whipped around as if he had been struck violently. For an instant he thought he had been, so severe were the agonizing sensations brought on by the deafening sound of the horrible lament.

  “Come,” said Daniel gently. “The hollydawn can injure you.”

  McAuliff heard him accurately; he knew that. Daniel had pronounced the word: not “halidon” but “hollydawn.” As though the echoing, deafening sound had caused him to revert to a more primitive tongue.

  Daniel walked rapidly ahead of Alex into what McAuliff thought was a wall of underbrush. Then the Halidonite suddenly began to descend into what appeared to be a trench dug out of the jungle. Alex ran to catch up, and nearly plummeted down a long, steep corridor of steps carved out of rock.

  The strange staircase widened, flaring out more on both sides the deeper it went, until McAuliff could see that they had descended into a primitive amphitheater, the walls rising thirty or forty feet to the surface of the earth.

  What was the staircase became an aisle, the curving rock on both sides forming rows of descending seats.

  And suddenly the deafening, agonizing sound from above was no more. It had stopped. Everything was silent.

  The amphitheater, carved out of some kind of quarry, blocked out all other sound.

  McAuliff stood where he was and looked down at the single source of light: a low flame that illuminated the wall of rock at the center rear of the amphitheater. In that wall was embedded a slab of dull yellow metal. And on the slab of metal was a withered corpse. In front of the corpse was a latticework of thin reeds made of the same yellow substance.

  McAuliff needed to go no closer to realize what the substance was: gold.

  And the withered, ancient body—once huge—was that of the mystic descendant of the Coromanteen chieftains.

  Acquaba.

  The preserved remains of the progenitor … spanning the centuries. The true cross of the Tribe of Acquaba. For the believers to see. And sense.

  “Down here.” Daniel’s words were whispered, but Alex heard them clearly. “You will sit with me. Please, hurry.”

  McAuliff walked down the remaining staircase to the floor of the quarry shell and over to the Halidonite on the right side of the primitive stage. Jutting out from the wall were two stone blocks; Daniel pointed to one: the seat nearest the corpse of Acquaba, less than eight feet away.

  McAuliff lowered himself on to the hard stone, his eyes drawn to the open catafalque of solid and webbed gold. The leathered corpse was dressed in robes of reddish black; the feet and hands were bare … and huge, as the head was huge. Allowing for the contraction of two centuries, the man must have been enormous—nearer seven feet than six.

  The single torch below the coffin of gold shot flickering shadows against the wall; the thin reeds crisscrossing the front of the carved-out casket picked up the light in dozens of tiny reflections. The longer one stared, thought Alex, the easier it would be to convince oneself this was the shell of a god lying in state. A god who had walked the earth and worked the earth—two hundred years could not erase the signs on the enormous hands and feet. But this god, this man did not toil as other men.…

  He heard the sounds of muted steps and looked up into the small amphitheater. Through the entrance, hi
dden in darkness, and down the staircase they came, a procession of men and women separating and spreading throughout the later stone aisles, taking their seats.

  In silence.

  Those with torches stood equidistant from each other on graduating levels against opposite walls.

  All eyes were on the withered body beyond the latticework of gold. Their concentration was absolute; it was is if they drew sustenance from it.

  In silence.

  Suddenly, without warning, the sound of the hollydawn shattered the stillness with the impact of an explosion. The thunderous, wailing lament seemed to burst from the bowels of rock-covered earth, crashing upward against the stone, thrusting out of the huge pit that was the grave of Acquaba.

  McAuliff felt the breath leaving his lungs, the blood rushing to his head. He buried his face between his knees, his hands clamped over his ears, his whole body shaking.

  The cry reached a crescendo, a terrible screaming rush of air that swelled to a pitch of frenzy. No human ears could stand it! thought Alex as he trembled … as he had never before trembled in his life.

  And then it was over and the silence returned.

  McAuliff slowly sat up, lowering his hands, gripping the stone beneath him in an effort to control the violent spasms he felt shooting through his flesh. His eyes were blurred from the blood which had raced to his temples; they cleared slowly, in stages, and he looked out at the rows of Halidonites, at these chosen members of the Tribe of Acquaba.

  They were—each one all—still staring, eyes fixed on the ancient, withered body behind the golden reeds.

  Alex knew they had remained exactly as they were throughout the shattering madness that had nearly driven him out of his mind.

  He turned to Daniel; involuntarily he gasped. The Minister of Council, too, was transfixed, his black eyes wide, his jaw set, his face immobile. But he was different from all the others; there were tears streaming down Daniel’s cheeks.

  “You’re mad … all of you,” said Alex quietly. “You’re insane.”

  Daniel did not respond. Daniel could not hear him. He was in a hypnotic state.

  They all were. Everyone in that carved-out shell beneath the earth. Nearly a hundred men and women inextricably held by some force beyond his comprehension.

  Autosuggestion. Self-somnipathy. Group hypnosis. Whatever the catalyst, each individual in that primitive amphitheater was mesmerized beyond reach. On another plane … time and space unfamiliar.

  Alexander felt himself an intruder; he was observing a ritual too private for his eyes.

  Yet he had not asked to be here. He had been forced in—ripped out of place—and made to bear witness.

  Still, the witnessing filled him with sorrow. And he could not understand. So he looked over at the body that was once the giant, Acquaba.

  He stared at the shriveled flesh of the once-black face. At the closed eyes, so peaceful in death. At the huge hands folded so strongly across the reddish black robe.

  Then back at the face … the eyes … the eyes …

  Oh my God! Oh, Christ!

  The shadows were playing tricks … terrible, horrible tricks.

  The body of Acquaba moved.

  The eyes opened; the fingers of the immense hands spread, the wrists turned, the arms raised … inches above the ancient cloth.

  In supplication.

  And then there was nothing.

  Only a shriveled corpse behind a latticework of gold.

  McAuliff pressed himself back against the wall of stone, trying desperately to find his sanity. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, gripping the rock beneath him. It could not have happened! It was some sort of mass hallucination by way of theatrical trickery accompanied by group expectation and that damned unearthly ear-shattering sound! Yet he had seen it! And it was horrifyingly effective. He did not know how long it was—a minute, an hour, a decade of terror—until he heard Daniel’s words.

  “You saw it.” A statement made gently. “Do not be afraid. We shall never speak of it again. There is no harm. Only good.”

  “I … I …” Alexander could not talk. The perspiration rolled down his face. And the carved-out council ground was cool.

  Daniel stood up and walked to the center of the platform of rock. Instead of addressing the Tribe of Acquaba, he turned to McAuliff. His words were whispered, but, as before, they were clear and precise, echoing off the walls.

  “The lessons of Acquaba touch all men, as the lessons of all prophets touch all men. But few listen. Still, the work must go on. For those who can do it. It is really as simple as that. Acquaba was granted the gift of great riches … beyond the imaginations of those who will never listen; who will only steal and corrupt. So we go out into the world without the world’s knowledge. And we do what we can. It must ever be so, for if the world knew, the world would impose itself and the Halidon, the Tribe of Acquaba, and the lessons of Acquaba would be destroyed.… We are not fools, Dr. McAuliff. We know with whom we speak, with whom we share our secrets. And our love. But do not mistake us. We can kill; we will kill to protect the vaults of Acquaba. In that we are dangerous. In that we are absolute. We will destroy ourselves and the vaults if the world outside interferes with us.

  “I, as Minister of Council, ask you to rise, Dr. McAuliff. And turn yourself away from the Tribe of Acquaba, from this Council of the Halidon, and face the wall. What you will hear, staring only at stone, are voices, revealing locations and figures. As I mentioned, we are not fools. We understand the specifics of the marketplace. But you will not see faces, you will never know the identities of those who speak. Only know that they go forth bearing the wealth of Acquaba.

  “We dispense vast sums throughout the world, concentrating as best we can on the areas of widespread human suffering. Pockets of famine, displacement, futility. Untold thousands are helped daily by the Halidon. Daily. In practical ways.

  “Please rise and face the wall, Dr. McAuliff.”

  Alexander got up from the block of stone and turned. For a brief instant his eyes fell on the corpse of Acquaba. He looked away and stared at the towering sheet of rock.

  Daniel continued. “Our contributions are made without thought of political gain or influence. They are made because we have the concealed wealth and the commitment to make them. The lessons of Acquaba.

  “But the world is not ready to accept our ways, Acquaba’s ways. The global mendacity would destroy us, cause us to destroy ourselves, perhaps. And that we cannot permit.

  “So understand this, Dr. McAuliff. Beyond the certainty of your own death, should you reveal what you know of the Tribe of Acquaba, there is another certainty of far greater significance than your life: the work of the Halidon will cease. That is our ultimate threat.”

  One by one, the voices recited their terse statements:

  “Afro axis. Ghana. Fourteen thousand bushels of grain. Conduit: Smythe Brothers, Capetown. Barclay’s Bank.”

  “Sierra Leone. Three tons of medical supplies. Conduit: Baldazi Pharmaceuticals, Algiers. Bank of Constantine.”

  “Indo-China axis. Vietnam, Mekong, Quan Tho provinces. Radiology and laboratory personnel and supplies. Conduit: Swiss Red Cross. Bank of America.”

  “Southwest Hemisphere axis. Brazil. Rio de Janeiro. Typhoid serum. Conduit: Surgical Salizar. Banco Terceiro, Rio.”

  “Northwest Hemisphere axis. West Virginia. Appalachia. Twenty-four tons food supplies. Conduit: Atlantic Warehousing. Chase Manhattan. New York.”

  “India axis. Dacca. Refugee camps. Inoculation serums, medicals. Conduit: International Displacement Organization. World Bank. Burma.…”

  The voices of men and women droned on, the phrases clipped, yet somehow gentle. It took nearly an hour, and McAuliff began to recognize that many spoke twice, but always with different information. Nothing was repeated.

  Finally there was silence.

  A long period of silence. And then Alexander felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, and Daniel’s eyes bore in on
him.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand,” McAuliff said.

  They walked across the field toward the lake. The sounds of the forest mingled with the hum of the mountains and the crashing of the waterfall nearly a mile to the north.

  They stood on the embankment, and Alex bent down, picked up a smile stone, and threw it into the black, shining lake that reflected the light of the moon. He looked at Daniel.

  “In a way, you’re as dangerous as the rest of them. One man … with so much … operating beyond reach. No checks, no balances. It would be so simple for good to become evil, evil good. Malcolm said your … term isn’t guided by a calendar.”

  “It is not. I am elected for life. Only I can terminate my office.”

  “And pick your successor?”

  “I have influence. The Council, of course, has the final disposition.”

  “Then I think you’re more dangerous.”

  “I do not deny it.”

  30

  The trip to Montego was far easier than the circuitous march from the Martha Brae. To begin with, most of the journey was by vehicle.

  Malcolm, his robes replaced by Savile Row clothing, led Alexander around the lake to the southeast, where they were met by a runner who took them to the base of a mountain cliff, hidden by jungle. A steel lift, whose thick chains were concealed by mountain rocks, carried them up the enormous precipice to a second runner, who placed them in a small tram, which was transported by cable on a path below the skyline of the forest.

  At the end of the cable ride, a third runner took them through a series of deep caves, identified by Malcolm as the Quick Step Grotto. He told Alex that the Quick Step was named for seventeenth-century buccaneers who raced from Bluefield’s Bay overland to bury treasure at the bottom of the deep pools within the caves. The other derivation—the one many believed to be more appropriate—was that if a traveler did not watch his feet, he could easily slip and plummet into a crevice. Injury was certain, death not impossible.