by James A. Cox
shrugged. "However, this is another problem. ElHassan deals with North Africa. The other problems you bring up weadmit, but at this stage are not dealing with them. Our dream is inAfrica. Perhaps the Africans will be forced to taking other stands, todreaming new dreams, twenty or thirty years from now. When that timecomes, I assume the new problems will be faced. By that time therewill probably be no need for El Hassan."
Ostrander looked at him and bit his lip in thought.
It came to him now that he had never won in his contests with HomerCrawford, and that he would probably never win. No matter how stronghis convictions, in the presence of the other man, something went outof him. There was strength in Crawford that must be experienced to beunderstood. When he talked, he held you, and your own opinions becamenothing--stupidities on your lips. He had a dream, and in conversationwith him, all other things dropped away and nothing was of importancebut that dream. A dream? Possibly _disease_ was the better word. Andso highly contagious.
While they talked, an aide had entered and handed a report toBey-ag-Akhamouk. He read it and closed his eyes in weariness.
"What's up, Bey," Homer asked.
"I don't know. Colonel Ibrahim has stepped up his attacks in alldirections. At least two thirds of his force is on the offensive. Itdoesn't make much sense. But it must make sense to _him_, or hewouldn't be doing it."
Ostrander said, and to everyone's surprise there seemed to be anelement of worry in his voice too, "I know Colonel Midan Ibrahim, methim in Cairo and in Baghdad on various occasions. He's considered oneof the best men in the Arab Legion. He doesn't make militaryblunders."
Bey said, "Come on, Kenny. Let's round up Guemama and take a look atthe front." He led the way from the tent.
* * * * *
There was a guard posted before the tent which doubled as press andcommunications center, and the private quarters of David Moroka.
The figure that approached timidly was garbed in the traditionalclothing of the young women of the Tegehe Mellet tribe of the Tuaregand bore an _imzad_ in her left hand, while her right held a corner ofher gandoura over her face.
The guard, of the Kel Rela tribe, eyed the one-stringed violin withits string of hair and sounding box made of half a gourd covered witha thin membrane of skin, and grinned. A Tuareg maid was accustomed tosing and to make the high whining tones of desert music on the _imzad_before submitting to her lover's embrace. _Wallahi!_ but these womenof the Tegehe Mellet were shameless.
"Where do you go?" he said gruffly. "El Hassan's vizier has orderedthat he is occupied and none should approach."
"He awaits me," she wavered. There was _kohl_ about her eyes, andindigo at the corners of her mouth. "We met at the _tendi_ last nightand he bid me come to his tent. It is for me he waits."
_Wallahi!_ but his leader had taste, the sentry decided.
"Pass," he said gruffly. Even a vizier of such importance as this onemust need solace at times, he decided philosophically.
She slipped past silently to the tent entrance where the Tuareg guardnoticed she paused for a long moment before entering. He grinned intohis teguelmoust. Aiii, the little bird was timid before the hawk.
She stood for a moment listening, and then slipped inside, droppingthe desert musical instrument to the ground. Dave Moroka's back was toher and even as she entered he flicked off the switch of thevideo-radio into which he had been speaking and scowled at it.
When he stood and began to turn, she covered him with the small pocketpistol. She had an ease in handling it which denoted competence.
His eyebrows went up, but he remained silent, waiting for her gambit.
Isobel said evenly, "You're a Party member, aren't you, Dave?"
"Why do you say that?"
She nodded infinitesimally to the set. "You were reporting just now. Iheard enough just as I came in."
He took in her disguise. "My guard isn't as efficient as I hadthought," Dave said wryly.
Isobel said, "You knew Abe Baker, didn't you?"
He looked at her, expressionlessly.
She said, "I already knew you belonged to the Party, Dave. No matterhow competent an agent, it's something difficult to hide from anyother long-time member. There's a terminology you use--such as callingit the Soviet Union, rather than Russia. No commie ever says Russia,it's always _the Soviet Union_. You can tell, just as a Roman Catholiccan tell a person raised in the Church, even though the other hasdropped away, or even as one Jew can tell another. Yes, I've knownyou were a Party member for some time, Dave."
"And?" the South African said.
"Why are you here?"
Dave Moroka said, "For the same reason you are, to further the ElHassan dream, the uniting and modernization of the continent of myracial heritage."
"But you are still a Party member and still report to your superiors."
Dave Moroka looked at the tiny gun she held in her hand.
"Don't try it," she said. "I have seen you in action, Dave. I havenever seen a man move so ruthlessly fast ... but don't try it."
"No reason to," he bit out. "Come on, let's go see Homer."
She was slightly taken aback, but not enough to release her controlfor even a split second. "Lead the way," she said.
* * * * *
Even at this time of evening, the headquarters tent was brightly litand most of the immediate El Hassan staff still at work. HomerCrawford looked up as they entered.
Cliff Jackson saw the gun first and said, "Holy Mackerel, Isobel."
Fredric Ostrander was sitting to one side in discussion with the soberfaced Jack Peters. He took in the gun and slowly came to his feet,obviously expecting climax.
Isobel said, "Dave's taking over control of communications had method.I just found him reporting to what must have been a superior ... inthe Party."
Homer Crawford looked from the South African to Isobel, then back toDave again, without speaking. His eyes were questioning.
Dave said, his voice sharp. "I haven't time for details now. Isobel'sright. I was a Party member."
"Was?" Ostrander chuckled. "That's the understatement of the year. Ihadn't got around to revealing the fact as yet, but our friend Dave isthe notorious Anton, one of the Soviet Complex's most competenthatchetmen."
Dave looked at him only briefly. "Was," he reiterated. He turned hisattention to Homer and to Bey, who was staring tired dismay at thisnew addition to the load.
Homer still held his peace, waiting for the other to go on.
"I found out tonight why Colonel Ibrahim is attacking, instead ofpulling in his horns as reason would dictate." Dave paused foremphasis. "The Soviet Complex has thrown its weight, in this matter atleast, on the side of the Arab Union. They have insisted that SvenZetterberg be dismissed as head of the Sahara Division of the AfricanDevelopment Project and that his threat to use Reunited Nationsaircraft if the local fighting spreads to the air, be repudiated."
Kenny blurted, "Good grief ... that means--"
Dave looked around at them, one by one. "It means," he said, "that theArab Legion is going to be reinforced tomorrow morning by a fullregiment of paratroopers."
"Holy Mackerel," Cliff groaned. "We've had it. Another regiment ofcrack troops in Tamanrasset and we'll _never_ take the town."
Dave shook his head. "That's not the big thing. The paratroopersaren't going to drop in Tamanrasset. They're going to hit every oasis,every water hole, in a circumference of two hundred miles."
There was an empty silence.
Homer Crawford said finally, evenly, "In the expectation that everyfollower of El Hassan in the Sahara will either surrender or die ofthirst, eh?" He didn't seem sufficiently impressed by the threateningdisaster. He looked at Dave questioningly. "Why do you bother to tellus, Dave, if you're on the other side?"
Dave grunted sour amusement. "Because I've just become a full memberof the team. I resigned from the Party tonight."
"Brother," Bey said, "you sure pick a helluva
time to join up." Heobviously was expressing the opinions of the majority.
Homer Crawford came to his feet and looked around at them. "Allright," he said. "A new complication. Let's face up to it. There'salways an answer. We're in the clutch, let's fight our way out."
Largely, they stared at him, but he ignored their dismay. He lookedfrom one to the other. "We need some ideas. Let's kick it around.Isobel, Cliff, Jack, Kenny--?" His eyes went from one to the other.Obviously his own mind was churning.
They shook their heads dumbly.
Kenny said, "Ideas! We've had