Homer Crawford's eyebrows went up and he shot a quick glance at the
other. It was Rex Donaldson of the Commonwealth African Department. The
operative who worked as the witchman, Dolo Anah. Crawford was glad to
see him. This was Donaldson's area of operations, the man must have got
here almost as soon as Crawford's team, when he had heard of the
trouble.
Crawford said in English, "They've been gathering for an outbreak of
violence, evidently directed at the Reunited Nations projects
administration buildings. I've seen a few banners calling for El Hassan
to come to power, Africa for the Africans, that sort of thing."
The small Bahamian snorted. "You chaps certainly started something with
this El Hassan farce. What are your immediate plans? How can I
co-operate with you?"
A teenage boy who had been heckling Isobel, stooped now to pick up some
dried cow dung. Almost absently, Crawford put his staff between the
other's legs and tripped him up, when the lad sprawled on his face the
American rapped him smartly on the head.
Crawford said, "Thanks a lot, we can use you, especially since you speak
Dogon, I don't think any of my group does. We're going to hold a big
meeting in front of the square and give them a long monotonous talk,
saying little but sounding as though we're promising a great deal. When
we've taken most of the steam out of them, we'll locate the ringleaders
and have a big indoor meeting. My boys will be spotted throughout the
gang. They'll nominate me to be spokesman, and nominate each other to be
my committee and we'll be sent to find El Hassan and urge him to take
power. That should keep them quiet for a while. At least long enough for
headquarters in Dakar to decide what to do."
"Good Heavens," Donaldson said in admiration. "You Yanks are certainly
good at this sort of thing."
"Takes practice," Homer Crawford said. "If you want to help, ferret out
the groups who speak Dogon and give them the word."
Out of a sidestreet came running Abe Baker at the head of possibly two
or three hundred arm waving, shouting, stick brandishing Africans. A few
of them had banners which were being waved in such confusion that nobody
could read the words inscribed. Most of them seemed to be younger men,
even teen-agers.
"Good Heavens," Donaldson said again.
At first snap opinion, Crawford thought his assistant was being pursued
and started forward to the hopeless rescue, but then he realized that
Abe was heading the mob. Waving his staff, the New Yorker was shouting
slogans, most of which had something to do with "El Hassan" but
otherwise were difficult to make out.
The small mob charged out of the street and through the square, still
shouting. Abe began to drop back into the ranks, and then to the edge of
the charging, gesticulating crowd. Already, though, some of them seemed
to be slowing up, even stopping and drifting away, puzzlement or
frustration on their faces.
Those who were still at excitement's peak, charged up another street at
the other side of the square.
In a few moments, Abe Baker came up to them, breathing hard and wiping
sweat from his forehead. He grinned wryly. "Man, those cats are way out.
This is really Endsville." He looked up at where Isobel was haranguing
her own crowd, which hadn't been fazed by the men who'd charged through
the square going nowhere. "Look at old Isobel up there. Man, this whole
town's like a combination of Hyde Park and Union Square. You oughta hear
old Jake making with a speech."
"What just happened?" Homer asked, motioning with his head to where the
last elements of the mob Abe'd been leading were disappearing down a
dead-end street.
"Ah, nothing," Abe said, still watching Isobel and grinning at her.
"Those cats were the nucleus of a bunch wanted to start some action.
Burn a few cars, raid the library, that sort of jazz. So I took over for
a while, led them up one street and down the other. I feel like I just
been star at a track meet."
"Good Heavens," Donaldson said still again.
"They're all scattered around now," Abe explained to him. "Either that
or their tongues are hanging out to the point they'll have to take five
to have a beer. They're finished for a while."
Isobel finished her little talk and joined them. "What gives now?" she
asked.
Rex Donaldson said, "I'd like to stay around and watch you chaps
operate. It's fascinating. However, I'd better get over to the park.
That's probably where the greater number of the Dogon will be." He
grumbled sourly, "I'll roast those blokes with a half dozen bits of
magic and send them all back to Sangha. It'll be donkey's years before
they ever show face around here again." He left them.
Homer Crawford looked after him. "Good man," he said.
Abe had about caught his breath. "What gives now, man?" he said. "I
ought to get back to Jake. He's all alone up near the mosque."
"It's about time all of us got over there," Crawford said. He looked at
Isobel as they walked. "How does it feel being a sort of reverse agent
provocateur?"
Her forehead was wrinkled, characteristically. "I suppose it has to be
done, but frankly, I'm not too sure just what we are doing. Here we go
about pushing these supposed teachings of El Hassan and when we're taken
up by the people and they actually attempt to accomplish what we taught
them, we draw in on the reins."
"Man, you're right," Abe said unhappily. He looked at his chief. "What'd
you say, Homer?"
"Of course she's right," Crawford growled. "It's just premature, is all.
There's no program, no plan of action. If there was one, this thing here
in Mopti might be the spark that united all North Africa. As it is, we
have to put the damper on it until there is a definite program." He
added sourly, "I'm just wondering if the Reunited Nations is the
organization that can come up with one. And, if it isn't, where is there
one?"
The mosque loomed up before them. The square before it was jam packed
with milling Africans.
"Great guns," Isobel snorted, "there're more people here than the whole
population of Mopti. Where'd they all come from?"
"They've been filtering in from the country," Crawford said.
"Well, we'll filter 'em back," Abe promised.
* * * * *
They spotted a ruckus and could see Elmer Allen in the middle of it, his
quarterstaff flailing.
"On the double," Homer bit out, and he and Abe broke into a trot for the
point of conflict. The idea was to get this sort of thing over as
quickly as possible before it had a chance to spread.
They arrived too late. Elmer was leaning on his staff, as though needing
it for support, and explaining mildly to two men who evidently were
friends of a third who was stretched out on the ground, dead to the
world and with a nasty lump on his shaven head.
Homer came up and said to Elmer, in Songhai, "What has transpired, O
Holy One?" He made a sign of obeisance to the Jamaican.
The two Africans were taken aback by the term of address. They were
unprepared to continue further debate, not to speak of physical action,
against a holy man.