Crawford growled, "Yes, but I have a suspicion I'm being called on the
carpet for one of our recent escapades and I want backing if I need it."
He added, "Besides, nothing is going to happen here."
"Crazy man," Abe said appreciatively.
Jake said, "We three were planning to head for Dakar today ourselves.
Isobel, in particular, is exhausted and needs a prolonged rest before
going out among the natives any more. You might as well continue to let
us supply your transportation."
"Fine," Homer told him. "Come on Abe, let's get our things together."
"What do we do while you chaps are gone?" Elmer Allen said sourly. "I
wouldn't mind a period in a city myself."
"Read a book, man," Abe told him. "Improve your mind."
"I've read a book," Elmer said glumly. "Any other ideas?"
* * * * *
Dakar is a big, bustling, prosperous and modern city shockingly set down
in the middle of the poverty that is Africa. It should be, by its
appearance, on the French Riviera, on the California coast, or possibly
that of Florida, but it isn't. It's in Senegal, in the area once known
as French West Africa.
Their aircraft swept in and landed at the busy airport.
They were assigned an African Development Project air-cushion car and
drove into the city proper.
Dakar boasts some of the few skyscrapers in all Africa. The Reunited
Nations occupied one of these in its entirety. Dakar was the center of
activities for the whole Western Sahara and down into the Sudan. Across
the street from its offices, a street still named Rue des Resistance in
spite of the fact that the French were long gone, was the Hotel
Juan-les-Pins.
[Illustration]
Crawford and Abe Baker had radioed ahead and accommodations were ready
for them. Their western clothing and other gear had been brought up from
storage in the cellar.
At the desk, the clerk didn't blink at the Tuareg costume the two still
wore. This was commonplace. He probably wouldn't have blinked had Isobel
arrived in the costume of the Dogon. "Your suite is ready, Dr.
Crawford," he said.
The manager came up and shook hands with an old customer and Homer
Crawford introduced him to Isobel, Jake and Cliff, requesting he do his
best for them. He and Abe then made their excuses and headed for the
paradise of hot water, towels, western drink and the other amenities of
civilization.
On the way up in the elevator, Abe said happily, "Man, I can just
_taste_ that bath I'm going to take. Crazy!"
"Personally," Crawford said, trying to reflect some of the other's
typically lighthearted enthusiasm, "I have in mind a few belts out of a
bottle of stone-age cognac, then a steak yea big and a flock of French
fries, followed by vanilla ice cream."
Abe's eyes went round. "Man, you mean we can't get a good dish of cous
cous in this town?"
"Cous cous," Crawford said in agony.
Abe made his voice so soulful. "With a good dollop of rancid camel
butter right on top."
Homer laughed as they reached their floor and started for the suite.
"You make it sound so good, I almost believe you." Inside he said,
"Dibbers on the first bath. How about phoning down for a bottle of
Napoleon and some soda and ice? When it comes, just mix me one and bring
it in, that hand you see emerging from the soap bubbles in that tub,
will be mine."
"I hear and obey, O Bwana!" Abe said in a servile tone.
By the time they'd cleaned up and had eaten an enormous western style
meal in the dining room of the Juan-les-Pins, it was well past the hour
when they could have made contact with their Reunited Nations superiors.
They had a couple of cognacs in the bar, then, whistling happily, Abe
Baker went out on the town.
Homer Crawford looked up Isobel, Jake and Cliff who had, sure enough,
found accommodations in the same hotel.
Isobel stepped back in mock surprise when she saw Crawford in western
garb. "Heavens to Betsy," she said. "The man is absolutely extinguished
in a double-breasted charcoal gray."
He tried a scowl and couldn't manage it. "The word is _distinguished_,
not extinguished," he said. He looked down at the suit, critically. "You
know, I feel uncomfortable. I wonder if I'll be able to sit down in a
chair instead of squatting." He looked at her own evening frock. "Wow,"
he said.
Cliff Jackson said menacingly, "None of that stuff, Crawford. Isobel has
already been asked for, let's have no wolfing around."
Isobel said tartly, "Asked for but she didn't answer the summons." She
took Homer by the arm. "And I just adore extinguish--oops, I mean
distinguished looking men."
They trooped laughingly into the hotel cocktail lounge.
The time passed pleasantly. Jake and Cliff were good men in a field
close to Homer Crawford's heart. Isobel was possibly the most attractive
woman he'd ever met. They discussed in detail each other's work and all
had stories of wonder to describe.
Crawford wondered vaguely if there was ever going to be a time,
in this life of his, for a woman and all that one usually connects
with womanhood. What was it Elmer Allen had said at the Timbuktu
meeting? "... _most of us will be kept busy the rest of our lives at
this._"
In his present state of mind, it didn't seem too desirable a prospect.
But there was no way out for such as Homer Crawford. What had Cliff
Jackson said at the same meeting? "_We do what we must do._" Which, come
to think of it, didn't jibe too well with Cliff's claim at Mopti to be
in it solely for the job. Probably the man disguised his basic idealism
under a cloak of cynicism; if so, he wouldn't be the first.
They said their goodnights early. All of them were used to Sahara hours.
Up at dawn, to bed shortly after sunset; the desert has little fuel to
waste on illumination.
In the suite again, Homer Crawford noted that Abe hadn't returned as
yet. He snorted deprecation. The younger man would probably be out until
dawn. Dakar had much to offer in the way of civilization's fleshpots.
He took up the bottle of cognac and poured himself a healthy shot,
wishing that he'd remembered to pick up a paperback at the hotel's
newsstand before coming to bed.
He swirled the expensive brandy in the glass and brought it to his nose
to savor the bouquet.
But fifteen-year-old brandy from the cognac district of France should
not boast a bouquet involving elements of bitter almonds. With an
automatic startled gesture, Crawford jerked his face away from the
glass.
He scowled down at it for a long moment, then took up the bottle and
sniffed it. He wondered how a would-be murderer went about getting hold
of cyanide in Dakar.
Homer Crawford phoned the desk and got the manager. Somebody had been in
the suite during his absence. Was there any way of checking?
He didn't expect satisfaction and didn't receive any. The manager, after
finding that nothing seemed to be missing, seemed to think that perhaps
Dr. Crawford had made a mistake. Homer didn't bother to tell him about
the poisoned brandy. He hung up, took the bottle into the bathroom and
poured it away.
In the way of precautions, he checked the windows to see if there were
any possibilities of entrance by an intruder, locked the door securely,
put his handgun beneath his pillow and fell off to sleep. When and if
Abe returned, he could bang on the door.
* * * * *
In the morning, clad in American business suits and frankly feeling a
trifle uncomfortable in them, Homer Crawford and Abraham Baker presented
themselves at the offices of the African Development Project, Sahara
Division, of the Reunited Nations. Uncharacteristically, there was no
waiting in anterooms, no dealing with subordinates. Dr. Crawford and his
lieutenant were ushered directly to the office of Sven Zetterberg.
Upon their entrance the Swede came to his feet, shook hands abruptly
with both of them and sat down again. He scowled at Abe and said to
Homer in excellent English, "It was requested that your team remain in
Mopti." Then he added, "Sit down, gentlemen."
They took chairs. Crawford said mildly, "Mr. Baker is my right-hand man.
I assume he'd take over the team if anything happened to me." He added
dryly, "Besides, there were a few things he felt he had to do about
town."
Abe cleared his throat but remained silent.
Zetterberg continued to frown but evidently for a different reason now.
He said, "There have been more complaints about your ... ah ... cavalier
tactics."
Homer looked at him but said nothing.
Zetterberg said in irritation, "It becomes necessary to warn you almost
every time you come in contact with this office, Dr. Crawford."
Homer said evenly, "My team and I work in the field Dr. Zetterberg. We
have to think on our feet and usually come to decisions in split
seconds. Sometimes our lives are at stake. We do what we think best
under the conditions. At any time your office feels my efforts are
misdirected, my resignation is available."
The Swede cleared his throat. "The Arab Union has made a full complaint
in the Reunited Nations of a group of our men massacring thirty-five of
their troopers."
Homer said, "They were well into the Ahaggar with a convoy of modern
weapons, obviously meant for adherents of theirs. Given the opportunity,
the Arab Union would take over North Africa."
"This is no reason to butcher thirty-five men."
"We were fired upon first," Crawford said.
"That is not the way they tell it. They claim you ambushed them."
Abe put in innocently, "How would the Arab Union know? We didn't leave
any survivors."
Zetterberg glared at him. "It is not easy, Mr. Baker, for we who do the
paper work involved in this operation, to account for the activities of
you hair-trigger men in the field."
"We appreciate your difficulties," Homer said evenly. "But we can only
continue to do what we think best on being confronted with an
emergency."
The Swede drummed his fingers on the desk top. "Perhaps I should remind
you that the policy of this project is to encourage amalgamation of the
peoples of the area. Possibly, the Arab Union will prove to be the best
force to accomplish such a union."
Abe grunted.
Homer Crawford was shaking his head. "You don't believe that Dr.
Zetterberg, and I doubt if there are many non-Moslems who do. Mohammed
sprung out of the deserts and his religion is one based on the
surroundings, both physical and socio-economic."
Zetterberg grumbled, argumentatively, though his voice lacked
conviction, "So did its two sister religions, Judaism and Christianity."
Crawford waggled a finger negatively. "Both of them adapted to changing
times, with considerable success. Islam has remained the same and in all
the world there is not one example of a highly developed socio-economic
system in a Moslem country. The reason is that in your country, and
mine, and in the other advanced countries of the West, we pay lip
service to our religions, but we don't let them interfere with our day
by day life. But the Moslem, like the rapidly disappearing
ultra-orthodox Jews, lives his religion every day and by the rules set
down by the Prophet fifteen centuries ago. Everything a Moslem does from
the moment he gets up in the morning is all mapped out in the Koran.
What fingers of the hand to eat with, what hand to break bread with--and
so on and so forth. It can get ludicrous. You should see the bathroom of
a wealthy Moslem in some modern city such as Tangier. Mohammed never
dreamed of such institutions as toilet paper. His followers still obey
the rules he set down as an alternative."
"What's your point?"
"That North Africa cannot be united under the banner of Islam if she is
going to progress rapidly. If it ever unites, it will be in spite of
local religions--Islam and pagan as well; they hold up the wheels of
progress."
Zetterberg stared at him. The truth of the matter was that he agreed
with the American and they both knew it.
He said, "This matter of physically assaulting and then arresting the
chieftain"--he looked down at a paper on his desk--"of the Ouled
Touameur clan of the Chaambra confederation, Abd-el-Kader. From your
report, the man was evidently attempting to unify the tribes."
Crawford was shaking his head impatiently. "No. He didn't have
the ... dream. He was a raider, a racketeer, not a leader of purposeful
men. Perhaps it's true that these people need a hero to act as a symbol
for them, but he can't be such as Abd-el-Kader."
"I suppose you're right," the Swede said grudgingly. "See here, have you
heard reports of a group of Cubans, in the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan to help
with the new sugar refining there, being attacked?"
The eyes of both Crawford and Baker narrowed. There'd been talk about
this at Timbuktu. "Only a few rumors," Crawford said.
The Swede drummed his desk with his nervous fingers. "The rumors are
correct. The whole group was either killed or wounded." He said
suddenly, "You had nothing to do with this, I suppose?"
Crawford held his palms up, in surprise, "My team has never been within
a thousand miles of Khartoum."
Zetterberg said, "See here, we suspect the Cubans might have supported
Soviet Complex viewpoints."