"I think I have something to be discussed privately."
The secretary shrugged and turned and left.
Zetterberg, still scowling, resumed his own place behind the desk and
said, "Claud Hansen is a trusted Reunited Nations man. What could
possibly be so secret...?"
Homer indicated the orders he held. "This assignment. It takes some
consideration."
Sven Zetterberg was not a patient man. He said, in irritation, "It
should be perfectly clear. This El Hassan we've been hearing so much
about. This mystery man come out of the desert attempting to unify
all North America. We want to talk to him."
"Why?" Crawford said.
"Confound it," Zetterberg snapped. "I thought we'd gone into this
yesterday. In spite of the complaints that come into this office in
regard to your cavalier tactics in carrying out your assignments, you
and your team are our most competent operatives. So we've given you
the assignment of finding El Hassan."
"I mean, why do you want to talk to him?"
The Swede glared at him for a moment, as though the American was being
deliberately dense. "Dr. Crawford," he said, "when the African
Development Project was first begun we had high hopes. Seemingly all
Reunited Nations members were being motivated by high humanitarian
reasons. Our task was to bring all Africa to a level of progress
comparable to the advanced nations. It was more than a duty, it was a
crying need, a demand. Africa is and has been throughout history a
_have-not_ continent. While Europe, the Americas, Australia and now
even Asia, industrialized and largely conquered man's old
socio-economic problems, Africa lagged behind. The reasons were
manifold, colonialism, lingering tribal society ... various others.
Now that very lagging has become a potential explosive situation. With
the coming of antibiotics and other break-throughs in medicine, the
African population is growing with an all but geometric progression.
So fast is it growing, that what advances were being made did less
than keep up the level of per capita gross product. It was bad enough
to have a per capita gross product averaging less than a hundred
dollars a year, but it actually sank below that point."
Homer Crawford was nodding.
Zetterberg continued the basic lecture with which he knew the other
was already completely familiar. "So the Reunited Nations took on the
task of advancing as rapidly as possible the African economy and all
the things that must be done before an economy _can_ be advanced. It
was self-preservation, I suppose. _Have-not_ nations, not to speak of
_have-not_ races and _have-not_ continents, have a tendency eventually
to explode upon their wealthier neighbors."
The Swede pressed his lips together before continuing. "Unfortunately,
the Reunited Nations as the United Nations and the League of Nations
before it, is composed of members each with its own irons in the fire.
Each with its own plans and schemes." His voice was bitter now. "The
Arab Union with its desire to unite all Islam into one. The Soviet
Complex with its ultimate dream of a soviet world. The capitalistic
economies of the British Commonwealth, Common Europe, and your United
States of the Americas, with their hunger for, positive need for,
sources of raw materials and markets for their manufactured products.
All, though playing lip service to the African Development Project,
have still their own ambitions."
Sven Zetterberg waggled a finger at Homer Crawford. "I do not charge
that your United States is attempting to take over Africa, or even any
section of it, in the old colonialistic sense. Even England and France
have discovered that it is much simpler to dominate economically than
to go through all the expense and effort of governing another people.
That is the basic reason they gave up their empires. No, your United
States would love to so dominate Africa that her products, her
entrepreneurs, would flood the continent to the virtual exclusion of
such economic competitors as Common Europe. The Commonwealth feels the
same, so does the French Community. The Soviets and Arabs have
different motivations, but they, too, wish to take over. The
result...." The Swede tossed up his hands in a gesture more Gallic
than Scandinavian.
* * * * *
"What has all this got to do with El Hassan?" Homer Crawford asked
softly.
The Swede leaned forward. "If we more devoted adherents of the
Reunited Nations are ever to see our hopes come true, Africa must be
united and made strong. And this must be done through the efforts of
_Africans_ not Russians, British, French, Arabs ... nor even
Scandinavians. Socio-economic changes should not, possibly cannot, be
inflicted upon a people from without. Look at the mess the Russians
made in such countries as Hungary, or the Americans in such as South
Korea."
"The people themselves must have the dream," Crawford said softly.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing. Go on."
Zetterberg said, "On the surface, great progress seems to be
continuing. Afforestation of the Sahara, the solar pumps creating new
oases, the water purification plants on the Atlantic and
Mediterranean, pushing back the desert, the oil fields, the mines, the
roads, the damming of the Niger. But already cracks can be seen. A
week or so ago, a team of Cubans, supposedly, at least, in the Sudan
to improve sugar refining methods, were machine-gunned to death. By
whom? By the Sudanese? Unlikely. No, this Cuban massacre was one of
many recent signs of conflict between the great powers in their
efforts to dominate. Our problem, of course, deals only with North
Africa, but I have heard rumors in Geneva that much the same situation
is developing in the south as well."
"At any rate, Dr. Crawford, when the rumors of El Hassan began to come
into this office they brought with them a breath of hope. From all we
have heard, he teaches our basic program--a breaking down of old
tribal society, education, economic progress, Pan-African unity. Dr.
Crawford, no one with whom this office is connected seems ever to have
seen this El Hassan but we are most anxious to talk to him. Perhaps
this is the man behind whom we can throw our support. Your task is to
find him."
Homer Crawford raked the fingers of his right hand back over his
short wiry hair, and grimaced. He said, "It won't be necessary."
[Illustration]
"I beg your pardon, Doctor?"