Isobel had brought Kenny a couple of ounces of cognac from their
meager supply. He knocked it back thankfully.
Kenny said to Cliff, "Things are moving too fast, and communications
have gone to pot." He looked at Homer. "Have any of these journalists
found you yet?"
"What journalists?"
Kenny laughed. "You'll find out. Half the newspapers, magazines,
newsreels and TV outfits in the world are sending every man they can
release into this area. They're going batty trying to find El Hassan.
Man, do you realize the extent of the country your followers now
dominate?"
Homer said blankly, "I hadn't thought of it. Besides, most of what
you've been saying is news to us here. We've been keeping on the
prod."
Kenny grinned widely. "Well, the nearest I can figure it, El Hassan is
ruler of an area about the size of Mexico. At least it was yesterday.
By today, you can probably tack on Texas."
Jimmy Peters, serious faced as usual, said, "Things are moving so
fast, we're going to have to run to keep ahead of El Hassan's
followers. One thing, Homer, we're going to have to have a press
secretary."
"Elmer Allen was going to handle that, but he's still up north,"
Isobel said.
"I'll do it. Used to be a newspaperman, when I was younger," Dave
Moroka said quickly.
Isobel frowned and began to say something, but Homer said, "Great, you
handle that, Dave." Then to Kenny, "Where're your men and how well are
they armed?"
"Well, that's one trouble," Kenny said unhappily. "We requisitioned
motor transport from some of the Sahara Afforestation Project oases
down around Tessalit. In fact, Ralph Sandell, their chief mucky-muck
in those parts, has come over to us. But we haven't got much in the
way of shooting irons."
Homer Crawford closed his eyes wearily. "What it boils down to, still,
is that a hundred of those Arab Legionnaires, with their armor, could
finish us all off in ten minutes if it came to open battle."
* * * * *
El Hassan continued moving his headquarters, usually daily, but he
eluded the journalists only another twelve hours. Then they were upon
the mobile camp like locusts.
And David Moroka took over with a calm efficiency that impressed all.
In the first place, he explained, El Hassan was much too busy to
handle the press except for one conference a week. In the second
place, he spoke only Esperanto to foreigners. Meanwhile, he, Dave
Moroka, would handle all their questions, make arrangements for
suitable photographs, and for the TV and newsreel boys to trundle
their equipment as near the front lines as possible. And, meanwhile,
James and John Peters of El Hassan's staff had prepared press releases
covering the El Hassan movement and its program.
Homer, to the extent possible, was isolated from the new elements
descending upon his encampment. Attempting anything else would have
been out of the question. At this point, he was getting approximately
four hours of sleep a night.
Kenny Ballalou was continually coming and going in a mad attempt to
handle the logistics of supplying several thousand men in a desert
area all but devoid of either water or graze, not to speak of food,
petroleum products and ammunition.
Isobel and Cliff were thrown into the positions of combination
secretaries, ministers of finance, assistant bodyguards, and all else
that nobody else seemed to handle, _including_ making coffee.
It was Isobel who approached a subject which had long worried her, as
they drove across country, the only occupants of one of the original
hover-lorries, during a camp move.
She said, hesitantly, "Homer, is it a good idea to give Dave such a
free hand with the press? You know, there are some fifty or so of them
around now and they must be influencing the TV, radio, magazines and
newspapers of the world."
"He seems to know more about it than any of the rest of us," Homer
said, his eyes on the all but sand-obliterated way. "We're going to
have to move more of the men south. We simply haven't got water enough
for them. There'd be enough in Tamanrasset, but not out here. Make a
note to cover this with Kenny. I wonder where Bey is, and Elmer."
Isobel made a note. She said, "Yes, but the trouble is, he's a
comparative newcomer. Are you _sure_ he's in complete accord with the
original plan, Homer? Does the El Hassan dream mean the same to him as
it does to you, and ... well, me?"
He shot her an impatient glance, even as he hit the lift lever to
raise them over a small dune. "You and Dave don't hit it off very
well. He's a good man, so far as I can see."
Her delicate forehead wrinkled and her pixie face showed puzzlement.
"I don't know why. I get along with most people, Homer."
He patted her hand. "You can't please everybody, Isobel. Listen,
something's got to be done about this king-size mob of camp followers
we've got. Did you know Common Europe sent in a delegation this
morning?"
"Delegation? Common Europe--?"
"Yeah. Haven't had time to discuss it with you. They found us just
before we raised camp. Evidently, the British Commonwealth and
possibly the Soviet Complex--some Chinese, I think--are also trying to
locate us. Half of these people are without their own equipment and
supplies, but that's not what worries me right now. We used to be able
to camouflage our headquarters camp. Dig into the desert and avoid the
aircraft. But if a group of bungling Common Market diplomats can
locate us, what's to keep the Arab Legion from doing it and blessing
us with a stick of neopalm bombs?"
Isobel said, "Look, before we leave Dave. Did you know he was
confiscating all radio equipment brought into our camp by the newsmen
and whoever else?"