Homer Crawford looked at Guemama, who had been standing in the
background, unfamiliar with the language these others spoke, but
holding his dignity. Crawford said, diplomatically, "And what sayest
thou, O chieftain of the Tuareg?"
Guemama was gratified at the attention. He said in Tamaheq, "As all
men know, O El Hassan, we now outnumber by thrice the Arab _giaours_
may they burn in Gehennum. Therefore, let us rush in and kill them
all."
Bey shuddered.
Homer Crawford nodded seriously. "Ai, Guemama, that would be the
valorous way of the Tuareg. But the heart of El Hassan forbids him to
sacrifice the lives of his people. Consequently, we shall use the
tactics of the desert jackal. Instruct those of your people who are
most cunning, to infiltrate Tamanrasset in the night. Let them not
carry arms for they may well be searched by the Arab _meleccha_."
The Tuareg chieftain was intrigued. "And what shall they do in
Tamanrasset, El Hassan? Suddenly seize arms, one night, and rise up in
wrath against the Arab dogs and kill them all?"
Homer was shaking his head. "They will address themselves to the
Haratin serfs and spread to them the message of El Hassan. They will
be told that in the world of El Hassan each man shall be free to seek
his own destiny to the extent his mind and abilities allow. And no man
shall be the less because he was born a serf, and no man the more
because he was born to wealth or power in the old days."
[Illustration]
"Aiii," Guemama all but moaned. "But such a message--"
"Is the message of El Hassan, as all men know," Homer Crawford said
flatly. He turned to Kenny Ballalou. "Kenny, take over this angle. We
want as many propagandists in that town as possible. It's already
choked with refugees, most of them not knowing what they're fleeing.
We might get recruits there, too. But mostly we want to appeal to the
sedentary natives in town. They've got to get the dreams, too. Promise
them schools, land ... I don't have to tell you."
"Right," Kenny said.
Isobel said, "Maybe I ought to get in on this, too. The women might do
a better job than men on this slant. It's going to take a lot to get a
Tuareg bedouin to sink to talking to a Haratin on an equal basis."
Bey and Homer had bent back over the maps, but before they could get
back into the details of guerrilla warfare against Colonel Ibrahim and
his legionnaires, they were halted by a controversy from without.
"What now?" Homer growled. "This camp is getting to be like a
three-ring circus."
The entrance flap was pushed aside and three of Bey's Sudanese
tribesmen half escorted, half pushed a newcomer front and center.
It was Fredric Ostrander, natty as usual, but now in khaki desert
wear. He was obviously in a rage at the three rifle-carrying nomads
who had him in charge.
Bey spoke to the Teda warriors in their own tongue. Then to Homer in
Tamaheq, which he assumed the C.I.A. man didn't know, "They picked him
up in the desert in a hover-jeep. He was evidently looking for our
camp." He dismissed the three bedouin with a gesture.
Ostrander was outraged. He snapped at Homer Crawford, "I demand an
explanation of this cavalier attack upon--"
His face expressionless, Homer held up a hand to quiet the smaller
man. He looked at Jack Peters and raised his eyebrows. "_Kion li la
fremdul diras?_"
Jack, serious as ever, replied in Esperanto, then turned to the
American C.I.A. man and said, "El Hassan has requested that I
translate for him. He speaks only the official language of North
Africa to foreign representatives. Undoubtedly, sir, you have proper
credentials?"
Had Fredric Ostrander been of lighter complexion, his color would have
undoubtedly gone dark red.
"Look here, Crawford," he snapped. "I'm in no mood for nonsense. The
State Department has sent me to your headquarters to make another
attempt to bring some sense home to you. As an American citizen,
owing alliance--"
Homer Crawford spoke in Esperanto to Jack Peters who nodded seriously
and said to Ostrander, "El Hassan informs you he owes alliance only to
the people of North Africa whose chosen leader he is."
Ostrander knew they were kidding him, but at the same time the stand
being taken was actuality. He glared at the Americans present whom he
knew, Bey, Isobel, Cliff and Kenny. He snapped, "Very well, but I
repeat what I told you when last we met. The State Department of the
United States of the Americas will not stand idly by and see this area
taken over by elements dominated by red subversives."
"Holy Mackerel," Cliff growled, "are you still tooting that horn?"
Dave Moroka said sarcastically, "It's an old wheeze. The definition of
a red subversive is anybody who doesn't see eye to eye with the United
States. They've been pulling the gag for decades. Remember Guatemala
and Cuba? Do anything that interferes with American business abroad
and the cry goes up, _he's an enemy of the free world!_"
Ostrander spun on him, his eyes narrowing.
Dave laughed. "The definition of members of the free world, of course,
being anybody who follows the American line. Anybody is free, Spanish
and Portuguese dictators, absolute monarchs in Arabia, Chinese
warlords, if they're on the American side."