Moroka made a sweeping bow. "I'm afraid we don't move in the same
circles. I've spent possibly a third of my life in prison--"
"Undoubtedly," Ostrander snorted.
"... Put there by people such as yourself--in various
countries--because I was fighting for my own version of freedom."
"Communism, undoubtedly!"
Moroka said softly, "I'm a South African, sir. Both my parents were
killed in the 1960 riots. It seems that they had dark skins--even as
you and I--and weren't able to see why that should keep them from
_freedom_."
Fredric Ostrander spun back to Homer Crawford. "I'm not here to
quibble with self-confessed malcontents. I've been sent to represent
the State Department, to report to them, and, above all, to do what I
can to prevent your activities from redounding to the further
advantage of the Soviet Complex. I assume you can assign me quarters."
Straight-faced, Jack Peters translated this into Esperanto, and,
straight-faced, Homer answered in the same language.
Jack turned back to the impatient C.I.A. man. "El Hassan welcomes the
representative of the United States of the Americas and hopes this
will be the first step toward diplomatic recognition between North
Africa and your great country. He has instructed me to find you
quarters, which, possibly you may have to share with delegations from
Common Europe or"--Peters cleared his throat--"the Soviet Complex. He
further suggests that it might be well, if you maintain communications
with your superiors, to have sent to you books on Esperanto, the
official language of North Africa."
Dave Moroka put in, "By the way, we'll have to go through your things.
We can't allow any radio communication from El Hassan's camp, except
through official El Hassan channels--for obvious military reasons."
Ostrander snorted, stared indignantly at Homer again, spun on his heel
and stalked from the tent. Jack Peters followed him but not before
tipping an uncharacteristic wink at Homer.
When they were gone, Homer sighed and looked at Dave Moroka. "That
reminds me, how are our other delegations coming?"
The South African grinned ruefully. "They're playing it cool. Waiting
to see what way to jump. Give El Hassan some real success, and they'll
probably jump at the chance to be first to recognize him. Especially
these Soviet Complex opportunists. They'd just love to suck you into
their camp."
Isobel looked at him. "After that tearing down you gave poor Ostrander
about the United States, now you rip into the Soviet Complex. Just
where do you stand, Dave?"
Dave shrugged her question off, as though there were more important
things. "I'm an El Hassan man," he said. "Let those two overgrown
powers handle their own troubles."
Jimmy Peters spoke up for the first time since Ostrander entered the
tent. "You know," he said, seriously, "I'm beginning to wonder if the
world can afford nationalistic patriotism. Haven't we gone too far
along the road to think of ourselves any longer as Americans, or
Russians, or French, or West Indians, or whatever? Hasn't the human
race grown up beyond that point?"
Kenny said mockingly, "What! Aren't you proud of being a West Indian,
and a loyal subject of Her Majesty?"
Peters ignored his tone. "Why should I be proud of my country? It was
an accident of birth with which I had nothing to do, that made me a
West Indian, rather than a Canadian, a Chinese, a Norwegian, or
whatever. Intelligently, I should be proud only of things that I,
myself, have accomplished."
Bey said, "If we can stop waxing philosophic for a while and get back
to how most efficiently to clobber these Arabs--"
* * * * *
The Hindu entered Kirill Menzhinsky's small office behind the Indian
souvenir shop in the Tangier Zocco Chico and said, "The operative
Anton is on the receiver."
The agent superior of the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_ for North Africa
looked up from his desk and grunted acceptance of the message. He came
to his feet and followed the other into a back room and took his place
before a mouthpiece and screen.
The man whose party name was Anton nodded a greeting.