He looked at her, expressionlessly.
She said, "I already knew you belonged to the Party, Dave. No matter
how competent an agent, it's something difficult to hide from any
other long-time member. There's a terminology you use--such as calling
it the Soviet Union, rather than Russia. No commie ever says Russia,
it's always _the Soviet Union_. You can tell, just as a Roman Catholic
can tell a person raised in the Church, even though the other has
dropped away, or even as one Jew can tell another. Yes, I've known
you were a Party member for some time, Dave."
"And?" the South African said.
"Why are you here?"
Dave Moroka said, "For the same reason you are, to further the El
Hassan dream, the uniting and modernization of the continent of my
racial heritage."
"But you are still a Party member and still report to your superiors."
Dave Moroka looked at the tiny gun she held in her hand.
"Don't try it," she said. "I have seen you in action, Dave. I have
never seen a man move so ruthlessly fast ... but don't try it."
"No reason to," he bit out. "Come on, let's go see Homer."
She was slightly taken aback, but not enough to release her control
for even a split second. "Lead the way," she said.
* * * * *
Even at this time of evening, the headquarters tent was brightly lit
and most of the immediate El Hassan staff still at work. Homer
Crawford looked up as they entered.