Kenny shrugged and turned to the set. While the others watched,
Crawford's face alert, his eyes narrowed, the rest of them dull in
apathy, the face of Colonel Ibrahim finally faded in on the screen.
Fredric Ostrander took his place at the instrument. He nodded,
formally. "Greetings, Colonel, it seems a long time since last we met
in Amman."
The Arab Legion officer smiled politely. "I had heard that you
represented the State Department in this area, Mr. Ostrander, and have
been somewhat surprised that you failed to make Tamanrasset your
headquarters. It would have been pleasant to have renewed old
friendship."
Ostrander cleared his throat. "I am afraid that would have been
difficult, Colonel, particularly in view of the stand of my government
at this time."
On the screen, the other's eyebrows went up.
Ostrander said evenly, "Colonel, we have just been informed that a
regiment of paratroopers has been put at your disposal and that they
plan to land at various points in the Sahara in the morning."
The colonel said stiffly, "This is military information which I am not
free to discuss, Mr. Ostrander."
Frederic Ostrander went on, his voice still even. "We have further
been informed that the Reunited Nations has withdrawn its ban on
aircraft, which would seem to free your paratroop carrying planes."
The colonel remained silent, waiting for the bombshell. It was obvious
that he expected a bombshell.
Ostrander said, "As representative of the State Department I warn you
that if these paratroop carrying planes take off tomorrow morning, the
Seventh Airfleet of the United States of the Americas will enter the
conflict on the side of El Hassan. Good evening, Colonel."
The C.I.A. man reached out and flicked the switch that killed the set.
Then he took the snowy white handkerchief from the breast pocket of
his jacket and wiped his mouth.