tossed his bombshell out of a clear sky. "Dr. Crawford," he snapped, "in spite of the warnings we've had to issue to you repeatedly, you are admittedly our best man in the field. We're giving you a new assignment. Find this El Hassan and bring him here!"
Zetterberg leaned forward, an expression of somewhat anxious sincerity in his whole demeanor.
VIII
Abe Baker choked, and then suddenly laughed.
Sven Zetterberg stared at him. "What's so funny?"
"Well, nothing," Abe admitted. He looked to Homer Crawford.
Crawford said to the Swede carefully, "Why?"
Zetterberg said impatiently, "Isn't it obvious, after the conversation we've had here? Possibly this El Hassan is the man we're looking for. Perhaps this is the force that will bind North Africa together. Thus far, all we've heard about him has been rumor. We don't seem to be able to find anyone who has seen him, nor is the exact strength of his following known. We'd like to confer with him, before he gets any larger."
Crawford said carefully, "It's hard to track down a rumor."
"That's why we give the assignment to our best team in the field," the Swede told him. "You've got a roving commission. Find El Hassan and bring him here to Dakar."
Abe grinned and said, "Suppose he doesn't want to come?"
"Use any methods you find necessary. If you need more manpower, let us know. But we must talk to El Hassan."
Homer said, still watching his words, "Why the urgency?"
The Reunited Nations official looked at him for a long moment, as though debating whether to let him in on higher policy. "Because, frankly, Dr. Crawford, the elements which first went together to produce the African Development Project, are, shall we say, becoming somewhat unstuck."
"The glue was never too strong," Abe muttered.
Zetterberg nodded. "The attempt to find competent, intelligent men to work for the project, who were at the same time altruistic and unaffected by personal or national interests, has always been a difficult one. If you don't mind my saying so, we Scandinavians, particularly those not affiliated with NATO come closest to filling the bill. We have no designs on Africa. It is unfortunate that we have practically no Negro citizens who could do field work."
"Are you suggesting other countries have designs on Africa?" Homer said.
For the first time the Swede laughed. A short, choppy laugh. "Are you suggesting they haven't? What was that convoy of the Arab Union bringing into the Sahara? Guns, with which to forward their cause of taking over all North Africa. What were those Cubans doing in Sudan, that someone else felt it necessary to assassinate them? What is the program of the Soviet Complex as it applies to this area, and how does it differ from that of the United States? And how do the ultimate programs of the British Commonwealth and the French Community differ from each other and from both the United States and Russia?"
"That's why we have a Reunited Nations," Crawford said calmly.
"Theoretically, yes. But it is coming apart at the seams. I sometimes wonder if an organization composed of a membership each with its own selfish needs can ever really unite in an altruistic task. Remember the early days when the Congo was first given her freedom? Supposedly the United Nations went in to help. Actually, each element in the United Nations had its own irons in the fire, and usually their desires differed."
The Swede shrugged hugely. "I don't know, but I am about convinced, and so are a good many other officers of this project, that unless we soon find a competent leader to act as a symbol around which all North Africans can unite, find such a man and back him, that all our work will crumble in this area under pressure from outside. That's why we want El Hassan."
Homer Crawford came to his feet, his face in a scowl. "I'll let you know by tomorrow, if I can take the assignment," he said.
"Why tomorrow?" the Swede demanded.
"There are some ramifications I have to consider."
"Very well," the Swede said stiffly. He came to his own feet and shook hands with them again. "Oh, there's just one other thing. This spontaneous meeting you held in Timbuktu with elements from various other organizations. How did it come out?"
Crawford was wary. "Very little result, actually."
Zetterberg chuckled. "As I expected. However, we would appreciate it, doctor, if you and your team would refrain from such activities in the future. You are, after all, hired by the Reunited Nations and owe it all your time and allegiance. We have no desire to see you fritter away this time with religious fanatics and other crackpot groups."
"I see," Crawford said.
The other laughed cheerfully. "I'm sure you do, Dr. Crawford. A word to the wise."
* * * * *
They remained silent on the way back to the hotel.
In the lobby they ran into Isobel Cunningham.
Homer Crawford looked at her thoughtfully. He said, "We've got some thinking to do and some ideas to bat back and forth. I value your opinion and experience, Isobel, could you come up to the suite and sit in?"
She tilted her head, looked at him from the side of her eyes. "Something big has happened, hasn't it?"
"I suppose so. I don't know. We've got to make some decisions."
"Come on Isobel," Abe said. "You can give us the feminine viewpoint and all that jazz."
They started for the elevator and Isobel said to Abe, "If you'd just be consistent with that pseudo-beatnik chatter of yours, I wouldn't mind. But half the time you talk like an English lit major when you forget to put on your act."
"Man," Abe said to her, "maybe I was wrong inviting you to sit in on this bull session. I can see you're in a bad mood."
In the living room of the suite, Isobel took an easy-chair and Abe threw himself full length on his back on a couch. Homer Crawford paced the floor.
"Well?" Isobel said.
Crawford said abruptly, "Somebody tried to poison me last night. Got into this room somehow and put cyanide in a bottle of cognac Abe and I were drinking out of earlier in the evening."
Isobel stared at him. Her eyes went from him to Abe and back. "But ... but, why?"
Crawford ran his hand back over his wiry hair in puzzlement. "I ... I don't know. That's what's driving me batty. I can't figure out why anybody would want to kill me."
"I can," Abe said bluntly. "And that interview we just had with Sven Zetterberg just bears me out."
"Zetterberg," Isobel said, surprised. "Is he in Africa?"
Crawford nodded to her question but his eyes were on Abe.
