Border, Breed Nor Birth Part 10
His portable communicator, sitting on the bedside table, buzzed and the little man grumbled a profanity and swung his crooked legs around to the floor. His eyebrows went up when he realized it was a priority call which probably meant from London.
He flicked the reception switch and a girl's face faded onto the screen. She said, "A moment, Mr. Donaldson, Sir Winton wants you."
"Right," Rex Donaldson said. Sir Winton, yet. Head of the African Department. Other than photographs, Donaldson had never seen his ultimate superior, not to mention speaking to him personally.
The girl's face faded out and that of Sir Winton Brett-Homes faded in.
The heavy-set, heavy-faced Englishman looked down, obviously checking something on his desk. He looked up again, said, "Rex Donaldson?"
"Yes, sir."
"I won't waste time on preliminaries, Donaldson. We've been discussing, here, some of the disconcerting rumors coming out of your section. Are you acquainted with this figure, El Ha.s.san?"
The black man's eyes widened. He said, cautiously, "I have heard a good many stories and rumors."
"Yes, of course. They have been filtering into this office for more than a year. But thus far little that could be considered concrete has developed."
Rex Donaldson held his peace, waited for the other to go on.
Sir Winton said impatiently, "Actually, we are still dealing with rumors, but they are beginning to shape up. Evidently, this El Ha.s.san has finally begun to move."
"Ahhh," the wiry little field man breathed.
The florid faced Englishman said, "As we understand it, he wishes to cut across tribal, national and geographic divisions in all North Africa, wishes to unite the whole area from Sudan to the Mediterranean."
"Yes," Donaldson nodded. "That seems to be his program."
Sir Winton said, "It has been decided that the interests of Her Majesty's government and that of the Commonwealth hardly coincide with such an attempt at this time. It would lead to chaos."
"Ahhh," Donaldson said.
Sir Winton wound it up, all but beaming. "Your instructions, then, are to seek out this El Ha.s.san and combat his efforts with whatever means you find necessary. We consider you one of our most competent operatives, Donaldson."
Rex Donaldson said slowly, "You mean that he is to be stopped at all cost?"
The other cleared his throat. "You are given carte blanche, Donaldson.
You and our other operatives in the Sahara and Sudan. Stop El Ha.s.san."
Rex Donaldson said flatly, "You have just received my resignation, Sir Winton."
"What ... what!"
"You heard me," Donaldson said.
"But ... but what are you going to do?" The heavy face of the African Department head was going a reddish-purple, which rather fascinated Donaldson but he had no time to further contemplate the phenomenon.
"I'm going to round up a few of my colleagues, of similar mind to my own, and then I'm going to join El Ha.s.san," the little man snapped.
"Good-bye, Sir Winton."
He clicked the set off and then looked down at it. His dour face broke into a rare grin. "Now there's an ambition I've had for donkey's years," he said aloud. "To hang up on a really big mucky-muck."
IV
Following the attack of the unidentified rocketcraft, El Ha.s.san's party was twice again nearly flushed by reconnoitering planes of unknown origin. They weren't making the time they wanted.
Beneath a projecting rock face over a gravel bottomed wadi, the two hover-lorries were hidden, whilst a slow-moving helio-jet made sweeping, high-alt.i.tude circlings above them.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
The six stared glumly upward.
Cliff Jackson who was on the radio called out, "I just picked him up.
He's called in to Fort Lamy reporting no luck. His fuel's running short and he'll be knocking off soon."
Homer Crawford rapped, "What language?"
"French," Cliff said, "but it's not his. I mean he's not French, just using the language."
Bey's face was as glum as any and there was a tic at the side of his mouth. He said now, "We've got to come up with something. Sooner or later one of them will spot us and this next time we won't have any fantastic breaks like Homer being able to knock him off with a Tommy-Noiseless. He'll drop a couple of neopalms and burn up a square mile of desert including El Ha.s.san and his whole crew."
Homer looked at him. "Any ideas, Bey?"
"No," the other growled.
Homer Crawford said, "Any of the rest of you?"
Isobel was frowning, bringing something back. "Why don't we travel at night?"
"And rest during the day?" Homer said.
Kenny said, "Parking where? We just made it to this wadi. If we're caught out in the dunes somewhere when one of those planes shows up, we've had it. You couldn't hide a jackrabbit out there."
But Bey and Homer Crawford were still looking at Isobel.
She said, "I remember a story the Tuaregs used to tell about a raid some of them made back during the French occupation. They stole four hundred camels near Timbuktu one night and headed north. The French weren't worried. The next morning, they simply sent out a couple of aircraft to spot the Tuareg raiders and the camels. Like Kenny said, you couldn't hide a jackrabbit in dune country. But there was nothing to be seen. The French couldn't believe it, but they still weren't really worried. After all a camel herd can travel only thirty or so miles a day. So the next day the planes went out again, circling, circling, but they still didn't spot the thieves and their loot, nor the next day. Well, to shorten it, the Tuareg got their four hundred camels all the way up to Spanish Rio de Oro where they sold them."
She had their staring attention. "How?" Elmer blurted.
"It was simple. They traveled all night and then, at dawn, buried the camels and themselves in the sand and stayed there all day."
Homer said, "I'm sold. Boys, I hope you're in physical trim because there's going to be quite a bit of digging for the next few days."
Cliff groaned. "Some Minister of the Treasury," he complained. "They give him a shovel instead of a bankbook."
Everyone laughed.
Bey said, "Well, I suppose we stay here until nightfall."