It was all very indistinct, but he thought he could see a twisted body among the rubble below. He kept on looking for a minute or so. He felt none of the disquiet that the sight of the old Arab woman had given him. Eventually he sought a chair well away from the crumbling walls. With a completely steady hand he lighted a cigarello.
'When the storm is past,' he said aloud to the empty room, 'I shall make myself a call to London. There is the matter of relations with the English.'
He frowned, hoping that this would not be too great a problem. Professor Dawnay might be amenable; but Fleming was a formidable adversary. There had, after all, been so many unfortunate incidents between them in the past. The English mentality when it got obstinate ideas was something he had never understood.
The storm weakened, the clouds thinned and light returned though the wind blew nearly as hard as before. He went down to the courtyard. Yusel had been taken into the cellars, a guard reported. Kaufman heard himself giving orders for him to be kept under guard but decently treated, and then went and looked at Gamboul's body. It lay, twisted and broken, among the fallen stonework, and her dark eyes, rimmed with blood, stared lifelessly up at him.
One of her cars was undamaged, and Kaufman ordered the driver to take him to the computer compound. Damage on the route through the town's outskirts was appalling. A scattering of Arabs were looting destroyed shops; they fled at the sight of the car with the Intel insignia. There were no troops or police anywhere.
The squat, solid buildings inside the compound seemed reasonably intact; a few windows were blown in, and some of the garish, modernistic fripperies at the entrance to the executive building had toppled. Kaufman drove past them, straight to the laboratories.
Dawnay was alone, injecting bacteria into rows of test tubes. The disorderly array of apparatus occupying every bench and table she had been able to commandeer was strangely reassuring after the desolation outside.
'Ah, Professor Dawnay,' Kaufman beamed, 'you were not damaged by the storm, I trust?'
'No,' she said shortly.
'I have to inform you,' he went on, 'that Fraulein Gamboul is dead.' He enjoyed her look of amazement. 'She was killed by the tornado. I am now the senior representative of Intel in this country. I ask you to help me. Our measures against the bacteria causing the storms: they are successful, yes?'
'It looks like it, now, and in the sea here,' she replied.
'Wunderbar.' he said. 'Everywhere else things go from bad to worse - unless we give them your cure.'
'And quickly.'
Kaufman nodded. 'That is what I have thought.' He dropped his voice. 'You know, Professor, Fraulein Gamboul was prepared to let it go on until the world accepted her terms, outrageous terms. She was insane, of course. Did you know that she killed Salim, shot him dead herself? She was a woman possessed. She would have left everything too late.
We should all have perished.'
Dawnay looked at him coldly. 'We may still.'
He licked his lips nervously and removed his glasses, polishing the lenses over and over again. 'There has been an appeal from London over the radio. I shall answer it when communications are restored. And I shall prove we can help by sending your own personal report on the anti-bacterium.
Professor Neilson shall take it on the first available plane.'
He saw her startled look.
'Oh yes,' he said triumphantly, replacing his glasses and staring at her. 'I know all about Professor Neilson being here.
He will not wish to trust me. He does not yet understand that I am just a business man, and a good business man sees through calamity to brighter things.'
Dawnay could not disguise her relief. 'So Neilson will explain how you can give bulk supplies to the world?'
He shook his head impatiently. 'Not at once,' he said.
'People will be prepared to pay a great deal. I told you I am a business man.' He turned to the door. His smile had gone.
'You will have a typed report ready for despatch in an hour.'
For a while Dawnay went on with her work like an automaton. She had not counted on Kaufman haggling over the price of life.
She crossed to the computer building in search of someone to talk to; there was superficial damage to the entrance bay and the cooling tower, but the computer appeared unharmed, No guards were left, but an electrician appeared from the staff rest room. He said he had no idea where Dr Fleming was. Abu Zeki, he believed, had left immediately after the first of the afternoon's storms to visit his family.
Dawnay thanked him and made her way to the sick quarters.
The nurse put up makeshift barricades of screens over the broken windows. The girl smiled with relief at seeing someone at last.
'Miss Andre has slept through it all,' she whispered. 'I think she is a little stronger.'
Dawnay sat down by the bed. The nurse was right. Bad as the light was, Dawnay could see a better colour in Andre's cheeks.
'Is it - is it working?' Andre had not opened her eyes or moved when she whispered her question.
Dawnay clasped the fragile hand. 'Yes, it's working,' she murmured. 'The barograph in the lab is still going up. How long it will last I don't know.'
Andre struggled to sit up. 'It was not in the message that we must...' She stopped and lay back, exhausted. 'I tried to tell her. She would not listen. She came last night. I told her to listen to me, not to the computer. But - '
'Gamboul, you mean?' said Dawnay gently. 'She's dead, Andre. Kaufman is now in charge.'
Andre nodded slowly, as if she knew. Her fingers tried to find Dawnay's. 'Do you believe me?' she asked. She saw Dawnay nod. The fingers relaxed and she lay back with her eyes closed once more. 'Tell me all that has happened and I will tell you what to do.'
As rapidly as she could, Dawnay gave a survey of the situation as far as she knew it. Before she had finished she thought Andre had fallen asleep or had lapsed into a coma, she was so utterly motionless. But after a full two minutes, the girl began speaking in a level monotone.
Dawnay listened intently. The responsibility Andre was thrusting on her shoulders was tremendous. It was intimidating; yet it was inspiring too. The rational, reasoned motives were all that her scientific mind needed. When Andre finished Dawnay made just one brief answer.
'I'll go right away,' she said.
Half an hour later she was ordering a servant at the Presidential palace to take her immediately to his master.
She had driven herself in a car she had found undamaged in the Intel parking lot. It was the first time she had been behind a car wheel since her young days as a student. Her erratic course did not matter. Flood water had destroyed the road in many places. Rubble from tottering houses had to be avoided or driven over. No guards stood outside the palace.
The President saw her immediately. He was seated in his high-backed chair, looking years older than when she had last taken her leave of him.
His ritualistic courtesy had not deserted him. He rose and bent over her hand, and indicated a chair. The faithful little negro boy was still there. The President told him to go and see if he could find someone to make coffee. Then he returned to his seat.
'The country is dying, Professor Dawnay,' he said simply.
'The whole world may be,' Dawnay replied. 'That is why I have come. It is in your power to help. You have been informed that Miss Gamboul is dead?' The President nodded.
'So you are free.'
'Free!' he said bitterly. 'It is a little late.'
'It may not be,' she insisted. 'It partly depends on you, your Excellency. If the anti-bacteria I have made is handled by Intel, and if it works, then it will be Intel's world. Kaufman will fix their price for them.'
'I have been told very little, but I can gather the trend of events. And what can I do to stop this man Kaufman? He is like the others - Salim, Mm'selle Gamboul....'