Shaken by the raw psychic power, Doctor Warren Harding Smythe sank to the bench directly across from Homer Crawford. He got out, still attempting to maintain his rejection, “And from where would the resources come to sponsor all this?”
Homer said, “Doctor, North Africa is possibly the richest area in the world so far as undeveloped raw materials are concerned, including oil. We intend to exploit them. And for the sake of North Africa, not the so-called developed nations.”
The doctor, in a last resistance, said, trying to surface a sneer, “And how do I know that you will not use the proceeds of this abundance of raw materials for your own sakes?”
The others about the table laughed bitterly, or smiled sour smiles.
Homer said, “Doctor Smythe, the true revolutionist is an idealist, not an opportunist. Can you imagine a Jefferson, a Tom Paine, a James Madison, a Washington, being seduced by bribes or feathering their own nests through their eventual positions of power? Or Robespierre, Danton and Marat? They had greater things in mind than wealth. Or even Lenin and Trotsky. Those who came after, in Russia, yes. Those who hadn’t spent the long years in exile or prison as a result of their fight for the revolution which later came a cropper. But you couldn’t have bought Lenin with all the gold in Fort Knox.”
Homer Crawford shook his head. “No, Doctor. Do not look at the immediate staff of El Hassan if you are seeking out opportunists.”
It was getting a little heavy for Cliff Jackson. He said, “Hey, speak for yourself, Homer. If somebody offered me all the gold in Fort Knox…”
“Shut up,” Kenny growled at him.
Jimmy Peters pushed his glasses back on his nose and said, “That reminds me of something. Bribes. These American types, in particular, seem to be all intrigued with bribes. And the Italians too, for that matter. At any rate, I’ve been offered bribes three times.”
Homer scowled at him. “For what, in particular?”
The other shrugged in puzzlement. “I never quite figured it out. I came to the conclusion that they were just lining me up for future reference.”
Kenny said, “Take ’em.”
All eyes went to him.
He said, as though nothing was more reasonable, “Take all bribes offered. Except for Homer, of course; he can’t do it. Otherwise we take ’em and throw them in the kitty. We can use the money.”
Isobel was amused but she said, “What happens when the time comes that they expect you to deliver—whatever it might be they want?”
“The hell with them,” Kenny said, reasonably still. “Let ’em go whistle. Nobody asked them to bribe El Hassan’s closest colleagues.”
VII
EL HASSAN
Homer looked around at them and said, “Very well, here we are. El Hassan’s Cabinet.” He looked at Smythe. “You’re our Vizier of Health.”
The doctor closed his eyes momentarily, but didn’t protest.
Homer looked at Bey. “Field Marshal Bey-ag-Akhamouk, you’re our Vizier of Defense.”
Bey nodded.
Homer Crawford looked at Cliff Jackson. “And you’re already our Vizier of the Treasury, who promises not to sell out for anything short of the contents of Fort Knox. Which reminds me. Does it still have any contents?”
Nobody bothered to answer.
He said, “Old Jake Armstrong, over in New York, is our Foreign Minister, and Vizier of State.” He thought about it a moment and mused, “I wonder if they’ve let him in the front door of the Reunited Nations building as yet.”
He looked at Jimmy Peters, who blinked back owlishly at him. “What are you?”
Jimmy said, “Well, I used to be a teacher when I first got out of college.” He cleared his throat and added, “3rd Grade, grammar school.”
Homer said, “Right. Vizier of Education. It’s going to be an important post under El Hassan.” He turned his eyes to Kenny Ballalou.
Kenny said, pretending an air of wistfulness, “When I was a kid, I always wanted to be an FBI man.”
Homer said, “Okay, you’re our Vizier of Security, combination of FBI, CIA and neighborhood cop on the beat.”
It was Isobel’s turn. Homer looked at her thoughtfully. “Didn’t you used to work on a newspaper?”
“I was editor of the college paper at Columbia.”
“All right, you’re our Vizier of Information. Since Dave Moroka was killed in storming the fort, we need somebody to handle the press releases. And in view of the fact that you’re our best typist, you’re also my personal secretary.”
“To hear is to obey, O El Hassan,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him.
Homer’s eyes went to Rex Donaldson, who promptly looked defiance. “You chaps can go to hell,” he said. “It’s donkey’s years since I’ve sat behind a desk and I’m out of the habit. You make me a Minister Without Portfolio or something, in charge of coordination, or something.”
Homer thought about it. He said, “I think you’re right. We’ll need a man continually in the field, going around to developing trouble spots. With a minister’s rank, you’d have clout. Besides, it wouldn’t do for we more necessary types, here at home base, to get shot in the ass.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, if such you are,” Isobel protested. “Your language. My blessed old mother once wanted me to take Holy Orders and become a nun.”
Doctor Smythe could stand it no longer. He sputtered, “Do you mean to tell me that this is the manner in which governments are formed?”
Most of the men around the table looked embarassed in varying degrees. Homer had just given the doctor a rather elevated pep talk a few minutes before.
But Isobel said, “How did you think they were formed, Doctor? By elections? In the United States some ninety-five percent of the people who work in government are appointive, from the Supreme Court, and the President’s Cabinet and aides, right on down to the stenographer who types out your application for unemployment insurance.”
Doctor Smythe, irritated, came to his feet and said, “I doubt if my presence is needed and I am desperately in demand at the improvised hospital. I shall consult with you further as to my duties… El Hassan.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Homer bowed his head respectfully.
When the older man was gone, Homer Crawford looked around at them again. “Okay, first item on the agenda. What’s the name of our new country?”
Everybody scowled.
Kenny said, “Well, what about the North African Confederation, or, maybe, the Union of North Africa?”
“That last one sounds too much like the Union of South Africa, heaven forbid,” Rex Donaldson said.
Jimmy Peters said, “Ifriqiyah.”
They all looked at him.
He was embarassed, adjusted his glasses on his nose and said, “It’s the name the Romans used for North Africa. Later the Arabs borrowed it.”
“Great,” Homersaid. “Let’s put it to the vote.”
All were in favor.
Homer Crawford turned to Isobel. “Put it on all of our stationery.”
“What stationery?”
“We’ve got to have stationery,” he said reasonably. “Isn’t there a printing shop in Tamanrasset, left over from when the French were here? The town’s big enough to support one.”
Isobel sighed in resignation. “I’ll look into it.”
Homer looked around and said, “What’s next?”
Bey, the practical, when it came to matters military, said, “How many prisoners do we have on hand?”