When her guards had passed him, he found her at her desk, looking, as usual, harassed with overwork. Her two secretaries didn’t even bother to look up at his entry. They were, at long last, beginning to get into routine.
Sean touched the bill of his cap with his swagger stick and told her good morning.
She nodded and said, “What can I do for you, Major?”
“The rumor has it that El Hassan has returned… with his viziers.”
“That is correct, Major.”
“Obviously, he must be up to his eyes in detail that has accumulated.”
“Yes. Obviously. Dakar has come over to us, which means all of Senegal. And such major towns as Colum-Béchar, Laghouat, Ouargla and Touggourt. Everywhere, El Hassan’s people are triumphant.”
Inwardly, Sean Ryan winced. Colum-Béchar was to the north of Adrar and quite considerably. However, he managed to smile and say, “Congratulations, but I am thinking that, if anything, he will more than ever need an adequate bodyguard.”
Isobel sighed and looked down at the sheafs of paperwork before her. She said, “He has been informed of your presence and proposition and undoubtedly will interview you within a few days.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, but… no sooner?”
“El Hassan is very busy, Major.”
He touched his swagger stick to his cap again, did an about face and left.
That night, the three mercenary officers and Sergeant Lon Charles were able to raise Saul Saidi on their tight-beam radio.
He listened to the news of El Hassan’s return and to their fears that their aircraft, their potential escape mechanism, would be overrun at Adrar.
He said impatiently, “Adrar is now in the hands of El Hassan’s adherents but we have established a safe cover. All is confusion and the pilots have managed to assure the local El Hassan heads that the helio-jet belongs to their supreme leader and that as soon as they receive word from him they are to fly it down to Tamanrasset.”
Sean said, “But the town it was to have taken us to is reported to have been overrun as well.”
Saidi said, impatience in his voice, “It is a long distance craft and capable of flying you all the way to Tunis or Tripoli. Get about your task before those cities too fall. The El Hassan movement is flooding north like a tidal wave. His presence is not even needed. The people are acting on their own initiative, in his name.”
When the Levantine had finalized his message, Sean flicked the set off and looked at the others. He growled, “I’m wishing the spalpeen himself was down here. It’s enough to choke the pooka.”
Lon Charles said, “Maybe we ought to call it quits, man. That greaseball don’t give a damn if we get out of here or not. Just so we lower the boom on this El Hassan.”
Bryan glowered at him. “Two hundred ounces of gold,” he said. “And another hundred and fifty for Meg. You know what that comes to in your American dollars? About seventy thousand, I’ve taken risks before, but never for anything like that much.”
Raul Bazaine flicked his cute mustache. “Ow!,” he said.
It was four anxious days later that the mercenary officers were summoned to the presence. A French speaking camelcorps man came to summon them.
They had been ready. In fact, they had been ready since Sean Ryan had seen Isobel Cunningham. They followed the Tuareg tribesman, as militarily spruce as they could make themselves.
As they proceeded over the sandy parade ground in the direction of the administration building, Sean said, out of the side of his mouth, “And where is the sergeant?”
Raul Bazaine said, “Without doubt, in the town, drinking that miserable date wine.”
They were led to the conference room where Isobel had originally interviewed them.
Inside the door, to the wall at one side, was Guémama, armed with a Soviet PPPSh submachine gun. As before, it was not only cocked but the safety was off.
At the heavy table were seated five men, all in khaki uniform, and Isobel Cunningham, notepad and ball pens at hand. There was no doubt which of the group was El Hassan. His personality dominated even before he said a word.
They were all seated side by side at the table, Isobel down a bit. One of the five, not El Hassan, motioned them to chairs opposite and they sat themselves. Isobel Cunningham performed introductions.
Homer Crawford looked at them appraisingly and they could feel the strength of him.
He said finally, “Miss Cunningham has told me of your proposition. I won’t waste time. We are not interested. In the first place, it would be a slap in the face of our present loyal bodyguards to hire whites to replace them. And the word would soon spread throughout the Sahara. Secondly, although as bodyguards you might be more experienced in a large city than my tribesmen, I rather doubt that in the erg or on the reg your troopers, inexperienced in desert warfare, would be as efficient as Guémama’s Tuaghi. You’d be out of your element.” He hesitated, before adding, “But there is a third matter.” He turned to Kenny Ballalou. “This is my Vizier of Security.”
Kenny took in the three silent soldiers of fortune and said, “The El Hassan movement has differences from other revolutions that have taken place in recent decades in Africa. In a sense, we’re an international movement. There are few major cities in the world that do not contain educated blacks who are in sympathy with El Hassan’s cause.”
The three of them looked at him unblinkingly. Bryan O’Casey wanted to reach for his pipe, but didn’t. Sean Ryan wished that he had a drink. Raul Bazaine touched with a forefinger his perfect mustache.
Kenny looked at a paper before him. “Field Marshal Bey-ag-Akhamouk was rather surprised at one aspect of your appearance. “You arrived in three vehicles which were in excellent condition, though not quite new. You also arrived well equipped with arms and all other supplies needed to operate in the desert. Your story to Miss Cunningham was that you had pooled your resources to purchase this equipment.“
He looked at them momentarily, then back to his paper. “It seemed unusual to the Field Marshal for a group of mercenaries to have such resources. Traditionally, they are financially strained and must be equipped by he who hires their services.”
Sean began to say something, but then shook his head and held his peace. There was obviously more to come.
Kenny Ballalou went on. “So I put out feelers and backtracked, winding up in Algiers, where most of the equipment was purchased. Algiers is currently to North Africa what Lisbon was to Europe during the Second World War, the espionage-counter-espionage center. Needless to say, we have friends and followers there. They were put to work. The name Saul Saidi was come upon. It was he who financed your expedition. His name and reputation are not unknown throughout the Near East and North Africa. It is not a name that inspires confidence. For some time now he has been in the employ of the Arab Union.”
Kenny put his paper down and turned his eyes to Homer Crawford.
Homer looked at Sean Ryan and said, his voice expressionless, “I suggest that you gather your men, Major, and leave immediately for Algiers. There are a good many journalists and other representatives from various world powers in this vicinity. We do not wish to give them the excuse for reporting sensational news from Tamanrasset, particularly any news involving clashes between my people and Europeans.
“Your equipment will all be returned to you. My adherents will be notified by radio of your passing through our country, but though they will keep you under observation, you will not be molested, if you do not deviate from the road. That will be all… gentlemen.”