Part 10 (1/2)

”No, Kuphela, rather wish me b.l.o.o.d.y war!” Lookout's scarred visage twisted into a dreadful grin in the reflected headlights.

When Craig looked back, they had disappeared into the darkness as silently as hunting leopards.

-, 4-A.

wouldn't have taken any bets about seeing you again,” Jock Daniels greeted Craig when he walked into the auctioneer's office the next morning. ”Did you make it up to the Chizarira or did good sense get the better of you?” I'm still alive, aren't ! Craig evaded the direct question.

”Good boy, ”Jock nodded. ”No sense messing with those Matabele shufta bandits the lot of them.”

”Did you hear from Zarich?” Jock shook his head. ”Only sent the telex at nine o'clock local time. They are an hour behind us.”

”Can I use your telephone? A few private calls?”

”Local? I don't want you chatting up your birds in New York at my expense.”

”Of course.”

”Right as long as you mind the shop for me, while I'm out.” Craig installed himself at Jock's desk, and consulted the cryptic notes that he had made from Henry Pickering's file.

His first call was to the American Emba.s.sy in Harare, the capital three hundred miles north-east of Bulawayo.

”Mr. Morgan Oxford, your cultural attache, please,” he asked the operator.

”Oxford.” The accent was crisp Boston and Ivy League.

”Craig Mellow. A mutual friend asked me to call you and give you his regards.”

”Yes, I was expecting you. Won't you come in here any time and say h.e.l.lo?”

”I'd enjoy that,” Craig told him, and hung up.

Henry Pickering was as good as his word. Any message handed to Oxford would go out in the diplomatic bag, and be on Pickering's desk within twelve hours.

His next call was to the office of the minister of tourism and information, and he finally got through to the minister's secretary. Her att.i.tude changed to warm co-operation when he spoke to her in Sindebele.

”The comrade minister is in Harare for the sitting of Parliament,” she told him, and gave Craig his private number at the House.

Craig got through to a parliamentary secretary on his fourth attempt. The telephone system had slowly begun deteriorating, he noticed. The blight of all developing countries was lack of skilled artisans; prior to independence all linesmen had been white, and since then most of them had taken the gap.

This secretary was Mashona and insisted on speaking English as proof of her sophistication.

”Kindly state the nature of the business to be discussed.” She was obviously reading from a printed form.

”Personal. I am acquainted with the comrade minister.”

”Ah yes. P-e-r-s-o-n-n-e-l.” The secretary spelled it out laboriously as she wrote it.

”No that's p-e-r-s-o-n-a-I,” Craig corrected her patiently. He was beginning to adjust to the pace of Africa again.

”I will consult the comrade minister's schedule. You will be obliged to telephone again.” Craig consulted his list. Next was the government registrar of companies, and this time he was lucky. He was put through to an efficiiInt and helpful clerk who made a note of his requirem%nts.