Part 18 (1/2)

”And these are two of his original and most trusted adherents, Isobel Cunningham and Cliff Jackson.” Donaldson turned to the newcomers.

”John and James Peters--that's Jack and Jimmy, of course--recently colleagues of mine with the African Department of the Commonwealth, working largely in the Nigeria area.”

Homer shook hands, grinning. ”You're a long way from home.”

”Farther than that,” the one labeled Jack said without a smile changing the seriousness of his face. ”We're originally from Trinidad.”

Donaldson said, ”And this is David Moroka, late of South Africa.”

The wiry South African said easily, ”Not so very late. In fact, I haven't seen Jo-burg since I was a boy.”

He was shaking hands with Isobel now. ”Jo-burg?” she said.

”Johannesburg,” he translated. ”I got out by the skin of my teeth during the troubles in the 1950s.”

”You sound like an American,” Cliff said when it was his turn to shake.

”Educated in the States,” Moroka said. ”Best thing that ever happened to me was to be kicked out of the land of my birth.”

Homer made a sweeping gesture at the floor and the few articles of furniture the tent contained that could be improvised as chairs. ”I'm surprised you're up here instead of in your own neck of the woods,” he said to the South African.

Moroka shrugged. ”I was considering heading south when I ran into Jimmy and Jack, here. They'd already got the word on the El Ha.s.san movement from Rex. Their arguments made sense to me.”

Eyes went to the brothers from Trinidad and Jack Peters took over the position of spokesman. He said, seriously, as though trying to convince the others, ”North Africa is the starting point, the beginning. Given El Ha.s.san's success in uniting North Africa, the central areas and later even the south will fall into line. Perhaps one day there will be a union of _all_ Africa.”

”Or at least a strong confederation,” Jimmy Peters added.

Homer nodded thoughtfully. ”Perhaps. But we can't look that far forward now.” He looked from one of the newcomers to the other. ”I don't know to what extent you fellows understand what the rest of us have set out to accomplish but I suppose if you've been with Rex for the past week, you have a fairly clear idea.”

”I believe so,” Jack nodded, straight-faced.

Homer Crawford said slowly, ”I don't want to give you the wrong idea.

If you join up, you'll find it's no parade. Our chances were slim to begin, and we've had some setbacks. As you've probably heard, the Arab Union has stolen a march on us. And from what we can get on the radio, we have thus far to pick up a single adherent among the world powers.”

”_Powers?_” Cliff snorted. ”We haven't got a nation the size of Monaco on our side.”

Moroka shot a quick glance at the big Californian.

Isobel caught it and laughed. ”Cliff's a perpetual sourpuss,” she said. ”However, he's been in since the first.”

The South African looked at her in turn. ”We were hardly prepared to find a beautiful American girl in the Great Erg,” he said.

Something about his voice caused her to flush. ”We've all caught Homer's dream,” she said, almost defensively.

David Moroka flung to his feet, viper fast, and dashed toward Homer Crawford, his hands extended.

Automatically, Cliff Jackson stuck forward a foot in an attempt to trip him--and missed.

The South African, moving with blurring speed, grasped the unsuspecting Crawford by the right hand and arm, swung with fantastic speed and sent the American sprawling to the far side of the tent.