Part 28 (1/2)

_Wallahi!_ but his leader had taste, the sentry decided.

”Pa.s.s,” he said gruffly. Even a vizier of such importance as this one must need solace at times, he decided philosophically.

She slipped past silently to the tent entrance where the Tuareg guard noticed she paused for a long moment before entering. He grinned into his teguelmoust. Aiii, the little bird was timid before the hawk.

She stood for a moment listening, and then slipped inside, dropping the desert musical instrument to the ground. Dave Moroka's back was to her and even as she entered he flicked off the switch of the video-radio into which he had been speaking and scowled at it.

When he stood and began to turn, she covered him with the small pocket pistol. She had an ease in handling it which denoted competence.

His eyebrows went up, but he remained silent, waiting for her gambit.

Isobel said evenly, ”You're a Party member, aren't you, Dave?”

”Why do you say that?”

She nodded infinitesimally to the set. ”You were reporting just now. I heard enough just as I came in.”

He took in her disguise. ”My guard isn't as efficient as I had thought,” Dave said wryly.

Isobel said, ”You knew Abe Baker, didn't you?”

He looked at her, expressionlessly.

She said, ”I already knew you belonged to the Party, Dave. No matter how competent an agent, it's something difficult to hide from any other long-time member. There's a terminology you use--such as calling it the Soviet Union, rather than Russia. No commie ever says Russia, it's always _the Soviet Union_. You can tell, just as a Roman Catholic can tell a person raised in the Church, even though the other has dropped away, or even as one Jew can tell another. Yes, I've known you were a Party member for some time, Dave.”

”And?” the South African said.

”Why are you here?”

Dave Moroka said, ”For the same reason you are, to further the El Ha.s.san dream, the uniting and modernization of the continent of my racial heritage.”

”But you are still a Party member and still report to your superiors.”

Dave Moroka looked at the tiny gun she held in her hand.

”Don't try it,” she said. ”I have seen you in action, Dave. I have never seen a man move so ruthlessly fast ... but don't try it.”

”No reason to,” he bit out. ”Come on, let's go see Homer.”

She was slightly taken aback, but not enough to release her control for even a split second. ”Lead the way,” she said.

Even at this time of evening, the headquarters tent was brightly lit and most of the immediate El Ha.s.san staff still at work. Homer Crawford looked up as they entered.

Cliff Jackson saw the gun first and said, ”Holy Mackerel, Isobel.”

Fredric Ostrander was sitting to one side in discussion with the sober faced Jack Peters. He took in the gun and slowly came to his feet, obviously expecting climax.

Isobel said, ”Dave's taking over control of communications had method.

I just found him reporting to what must have been a superior ... in the Party.”