LITMIR.BIZ

      VI

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      "That is was," Homer said grimly. "Now, go see if you can find my lads, will you? This joker is going to fall right into our laps. It's going to be interesting to find out who hates the idea of African development so much that they're willing to commit assassination."

      But it didn't work out that way.

      Isobel found the other teammates one by one, and they came hurrying up from different directions to the support of their chief. They had been a team for years and operating as they did and where they did, each man survived only by selfless co-operation with all the others. In action, they operated like a single unit, their ability to co-operate almost as though they had telepathic communication.

      From where he lay, Homer Crawford could see Bey-ag-Akhamouk, Tommy-Noiseless in hands, snake in from the left, running low and reaching a vantage point from which he could cover one flank of the ancient adobe mosque. Homer waved to him and Bey made motions to indicate that one of the others was coming in from the other side.

      Homer waited for a few more minutes, then waved to Bey to cover him. The streets were empty at this time of midday when the Sahara sun drove the town's occupants into the coolness of dark two-foot-thick walled houses. It was as though they were operating in a ghost town. Homer came to his feet and handgun in fist made a dash for the front entrance.

      Bey's light automatic flic flic flicked its excitement and dust and dirt enveloped the wall facing Crawford. Homer reached the doorway, stood there for a full two minutes while he caught his breath. From the side of his eye he could see Elmer Allen, his excellent teeth bared as always when the Jamaican went into action, come running up to the right in that half crouch men automatically go into in combat, instinctively presenting as small a target as possible. He was evidently heading for a side door or window.

      The object now was to refrain from killing the sniper. The important thing was to be able to question him. Perhaps here was the answer to the massacre of the Cubans. Homer took another deep breath, smashed the door open with a heavy shoulder and dashed inward and immediately to one side. At the same moment, Abe Baker, Tommy-Noiseless in hand, came in from the rear door, his eyes darting around trying to pierce the gloom of the unlighted building.

      Elmer Allen erupted through a window, rolled over on the floor and came to rest, his gun trained.

      "Where is he?" Abe snapped.

      Homer motioned with his head. "Must be up in the remains of the minaret."

      Abe got to the creaking, age-old stairway first. In cleaning out a hostile building, the idea is to move fast and keep on the move. Stop, and you present a target.

      But there was no one in the minaret.

      "Got away," Homer growled. His face was puzzled. "I felt sure we'd have him."

      Bey-ag-Akhamouk entered. He grunted his disappointment. "What happened, anyway? That girl Isobel said a sniper took some shots at you and you figure it must've been somebody at the meeting."

      "Somebody at the meeting?" Abe said blankly. "What kind of jazz is that? You flipping, man?"

      Homer looked at him strangely.

      "Who else could it be, Abe? We've never operated this far south. None of the inhabitants in this area even know us, and it certainly couldn't have been an attempt at robbery."

      "There were some cats at that meeting didn't appreciate our ideas, man, but I can't see that old preacher or Doc Smythe trying to put the slug on you."

      Kenny Ballalou came in on the double, gun in hand, his face anxious.

      Abe said sarcastically, "Man, we'd all be dead if we had to wait on you."

      "That girl Isobel. She said somebody took a shot at the chief."

      Homer explained it, sourly. A sniper had taken a few shots at him, then managed to get away.

      Isobel entered, breathless, followed by Jake Armstrong.

      Abe grunted, "Let's hold another convention. This is like old home town week."

      Her eyes went from one of them to the other. "You're not hurt?"

      "Nobody hurt, but the cat did all the shooting got away," Abe said unhappily.

      Jake said, and his voice was worried, "Isobel told me what happened. It sounds insane."

      They discussed it for a while and got exactly nowhere. Their conversation was interrupted by a clicking at Homer Crawford's wrist. He looked down at the tiny portable radio.

      "Excuse me for a moment," he said to the others and went off a dozen steps or so to the side.

      They looked after him.

      Elmer Allen said sourly, "Another assignment. What we need is a union."

      Abe adopted the idea. "Man! Time and a half for overtime."

      "With a special cost of living clause—" Kenny Ballalou added.

      "And housing and dependents allotment!" Abe crowed.

      They all looked at him.

      Bey tried to imitate the other's beatnik patter. "Like, you got any dependents, man?"

      Abe made a mark in the sand on the mosque's floor with the toe of his shoe, like a schoolboy up before the principal for an infraction of rules, and registered embarrassment. "Well, there's that cute little Tuareg girl up north."

      "Ha!" Isobel said. "And all these years you've been leading me on."

      Homer Crawford returned and his face was serious. "That does it," he muttered disgustedly. "The fat's in the fire."

      "Like, what's up, man?"

      Crawford looked at his right-hand man. "There are demonstrations in Mopti. Riots."

      "Mopti?" Jake Armstrong said, surprised. "Our team was working there just a couple of months ago. I thought everything was going fine in Mopti."

      "They're going fine, all right," Crawford growled. "So well, that the local populace wants to speed up even faster."

      They were all looking their puzzlement at him.

      "The demonstrations are in favor of El Hassan."

      Their faces turned blank. Crawford's eyes swept his teammates. "Our instructions are to get down there and do what we can to restore order. Come on, let's go. I'm going to have to see if I can arrange some transportation. It'd take us two days to get there in our outfits."

      Jake Armstrong said, "Wait a minute, Homer. My team was heading back for Dakar for a rest and new assignments. We'd be passing Mopti anyway. How many of you are there, five? If you don't haul too much luggage with you; we could give you a lift."

      "Great," Homer told him. "We'll take you up on that. Abe, Elmer, let's get going. We'll have to repack. Bey, Kenny, see about finding some place we can leave the lorries until we come back. This job shouldn't take more than a few days at most."

      "Huh," Abe said. "I hope you got plans, man. How do you go about stopping demonstrations in favor of a legend you created yourself?"

       * * * * *

      Mopti, also on the Niger, lies approximately three hundred kilometers to the south and slightly west of Timbuktu, as the bird flies. However, one does not travel as the bird flies in the Niger bend. Not even when one goes by aircraft. A forced landing in the endless swamps, bogs, shallow lakes and river tributaries which make up the Niger at this point, would be

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