LITMIR.BIZ

      VII

       Table of Contents

      Driving into town over the dusty, pocked road, Homer gave the newcomers to his group more background on the care and control of the genus mob. He was obviously speaking through considerable experience.

      "Using these quarterstaffs brings to mind some of the other supposedly innoxious devices used by police authorities in controlling unruly demonstrations," he said. "Some of them are beauties. For instance, I was in Tangier when the Moroccans put on their revolution against the French and for the return of the Sultan. The rumor went through town that the mob was going to storm the French Consulate the next day. During the night, the French brought in elements of the Foreign Legion and entrenched the consulate grounds. But their commander had another problem. Journalists were all over town and so were tourists. Tangier was still supposedly an international zone and the French were in no position to slaughter the citizens. So they brought in some special equipment. One item was a vehicle that looked quite a bit like a gasoline truck, but was filled with water and armored against thrown cobblestones and such. On the roof of the cabin was what looked something like a fifty caliber but which was actually a hose which shot water at terrific pressure. When the mob came, the French unlimbered this vehicle and all the journalists could say was that the mob was dispersed by squirting water on it, which doesn't sound too bad after all."

      Isobel said, "Well, certainly that's preferable to firing on them."

      Homer looked at her oddly. "Possibly. However, I was standing next to the Moorish boy who was cut entirely in half by the pressure spray of water."

      The expression on the girl's face sickened.

      Homer said, "They had another interesting device for dispersing mobs. It was a noise bomb. The French set off several."

      "A noise bomb?" Cliff said. "I don't get it."

      "They make a tremendous noise, but do nothing else. However, members of the mob who aren't really too interested in the whole thing—just sort of along for the fun—figure that things are getting earnest and that the troops are shelling them. So they remember some business they had elsewhere and take off."

      Isobel said suddenly, "You like this sort of work, don't you?"

      Elmer Allen grunted bitterly.

      "No," Homer Crawford said flatly. "I don't. But I like the goal."

      "And the end justifies the means?"

      Homer Crawford said slowly, "I've never answered that to my own satisfaction. But I'll say this. I've never met a person, no matter how idealistic, no matter how much he played lip service to the contention that the ends do not justify the means, who did not himself use the means he found available to reach the ends he believed correct. It seems to be a matter of each man feeling the teaching applies to everyone else, but that he is free to utilize any means to achieve his own noble ends."

      "Man, all that jazz is too much for me," Abe said.

      They were entering the outskirts of Mopti. Small groups of obviously excited Africans of various tribal groups, were heading for the center of town.

      "Abe, Jake," Crawford said. "We'll drop you here. Mingle around. We'll hold the big meeting in front of the Great Mosque in an hour or so."

      "Crazy," Abe said, dropping off the back of the truck which Kenny Ballalou, who was driving, brought almost to a complete stop. The older Jake followed him.

      The rest went on a quarter of a mile and dropped Bey and Cliff.

      Homer said to Kenny, "Park the truck somewhere near the spice market. Preferably inside some building, if you can. For all we know, they're already turning over vehicles and burning them."

      Crawford and Isobel dropped off near the pottery market, on the banks of the Niger. The milling throngs here were largely women. Elements of half a dozen tribes and races were represented.

      Homer Crawford stood a moment. He ran a hand back over his short hair and looked at her. "I don't know," he muttered. "Now I'm sorry we brought you along." He leaned on his staff and looked at her worriedly. "You're not very ... ah, husky, are you?"

      She laughed at him. "Get about your business, sir knight. I spent nearly two weeks living with these people once. I know dozens of them by name. Watch this cat operate, as Abe would say."

      She darted to one of the over-turned pirogues which had been dragged up on the bank from the river, and climbed atop it. She held her hands high and began a stream of what was gibberish to Crawford who didn't understand Wolof, the Senegalese lingua franca. Some elements of the crowd began drifting in her direction. She spoke for a few moments, the only words the surprised Homer Crawford could make out were El Hassan. And she used them often.

      She switched suddenly to Arabic, and he could follow her now. The drift of her talk was that word had come through that El Hassan was to make a great announcement in the near future and that meanwhile all his people were to await his word. But that there was to be a great meeting before the Mosque within the hour.

      She switched again to Songhoi and repeated substantially what she'd said before. By now she had every woman hanging on her words.

      A man on the outskirts of the gathering called out in high irritation, "But what of the storming of the administration buildings? Our leaders have proclaimed the storming of the reactionaries!"

      Crawford, leaning heavily on the pilgrim staff, drifted over to the other. "Quiet, O young one," he said. "I wish to listen to the words of the girl who tells of the teachings of the great El Hassan."

      The other turned angrily on him. "Be silent thyself, old man!" He raised a hand as though to cuff the American.

      Homer Crawford neatly rapped him on the right shin bone with his quarterstaff to the other's intense agony. The women who witnessed the brief spat dissolved in laughter at the plight of the younger man. Homer Crawford drifted away again before the heckler recovered.

      He let Isobel handle the bulk of the reverse-rabble rousing. His bit was to come later, and as yet he didn't want to reveal himself to the throngs.

       * * * * *

      They went from one gathering place of women to another. To the spice market, to the fish and meat market, to the bathing and laundering locations along the river. And everywhere they found animated groups of women, Isobel went into her speech.

      At one point, while Homer stood idly in the crowd, feeling its temper and the extent to which the girl was dominating them, he felt someone press next to him.

      A voice said, "What is the plan of operation, Yank?"

      Homer Crawford's eyebrows went up and he shot a quick glance at the other. It was Rex Donaldson of the Commonwealth African Department. The operative who worked as the witchman, Dolo Anah. Crawford was glad to see him. This was Donaldson's area of operations, the man must have got here almost as soon as Crawford's team, when he had heard of the trouble.

      Crawford said in English, "They've been gathering for an outbreak of violence, evidently directed at the Reunited Nations projects administration buildings. I've seen a few banners calling for El Hassan to come to power, Africa for the Africans, that sort of thing."

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